| Supernatural Fiction posted August 15, 2017 |
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Supernatural events at a turnpike plaza
The Great Lakes Plaza - Part Two
by cardiodoug
Rolling up the entrance ramp, he spoke aloud to himself. “I’m so weak. I have no will power. I just can’t resist this-this thing.”
After parking, he slowly walked over the causeway, praying as he went. He prayed to God, asking they, the family, not be there, asking this thing, this gift, simply be a bad dream, praying his gift would be gone forever.
Cautiously entering the dining area, he stood still with eyes closed and said one last prayer. He opened his eyes. No one was there, no family there. He yelled out, startling the diners, “They’re gone! Thank you, God!”
Now he could leave and never come back. It was over. He wouldn’t talk to Louis; he wouldn’t talk to anyone. Telling himself, Maybe it was all some crazy dream; maybe it never happened, gave him a content sense of peace.
As he approached the exit doors toward the parking lot, he heard a voice behind him.
“Hey, Mr. Mike.”
Michael stopped, reluctantly turning around. “Hi, Louis.”
“How ya doin’ tonight? Runnin’ late, are ya?”
Michael smiled, giving his friend the good news. “They’re gone, Louis. The family’s gone. I don’t see ’em anymore. My gift is gone.”
Louis, seeing the relief on Michael’s face, thought, I should just let ’im go. Let him leave and forget ’bout it. “That’s wonderful, Mr. Mike. Now you can forget this whole thing. Maybe you ain’t got the gift no more! You just go on home. I bet you lost the gift. Maybe you never had it.”
Michael, detecting the insincerity in the janitor’s voice, said,
“Come on, Louis. Don’t be bullshittin’ me!”
“Oh, Mr. Mike, you shore is hard-headed, ain’t ya?”
“Yeah, I’m real hard-headed. So, don’t hold back on me.”
“Mr. Mike, you never been here this late in the day, has you? Not like tonight.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Well, you don’t see ’em cause they ain’t there.”
“You’re confusing me, Louis. I know they’re not there—that’s what I said.”
“What I’m sayin’ is I hear those folk don’t just sit there, eatin’ all day. They move around the plaza. Right ’bout now they probably be down in the restroom or maybe at the gift shop. Other folk with the gift tell me they wander around the plaza, all day and all night.”
Michael’s face sank with a look of dread. “Oh, God, I didn’t want to hear that, Louis.”
“Mr. Mike, I’m right sorry for tellin’ ya, but you always be pushin’ me for the truth.”
Michael took off running down the hall, toward the restrooms, leaving Louis standing there, shaking his head. He checked the men’s room—no sign of the boys. He stood outside the ladies’ room for a minute. No one came out. He ran to the gift shop.
There they were, all four of them. Michael nearly ran into the mother as she walked out of the shop.
“You again!” she screamed. “I warned you, mister. Now you’re followin’ us, aren’t ya? I been watchin’ you. You’re a trucker—I hate truckers. Dirty truckers, always drinkin’, poppin’ pills, and cheatin’ on their wives with hookers. You’re gonna be sorry for messin’ with me and my children!”
Michael stood, frozen, terrified by her look. He felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Louis, right behind him.
“Mr. Mike, you don’t look so good. Kinda look like you seen a ghost. That family’s here, ain’t they? I’m tellin’ you, you gotta let it go.
Nothin’ good gonna come a this.”
Michael let out a deep breath. “You’re right, you’re absolutely right. I need help. Someone has to help me, Louis, help me get rid of this obsession. Maybe I should see a doctor or talk to my minister. But right now, I gotta get outta here and never come back.”
“That’s exactly what you got to do, Mr. Mike. I’ve enjoyed meetin’ you ’n’ all, but I think it be best we never see each other again. You know what I mean? I like you a lot, but it best you never come back to this plaza.”
“I understand what you’re saying. It’s been a real pleasure meeting you, Louis. I wish you the best of luck.”
“You too, Mr. Mike. I be wishin’ good things for you in the future, for you and your family.”
“Goodbye, Louis”
“You be careful, Mr. Mike”
Michael didn’t look back. He headed straight out the door, over the causeway, and jumped in his truck.
Night had fallen. It was dark with a light drizzle of rain. Glaring headlight reflections shined off the wet blacktop as the giant truck pulled onto the turnpike.
Except for the subtle clapping of windshield wipers, the cab was quiet—barely illuminated by a soft, yellow glow from the instrument panel. The truck’s wipers created a soothing rhythm as Michael sat back to relax.
The huge rig, weighed down by a heavy load from Chicago, slowly accelerated as Michael shifted through the gears, gradually reaching a cruising speed of fifty miles an hour. Hoping for some peaceful solitude, he left the radio off.
Unfortunately, Michael’s thoughts soon drifted back to the woman’s tirade and what she’d said about hating truckers for their immoral habits—drinkin’, druggin’, and whorin’ around. Michael wasn’t much of a drinker, but he knew many drivers who were. The woman was right about truckers poppin’ pills to stay awake. He’d done that on rare occasions. Her last comment, about hookers, brought back bad memories. He’d only been unfaithful to Karen one time, years ago when he hired a prostitute in Muncie. Having always regretted it, Michael knew it would never happen again. He loved his wife, even more, after his single, unfaithful act.
Rolling down the turnpike, he thought about his years with Karen. Their twentieth anniversary was coming up next month. The years had flown by much too fast. He loved trucking, but for the first time in his life, he felt a deep yearning to spend more time with his family.
Years ago, even when he was home, he’d often find himself doing things, projects, yard work without his wife or children. He felt bad about it. Karen and the boys deserve more than I’ve given. It’s time for me to be a better husband and father.
A thought came to him; I should ask the company for a shorter route—one closer to home. If they won’t comply, I’ll find another dispatcher, a different outfit, one that can accommodate me.
Excited about the prospect, he thought, I’m nearly forty years old. I need a change, and my family needs a change. Michael Walker had a new sense of contentment.
The front seat of the cab was wide, nearly six-feet across. Michael felt a cold chill run through his body. Reaching for the dash to turn up the heat, he heard a deep, guttural sound, right next to him. He screamed. Mouth agape with terror, body violently twisting away from the passenger side of the cab, he screamed louder, “Oh my, God!”
She was there, glaring at him, wild-eyed, head shaking, greasy hair flying. “I told you. I told you to leave us alone. Now you can join me in hell.” She grabbed the wheel and yanked. The truck shot across the shoulder, ripped through a steel barrier and somersaulted down a steep slope. The cab was crushed flat on impact.
Weeks later, Karen Walker arrived at the Great Lakes Plaza. After burying her husband, she developed a horrible feeling, a sense that something or someone at the plaza had killed him. Michael’s obsession with the whole thing made her want to look for herself. She was heartbroken and frightened about a future without her husband and deeply worried about her children growing up without their father. Karen entered the dining area and looked around. Many travelers and truckers were having lunch. No one she knew, no sign of any woman with three kids. As she turned to leave, she thought something or someone touched her sleeve. She turned back; there was no one there. An odd sensation took her, as if something was passing through her, something warm and wonderful.
Karen instantly felt a profound, deep love for her husband— deeper than ever before. She experienced a new sense of security, a bolstered confidence assured her she and her children were going to be all right.
She left the dining room to look for the janitor. She found Louis mopping the floor near the restrooms. “Excuse me. Are you Louis?”
“Yes, ma’am. How’d you know my name?”
“I’m Karen Walker, Michael’s wife.”
“Oh, Miss Karen, I’m surely glad to meet you. Your husband, Mr. Mike, was a real good man. I was tore up when I heard the news. I’m really sorry for your loss, Miss Karen.”
“Thank you so much, Louis. I was wondering if we could talk.”
“Sure we can. It’d be my pleasure.”
“Louis, can you tell me anything about what was going on here? You know, with the family Michael told me about.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Karen, but there ain’t much more to say than what your husband done told you—told you ’bout his gift ’n’ all.”
“I was worried about him after he started talking crazy, talking about seeing invisible people.”
“I understand how ya musta felt, ma’am. But I believe it’s the truth. Mr. Mike had what I call the gift. I’ve seen a number a people in here like that, people with the gift.”
“Louis, I guess it’s not important if I believe you or not. I just wanted to make sure it didn’t have anything to do with his accident.”
“You’re right, Miss Karen. It ain’t important for you to believe. But I can tell ya, Mr. Mike was straight in the head. He weren’t crazy. That’s what I believe, and I don’t think there was any kinda foul play goin’ on here. I think the accident was nothin’ more than that, an accident. Poor, Mr. Mike, I surely did enjoy talkin’ with ’im.”
“Louis, just in case—just in case you happen to get in touch with Michael somehow, I’d like you to give him a message.”
“That’d be fine. I doubt that will ever happen, but if it do, I’d be happy to tell him whatever you want.”
“Tell him I love him. Tell him the children love him and we all miss him terribly.”
“I’ll do that, Miss Karen.”
“Also, and this is important, Louis, tell him not to worry about us; tell him we’re gonna be all right—I know that now. Before I came in here, I was frightened and worried about a future without Michael. But something happened in the dining room just now, something beautiful. It was love, Louis. It was so wonderful; I felt Michael’s love like never before. Now I know we’ll be fine. Please tell him that if you can.”
Louis, for the first time in many years, was speechless. Overwhelmed by Karen’s words, he felt the love he’d had for his deceased wife—a love he still carried inside, a love for the kind woman he’d shared life with for forty-three years.
His eyes welled with tears as he spoke. “I . . . will, Miss Karen, I promise. I’ll tell Mr. Mike just what you said if I see him. Thank you,
Miss Karen; thank you for comin’ by.”
“Thank you, Louis. It’s been nice meeting you.”
“Goodbye, Miss Karen.”
Karen Walker left the plaza and never returned. Months passed as she and the children recovered from their loss. Life went on. They did fine, just as she knew they would. •
In Toledo, Ohio, a pair of young newlyweds, Brent and Julie Adamson, were moving into their new apartment. Brent Adamson had recently graduated from college and was starting a new career as a financial advisor. He was assigned to a half-day, five-day-a-week morning schedule at his firm’s office in Sandusky, Ohio. Each morning he’d get on the Ohio Turnpike, travel forty miles to Sandusky, spend three hours in the office, and return to Toledo for the afternoon. On his daily drive back, he’d occasionally stop at the Great Lakes Plaza for lunch.
After a month on the job, Brent was eating at the plaza often. On nearly every stop, he saw a woman sitting by herself, eating food from Burger King. A tall, thin man, dressed Western style in a denim jacket, jeans, and cowboy boots, was always sitting a few tables over. Though they were there every day, Brent never saw the man and woman talk.
Brent, his curiosity growing with each visit, finally approached an older, black gentleman, the plaza’s janitor, to ask him if he knew why those people were there so often.
“Excuse me, sir. I have an unusual question to ask.”
“You go right ahead. I get lotsa silly questions at this plaza. I’ve been here for years, ya know. How can I help you?”
“It’s about those people who are here every day. I’ve been in here about ten times this past month, and there’s been a woman and some Western dude here every time.”
Louis looked up at Brent with a broad, toothy smile, and said,
“Oh, Lordy, I been waitin’ for you, mister.”
“You’ve been waiting for me?”
“That’s right.”
“You don’t even know me. What are you talking about?”
“Sir, I might know you better than you think. You say you see a man dress in Western style?”
“That’s right.”
“A tall guy, kinda slender?”
“Yea, that’s him.”
“I’m sorry to hear it. I’m real sorry for Mr. Mike.”
Brent responded with a surprised look. “How’s that? Who’s Mr.
Mike?”
“I’ll tell ya later if that’ll be okay with you.”
“Sure, that’s fine.”
“I been waitin’ for someone with the gift, someone like you.”
“The gift? I don’t get it, what gift?”
“Sir, I’ll explain everythin’ to you later. Right now, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to point these folks out to me.”
“Of course—no problem.” The pair walked to the dining area, where Brent directed Louis to Michael’s table.
“Is the Western fella here?” asked Louis.
“Is he here? He’s sittin’ right in front of you!”
“And the woman with the children. Where’s she?”
“There’s a woman’s sitting over there.” He pointed to an empty table, two rows down. “But I don’t see any kids—just a woman in a black shirt.”
Louis wondered where those kids might be. Probably off gettin’ candy at the shop, he thought. “Listen, mister . . .”
“Adamson, Brent Adamson.”
“Listen, Mr. Brent. This is gonna seem real strange to ya, but you’re gonna have to talk to Mr. Mike for me. Like I said, I’ll explain it all later.”
Brent, thinking the old black man was very odd, reluctantly agreed.
“Please ask him his name.”
“Okay.” Brent did and said, “He says his name is Mike Walker.”
That confirmation hit Louis with a pang of sadness. He’d been hoping it wasn’t Michael. “Could you ask him if he can hear me?”
“He says he can hear you.”
“Is he sittin’ right here at the table?”
“No, he just got up. He’s standin’ right in front of you.”
Louis extended his hands as if to touch his friend—nothing there.
“Mr. Mike, I’m right sorry to find you here.”
Brent conveyed Michael’s response. “He says he’s sorry to be here too, but he’s doing all right.” Brent chuckled when he added, “He also says he’s sick of eating pizza every day!”
Louis smiled and spoke again, feeling foolish as he addressed the void in front of him. “Mr. Mike, is there anything I can do for ya?”
“He wants you to tell him about his wife. He saw her here about a month after his accident. He saw her talking with you.”
“Oh, my, I’m glad you reminded me. Miss Karen and I had a good talk. She’s a real sweet woman, your wife is.”
Brent, seeing Michael’s response, gently took Louis by the arm. “He’s getting a little teary eyed. Maybe you should change the subject.”
“I’m sorry ’bout your sadness, Mr. Mike. But I can tell ya some good things Miss Karen told me.”
Brent turned to Louis. “He wants to know what she said.”
“Miss Karen, she said she and the children love you very much, Mr. Mike. They miss you a whole lot. You gotta know that. And she told me somethin’ she said was important. She wanted you to know they all gonna be all right. She said she was frettin’ ’bout that a lot, at first—bein’ worried ’bout how the family was gonna get on without you. She said a strange thing happened the day she come here to the plaza. She had a real good feelin’—a feelin’ of love and safety. When she left, she knew everythin’ was gonna be just fine.”
Louis saw Brent looking intently at the empty space in front of him. “Louis, he says he feels better now. He said something about staying here until he made sure his family was safe and says he’s ready to leave now. Louis, I don’t get it. Where’s he going?”
“I guess he’s goin’ where he belongs.” Louis turned back to talk to his friend. “I’m mighty glad to hear you gettin’ outta here, Mr. Mike, mighty glad.”
Brent spoke. “He says he’s gonna miss you, Louis. He’s been watching you work every day, and he’s tried to talk to you without any luck.”
Louis turned to face Michael again. “Mr. Mike—Mr. Brent here tells me the woman’s children are gone. You know anything ’bout that?”
“Michael says he hasn’t seen them for weeks. He thinks they paid their dues and got to leave.” Brent looked even more confused. “What’s he talking about, ‘paid their dues’?”
Louis didn’t answer. He looked straight ahead toward the vacant table. “I think you’re right. And I gotta feelin’ you done paid your dues, too, Mr. Mike, you bein’ such a nice fella and all. I bet you been here long enough, Mr. Mike, plenty long enough. But that woman, I ’spect she’s gonna be here for some time.”
Brent paused a moment to listen to Michael’s response. “He’s smiling, Louis. He knows he’ll be leaving soon. He’s been feeling it deep in his bones for days now. He’s glad he got this chance to talk to you before he goes. He wanted to hear what Karen said. He says he’s okay now, thanks to you.”
Louis took a long look at the space before him. “Mr. Mike, when you get there, how ’bout you put in a good word for old Louis. I’m gettin’ up in my years, and I ’spect I won’t be round much longer. If I’m figurin’ right, I got a beautiful woman waitin’ to see me. I’m kinda anxious to go.”
Brent smiled. “Mr. Mike says to consider it done. It will be his pleasure.”
Rolling up the entrance ramp, he spoke aloud to himself. “I’m so weak. I have no will power. I just can’t resist this-this thing.”
After parking, he slowly walked over the causeway, praying as he went. He prayed to God, asking they, the family, not be there, asking this thing, this gift, simply be a bad dream, praying his gift would be gone forever.
Cautiously entering the dining area, he stood still with eyes closed and said one last prayer. He opened his eyes. No one was there, no family there. He yelled out, startling the diners, “They’re gone! Thank you, God!”
Now he could leave and never come back. It was over. He wouldn’t talk to Louis; he wouldn’t talk to anyone. Telling himself, Maybe it was all some crazy dream; maybe it never happened, gave him a content sense of peace.
As he approached the exit doors toward the parking lot, he heard a voice behind him.
“Hey, Mr. Mike.”
Michael stopped, reluctantly turning around. “Hi, Louis.”
“How ya doin’ tonight? Runnin’ late, are ya?”
Michael smiled, giving his friend the good news. “They’re gone, Louis. The family’s gone. I don’t see ’em anymore. My gift is gone.”
Louis, seeing the relief on Michael’s face, thought, I should just let ’im go. Let him leave and forget ’bout it. “That’s wonderful, Mr. Mike. Now you can forget this whole thing. Maybe you ain’t got the gift no more! You just go on home. I bet you lost the gift. Maybe you never had it.”
Michael, detecting the insincerity in the janitor’s voice, said,
“Come on, Louis. Don’t be bullshittin’ me!”
“Oh, Mr. Mike, you shore is hard-headed, ain’t ya?”
“Yeah, I’m real hard-headed. So, don’t hold back on me.”
“Mr. Mike, you never been here this late in the day, has you? Not like tonight.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Well, you don’t see ’em cause they ain’t there.”
“You’re confusing me, Louis. I know they’re not there—that’s what I said.”
“What I’m sayin’ is I hear those folk don’t just sit there, eatin’ all day. They move around the plaza. Right ’bout now they probably be down in the restroom or maybe at the gift shop. Other folk with the gift tell me they wander around the plaza, all day and all night.”
Michael’s face sank with a look of dread. “Oh, God, I didn’t want to hear that, Louis.”
“Mr. Mike, I’m right sorry for tellin’ ya, but you always be pushin’ me for the truth.”
Michael took off running down the hall, toward the restrooms, leaving Louis standing there, shaking his head. He checked the men’s room—no sign of the boys. He stood outside the ladies’ room for a minute. No one came out. He ran to the gift shop.
There they were, all four of them. Michael nearly ran into the mother as she walked out of the shop.
“You again!” she screamed. “I warned you, mister. Now you’re followin’ us, aren’t ya? I been watchin’ you. You’re a trucker—I hate truckers. Dirty truckers, always drinkin’, poppin’ pills, and cheatin’ on their wives with hookers. You’re gonna be sorry for messin’ with me and my children!”
Michael stood, frozen, terrified by her look. He felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Louis, right behind him.
“Mr. Mike, you don’t look so good. Kinda look like you seen a ghost. That family’s here, ain’t they? I’m tellin’ you, you gotta let it go.
Nothin’ good gonna come a this.”
Michael let out a deep breath. “You’re right, you’re absolutely right. I need help. Someone has to help me, Louis, help me get rid of this obsession. Maybe I should see a doctor or talk to my minister. But right now, I gotta get outta here and never come back.”
“That’s exactly what you got to do, Mr. Mike. I’ve enjoyed meetin’ you ’n’ all, but I think it be best we never see each other again. You know what I mean? I like you a lot, but it best you never come back to this plaza.”
“I understand what you’re saying. It’s been a real pleasure meeting you, Louis. I wish you the best of luck.”
“You too, Mr. Mike. I be wishin’ good things for you in the future, for you and your family.”
“Goodbye, Louis”
“You be careful, Mr. Mike”
Michael didn’t look back. He headed straight out the door, over the causeway, and jumped in his truck.
Night had fallen. It was dark with a light drizzle of rain. Glaring headlight reflections shined off the wet blacktop as the giant truck pulled onto the turnpike.
Except for the subtle clapping of windshield wipers, the cab was quiet—barely illuminated by a soft, yellow glow from the instrument panel. The truck’s wipers created a soothing rhythm as Michael sat back to relax.
The huge rig, weighed down by a heavy load from Chicago, slowly accelerated as Michael shifted through the gears, gradually reaching a cruising speed of fifty miles an hour. Hoping for some peaceful solitude, he left the radio off.
Unfortunately, Michael’s thoughts soon drifted back to the woman’s tirade and what she’d said about hating truckers for their immoral habits—drinkin’, druggin’, and whorin’ around. Michael wasn’t much of a drinker, but he knew many drivers who were. The woman was right about truckers poppin’ pills to stay awake. He’d done that on rare occasions. Her last comment, about hookers, brought back bad memories. He’d only been unfaithful to Karen one time, years ago when he hired a prostitute in Muncie. Having always regretted it, Michael knew it would never happen again. He loved his wife, even more, after his single, unfaithful act.
Rolling down the turnpike, he thought about his years with Karen. Their twentieth anniversary was coming up next month. The years had flown by much too fast. He loved trucking, but for the first time in his life, he felt a deep yearning to spend more time with his family.
Years ago, even when he was home, he’d often find himself doing things, projects, yard work without his wife or children. He felt bad about it. Karen and the boys deserve more than I’ve given. It’s time for me to be a better husband and father.
A thought came to him; I should ask the company for a shorter route—one closer to home. If they won’t comply, I’ll find another dispatcher, a different outfit, one that can accommodate me.
Excited about the prospect, he thought, I’m nearly forty years old. I need a change, and my family needs a change. Michael Walker had a new sense of contentment.
The front seat of the cab was wide, nearly six-feet across. Michael felt a cold chill run through his body. Reaching for the dash to turn up the heat, he heard a deep, guttural sound, right next to him. He screamed. Mouth agape with terror, body violently twisting away from the passenger side of the cab, he screamed louder, “Oh my, God!”
She was there, glaring at him, wild-eyed, head shaking, greasy hair flying. “I told you. I told you to leave us alone. Now you can join me in hell.” She grabbed the wheel and yanked. The truck shot across the shoulder, ripped through a steel barrier and somersaulted down a steep slope. The cab was crushed flat on impact.
Weeks later, Karen Walker arrived at the Great Lakes Plaza. After burying her husband, she developed a horrible feeling, a sense that something or someone at the plaza had killed him. Michael’s obsession with the whole thing made her want to look for herself. She was heartbroken and frightened about a future without her husband and deeply worried about her children growing up without their father. Karen entered the dining area and looked around. Many travelers and truckers were having lunch. No one she knew, no sign of any woman with three kids. As she turned to leave, she thought something or someone touched her sleeve. She turned back; there was no one there. An odd sensation took her, as if something was passing through her, something warm and wonderful.
Karen instantly felt a profound, deep love for her husband— deeper than ever before. She experienced a new sense of security, a bolstered confidence assured her she and her children were going to be all right.
She left the dining room to look for the janitor. She found Louis mopping the floor near the restrooms. “Excuse me. Are you Louis?”
“Yes, ma’am. How’d you know my name?”
“I’m Karen Walker, Michael’s wife.”
“Oh, Miss Karen, I’m surely glad to meet you. Your husband, Mr. Mike, was a real good man. I was tore up when I heard the news. I’m really sorry for your loss, Miss Karen.”
“Thank you so much, Louis. I was wondering if we could talk.”
“Sure we can. It’d be my pleasure.”
“Louis, can you tell me anything about what was going on here? You know, with the family Michael told me about.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Karen, but there ain’t much more to say than what your husband done told you—told you ’bout his gift ’n’ all.”
“I was worried about him after he started talking crazy, talking about seeing invisible people.”
“I understand how ya musta felt, ma’am. But I believe it’s the truth. Mr. Mike had what I call the gift. I’ve seen a number a people in here like that, people with the gift.”
“Louis, I guess it’s not important if I believe you or not. I just wanted to make sure it didn’t have anything to do with his accident.”
“You’re right, Miss Karen. It ain’t important for you to believe. But I can tell ya, Mr. Mike was straight in the head. He weren’t crazy. That’s what I believe, and I don’t think there was any kinda foul play goin’ on here. I think the accident was nothin’ more than that, an accident. Poor, Mr. Mike, I surely did enjoy talkin’ with ’im.”
“Louis, just in case—just in case you happen to get in touch with Michael somehow, I’d like you to give him a message.”
“That’d be fine. I doubt that will ever happen, but if it do, I’d be happy to tell him whatever you want.”
“Tell him I love him. Tell him the children love him and we all miss him terribly.”
“I’ll do that, Miss Karen.”
“Also, and this is important, Louis, tell him not to worry about us; tell him we’re gonna be all right—I know that now. Before I came in here, I was frightened and worried about a future without Michael. But something happened in the dining room just now, something beautiful. It was love, Louis. It was so wonderful; I felt Michael’s love like never before. Now I know we’ll be fine. Please tell him that if you can.”
Louis, for the first time in many years, was speechless. Overwhelmed by Karen’s words, he felt the love he’d had for his deceased wife—a love he still carried inside, a love for the kind woman he’d shared life with for forty-three years.
His eyes welled with tears as he spoke. “I . . . will, Miss Karen, I promise. I’ll tell Mr. Mike just what you said if I see him. Thank you,
Miss Karen; thank you for comin’ by.”
“Thank you, Louis. It’s been nice meeting you.”
“Goodbye, Miss Karen.”
Karen Walker left the plaza and never returned. Months passed as she and the children recovered from their loss. Life went on. They did fine, just as she knew they would. •
In Toledo, Ohio, a pair of young newlyweds, Brent and Julie Adamson, were moving into their new apartment. Brent Adamson had recently graduated from college and was starting a new career as a financial advisor. He was assigned to a half-day, five-day-a-week morning schedule at his firm’s office in Sandusky, Ohio. Each morning he’d get on the Ohio Turnpike, travel forty miles to Sandusky, spend three hours in the office, and return to Toledo for the afternoon. On his daily drive back, he’d occasionally stop at the Great Lakes Plaza for lunch.
After a month on the job, Brent was eating at the plaza often. On nearly every stop, he saw a woman sitting by herself, eating food from Burger King. A tall, thin man, dressed Western style in a denim jacket, jeans, and cowboy boots, was always sitting a few tables over. Though they were there every day, Brent never saw the man and woman talk.
Brent, his curiosity growing with each visit, finally approached an older, black gentleman, the plaza’s janitor, to ask him if he knew why those people were there so often.
“Excuse me, sir. I have an unusual question to ask.”
“You go right ahead. I get lotsa silly questions at this plaza. I’ve been here for years, ya know. How can I help you?”
“It’s about those people who are here every day. I’ve been in here about ten times this past month, and there’s been a woman and some Western dude here every time.”
Louis looked up at Brent with a broad, toothy smile, and said,
“Oh, Lordy, I been waitin’ for you, mister.”
“You’ve been waiting for me?”
“That’s right.”
“You don’t even know me. What are you talking about?”
“Sir, I might know you better than you think. You say you see a man dress in Western style?”
“That’s right.”
“A tall guy, kinda slender?”
“Yea, that’s him.”
“I’m sorry to hear it. I’m real sorry for Mr. Mike.”
Brent responded with a surprised look. “How’s that? Who’s Mr.
Mike?”
“I’ll tell ya later if that’ll be okay with you.”
“Sure, that’s fine.”
“I been waitin’ for someone with the gift, someone like you.”
“The gift? I don’t get it, what gift?”
“Sir, I’ll explain everythin’ to you later. Right now, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to point these folks out to me.”
“Of course—no problem.” The pair walked to the dining area, where Brent directed Louis to Michael’s table.
“Is the Western fella here?” asked Louis.
“Is he here? He’s sittin’ right in front of you!”
“And the woman with the children. Where’s she?”
“There’s a woman’s sitting over there.” He pointed to an empty table, two rows down. “But I don’t see any kids—just a woman in a black shirt.”
Louis wondered where those kids might be. Probably off gettin’ candy at the shop, he thought. “Listen, mister . . .”
“Adamson, Brent Adamson.”
“Listen, Mr. Brent. This is gonna seem real strange to ya, but you’re gonna have to talk to Mr. Mike for me. Like I said, I’ll explain it all later.”
Brent, thinking the old black man was very odd, reluctantly agreed.
“Please ask him his name.”
“Okay.” Brent did and said, “He says his name is Mike Walker.”
That confirmation hit Louis with a pang of sadness. He’d been hoping it wasn’t Michael. “Could you ask him if he can hear me?”
“He says he can hear you.”
“Is he sittin’ right here at the table?”
“No, he just got up. He’s standin’ right in front of you.”
Louis extended his hands as if to touch his friend—nothing there.
“Mr. Mike, I’m right sorry to find you here.”
Brent conveyed Michael’s response. “He says he’s sorry to be here too, but he’s doing all right.” Brent chuckled when he added, “He also says he’s sick of eating pizza every day!”
Louis smiled and spoke again, feeling foolish as he addressed the void in front of him. “Mr. Mike, is there anything I can do for ya?”
“He wants you to tell him about his wife. He saw her here about a month after his accident. He saw her talking with you.”
“Oh, my, I’m glad you reminded me. Miss Karen and I had a good talk. She’s a real sweet woman, your wife is.”
Brent, seeing Michael’s response, gently took Louis by the arm. “He’s getting a little teary eyed. Maybe you should change the subject.”
“I’m sorry ’bout your sadness, Mr. Mike. But I can tell ya some good things Miss Karen told me.”
Brent turned to Louis. “He wants to know what she said.”
“Miss Karen, she said she and the children love you very much, Mr. Mike. They miss you a whole lot. You gotta know that. And she told me somethin’ she said was important. She wanted you to know they all gonna be all right. She said she was frettin’ ’bout that a lot, at first—bein’ worried ’bout how the family was gonna get on without you. She said a strange thing happened the day she come here to the plaza. She had a real good feelin’—a feelin’ of love and safety. When she left, she knew everythin’ was gonna be just fine.”
Louis saw Brent looking intently at the empty space in front of him. “Louis, he says he feels better now. He said something about staying here until he made sure his family was safe and says he’s ready to leave now. Louis, I don’t get it. Where’s he going?”
“I guess he’s goin’ where he belongs.” Louis turned back to talk to his friend. “I’m mighty glad to hear you gettin’ outta here, Mr. Mike, mighty glad.”
Brent spoke. “He says he’s gonna miss you, Louis. He’s been watching you work every day, and he’s tried to talk to you without any luck.”
Louis turned to face Michael again. “Mr. Mike—Mr. Brent here tells me the woman’s children are gone. You know anything ’bout that?”
“Michael says he hasn’t seen them for weeks. He thinks they paid their dues and got to leave.” Brent looked even more confused. “What’s he talking about, ‘paid their dues’?”
Louis didn’t answer. He looked straight ahead toward the vacant table. “I think you’re right. And I gotta feelin’ you done paid your dues, too, Mr. Mike, you bein’ such a nice fella and all. I bet you been here long enough, Mr. Mike, plenty long enough. But that woman, I ’spect she’s gonna be here for some time.”
Brent paused a moment to listen to Michael’s response. “He’s smiling, Louis. He knows he’ll be leaving soon. He’s been feeling it deep in his bones for days now. He’s glad he got this chance to talk to you before he goes. He wanted to hear what Karen said. He says he’s okay now, thanks to you.”
Louis took a long look at the space before him. “Mr. Mike, when you get there, how ’bout you put in a good word for old Louis. I’m gettin’ up in my years, and I ’spect I won’t be round much longer. If I’m figurin’ right, I got a beautiful woman waitin’ to see me. I’m kinda anxious to go.”
Brent smiled. “Mr. Mike says to consider it done. It will be his pleasure.”
After parking, he slowly walked over the causeway, praying as he went. He prayed to God, asking they, the family, not be there, asking this thing, this gift, simply be a bad dream, praying his gift would be gone forever.
Cautiously entering the dining area, he stood still with eyes closed and said one last prayer. He opened his eyes. No one was there, no family there. He yelled out, startling the diners, “They’re gone! Thank you, God!”
Now he could leave and never come back. It was over. He wouldn’t talk to Louis; he wouldn’t talk to anyone. Telling himself, Maybe it was all some crazy dream; maybe it never happened, gave him a content sense of peace.
As he approached the exit doors toward the parking lot, he heard a voice behind him.
“Hey, Mr. Mike.”
Michael stopped, reluctantly turning around. “Hi, Louis.”
“How ya doin’ tonight? Runnin’ late, are ya?”
Michael smiled, giving his friend the good news. “They’re gone, Louis. The family’s gone. I don’t see ’em anymore. My gift is gone.”
Louis, seeing the relief on Michael’s face, thought, I should just let ’im go. Let him leave and forget ’bout it. “That’s wonderful, Mr. Mike. Now you can forget this whole thing. Maybe you ain’t got the gift no more! You just go on home. I bet you lost the gift. Maybe you never had it.”
Michael, detecting the insincerity in the janitor’s voice, said,
“Come on, Louis. Don’t be bullshittin’ me!”
“Oh, Mr. Mike, you shore is hard-headed, ain’t ya?”
“Yeah, I’m real hard-headed. So, don’t hold back on me.”
“Mr. Mike, you never been here this late in the day, has you? Not like tonight.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Well, you don’t see ’em cause they ain’t there.”
“You’re confusing me, Louis. I know they’re not there—that’s what I said.”
“What I’m sayin’ is I hear those folk don’t just sit there, eatin’ all day. They move around the plaza. Right ’bout now they probably be down in the restroom or maybe at the gift shop. Other folk with the gift tell me they wander around the plaza, all day and all night.”
Michael’s face sank with a look of dread. “Oh, God, I didn’t want to hear that, Louis.”
“Mr. Mike, I’m right sorry for tellin’ ya, but you always be pushin’ me for the truth.”
Michael took off running down the hall, toward the restrooms, leaving Louis standing there, shaking his head. He checked the men’s room—no sign of the boys. He stood outside the ladies’ room for a minute. No one came out. He ran to the gift shop.
There they were, all four of them. Michael nearly ran into the mother as she walked out of the shop.
“You again!” she screamed. “I warned you, mister. Now you’re followin’ us, aren’t ya? I been watchin’ you. You’re a trucker—I hate truckers. Dirty truckers, always drinkin’, poppin’ pills, and cheatin’ on their wives with hookers. You’re gonna be sorry for messin’ with me and my children!”
Michael stood, frozen, terrified by her look. He felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Louis, right behind him.
“Mr. Mike, you don’t look so good. Kinda look like you seen a ghost. That family’s here, ain’t they? I’m tellin’ you, you gotta let it go.
Nothin’ good gonna come a this.”
Michael let out a deep breath. “You’re right, you’re absolutely right. I need help. Someone has to help me, Louis, help me get rid of this obsession. Maybe I should see a doctor or talk to my minister. But right now, I gotta get outta here and never come back.”
“That’s exactly what you got to do, Mr. Mike. I’ve enjoyed meetin’ you ’n’ all, but I think it be best we never see each other again. You know what I mean? I like you a lot, but it best you never come back to this plaza.”
“I understand what you’re saying. It’s been a real pleasure meeting you, Louis. I wish you the best of luck.”
“You too, Mr. Mike. I be wishin’ good things for you in the future, for you and your family.”
“Goodbye, Louis”
“You be careful, Mr. Mike”
Michael didn’t look back. He headed straight out the door, over the causeway, and jumped in his truck.
Night had fallen. It was dark with a light drizzle of rain. Glaring headlight reflections shined off the wet blacktop as the giant truck pulled onto the turnpike.
Except for the subtle clapping of windshield wipers, the cab was quiet—barely illuminated by a soft, yellow glow from the instrument panel. The truck’s wipers created a soothing rhythm as Michael sat back to relax.
The huge rig, weighed down by a heavy load from Chicago, slowly accelerated as Michael shifted through the gears, gradually reaching a cruising speed of fifty miles an hour. Hoping for some peaceful solitude, he left the radio off.
Unfortunately, Michael’s thoughts soon drifted back to the woman’s tirade and what she’d said about hating truckers for their immoral habits—drinkin’, druggin’, and whorin’ around. Michael wasn’t much of a drinker, but he knew many drivers who were. The woman was right about truckers poppin’ pills to stay awake. He’d done that on rare occasions. Her last comment, about hookers, brought back bad memories. He’d only been unfaithful to Karen one time, years ago when he hired a prostitute in Muncie. Having always regretted it, Michael knew it would never happen again. He loved his wife, even more, after his single, unfaithful act.
Rolling down the turnpike, he thought about his years with Karen. Their twentieth anniversary was coming up next month. The years had flown by much too fast. He loved trucking, but for the first time in his life, he felt a deep yearning to spend more time with his family.
Years ago, even when he was home, he’d often find himself doing things, projects, yard work without his wife or children. He felt bad about it. Karen and the boys deserve more than I’ve given. It’s time for me to be a better husband and father.
A thought came to him; I should ask the company for a shorter route—one closer to home. If they won’t comply, I’ll find another dispatcher, a different outfit, one that can accommodate me.
Excited about the prospect, he thought, I’m nearly forty years old. I need a change, and my family needs a change. Michael Walker had a new sense of contentment.
The front seat of the cab was wide, nearly six-feet across. Michael felt a cold chill run through his body. Reaching for the dash to turn up the heat, he heard a deep, guttural sound, right next to him. He screamed. Mouth agape with terror, body violently twisting away from the passenger side of the cab, he screamed louder, “Oh my, God!”
She was there, glaring at him, wild-eyed, head shaking, greasy hair flying. “I told you. I told you to leave us alone. Now you can join me in hell.” She grabbed the wheel and yanked. The truck shot across the shoulder, ripped through a steel barrier and somersaulted down a steep slope. The cab was crushed flat on impact.
Weeks later, Karen Walker arrived at the Great Lakes Plaza. After burying her husband, she developed a horrible feeling, a sense that something or someone at the plaza had killed him. Michael’s obsession with the whole thing made her want to look for herself. She was heartbroken and frightened about a future without her husband and deeply worried about her children growing up without their father. Karen entered the dining area and looked around. Many travelers and truckers were having lunch. No one she knew, no sign of any woman with three kids. As she turned to leave, she thought something or someone touched her sleeve. She turned back; there was no one there. An odd sensation took her, as if something was passing through her, something warm and wonderful.
Karen instantly felt a profound, deep love for her husband— deeper than ever before. She experienced a new sense of security, a bolstered confidence assured her she and her children were going to be all right.
She left the dining room to look for the janitor. She found Louis mopping the floor near the restrooms. “Excuse me. Are you Louis?”
“Yes, ma’am. How’d you know my name?”
“I’m Karen Walker, Michael’s wife.”
“Oh, Miss Karen, I’m surely glad to meet you. Your husband, Mr. Mike, was a real good man. I was tore up when I heard the news. I’m really sorry for your loss, Miss Karen.”
“Thank you so much, Louis. I was wondering if we could talk.”
“Sure we can. It’d be my pleasure.”
“Louis, can you tell me anything about what was going on here? You know, with the family Michael told me about.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Karen, but there ain’t much more to say than what your husband done told you—told you ’bout his gift ’n’ all.”
“I was worried about him after he started talking crazy, talking about seeing invisible people.”
“I understand how ya musta felt, ma’am. But I believe it’s the truth. Mr. Mike had what I call the gift. I’ve seen a number a people in here like that, people with the gift.”
“Louis, I guess it’s not important if I believe you or not. I just wanted to make sure it didn’t have anything to do with his accident.”
“You’re right, Miss Karen. It ain’t important for you to believe. But I can tell ya, Mr. Mike was straight in the head. He weren’t crazy. That’s what I believe, and I don’t think there was any kinda foul play goin’ on here. I think the accident was nothin’ more than that, an accident. Poor, Mr. Mike, I surely did enjoy talkin’ with ’im.”
“Louis, just in case—just in case you happen to get in touch with Michael somehow, I’d like you to give him a message.”
“That’d be fine. I doubt that will ever happen, but if it do, I’d be happy to tell him whatever you want.”
“Tell him I love him. Tell him the children love him and we all miss him terribly.”
“I’ll do that, Miss Karen.”
“Also, and this is important, Louis, tell him not to worry about us; tell him we’re gonna be all right—I know that now. Before I came in here, I was frightened and worried about a future without Michael. But something happened in the dining room just now, something beautiful. It was love, Louis. It was so wonderful; I felt Michael’s love like never before. Now I know we’ll be fine. Please tell him that if you can.”
Louis, for the first time in many years, was speechless. Overwhelmed by Karen’s words, he felt the love he’d had for his deceased wife—a love he still carried inside, a love for the kind woman he’d shared life with for forty-three years.
His eyes welled with tears as he spoke. “I . . . will, Miss Karen, I promise. I’ll tell Mr. Mike just what you said if I see him. Thank you,
Miss Karen; thank you for comin’ by.”
“Thank you, Louis. It’s been nice meeting you.”
“Goodbye, Miss Karen.”
Karen Walker left the plaza and never returned. Months passed as she and the children recovered from their loss. Life went on. They did fine, just as she knew they would. •
In Toledo, Ohio, a pair of young newlyweds, Brent and Julie Adamson, were moving into their new apartment. Brent Adamson had recently graduated from college and was starting a new career as a financial advisor. He was assigned to a half-day, five-day-a-week morning schedule at his firm’s office in Sandusky, Ohio. Each morning he’d get on the Ohio Turnpike, travel forty miles to Sandusky, spend three hours in the office, and return to Toledo for the afternoon. On his daily drive back, he’d occasionally stop at the Great Lakes Plaza for lunch.
After a month on the job, Brent was eating at the plaza often. On nearly every stop, he saw a woman sitting by herself, eating food from Burger King. A tall, thin man, dressed Western style in a denim jacket, jeans, and cowboy boots, was always sitting a few tables over. Though they were there every day, Brent never saw the man and woman talk.
Brent, his curiosity growing with each visit, finally approached an older, black gentleman, the plaza’s janitor, to ask him if he knew why those people were there so often.
“Excuse me, sir. I have an unusual question to ask.”
“You go right ahead. I get lotsa silly questions at this plaza. I’ve been here for years, ya know. How can I help you?”
“It’s about those people who are here every day. I’ve been in here about ten times this past month, and there’s been a woman and some Western dude here every time.”
Louis looked up at Brent with a broad, toothy smile, and said,
“Oh, Lordy, I been waitin’ for you, mister.”
“You’ve been waiting for me?”
“That’s right.”
“You don’t even know me. What are you talking about?”
“Sir, I might know you better than you think. You say you see a man dress in Western style?”
“That’s right.”
“A tall guy, kinda slender?”
“Yea, that’s him.”
“I’m sorry to hear it. I’m real sorry for Mr. Mike.”
Brent responded with a surprised look. “How’s that? Who’s Mr.
Mike?”
“I’ll tell ya later if that’ll be okay with you.”
“Sure, that’s fine.”
“I been waitin’ for someone with the gift, someone like you.”
“The gift? I don’t get it, what gift?”
“Sir, I’ll explain everythin’ to you later. Right now, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to point these folks out to me.”
“Of course—no problem.” The pair walked to the dining area, where Brent directed Louis to Michael’s table.
“Is the Western fella here?” asked Louis.
“Is he here? He’s sittin’ right in front of you!”
“And the woman with the children. Where’s she?”
“There’s a woman’s sitting over there.” He pointed to an empty table, two rows down. “But I don’t see any kids—just a woman in a black shirt.”
Louis wondered where those kids might be. Probably off gettin’ candy at the shop, he thought. “Listen, mister . . .”
“Adamson, Brent Adamson.”
“Listen, Mr. Brent. This is gonna seem real strange to ya, but you’re gonna have to talk to Mr. Mike for me. Like I said, I’ll explain it all later.”
Brent, thinking the old black man was very odd, reluctantly agreed.
“Please ask him his name.”
“Okay.” Brent did and said, “He says his name is Mike Walker.”
That confirmation hit Louis with a pang of sadness. He’d been hoping it wasn’t Michael. “Could you ask him if he can hear me?”
“He says he can hear you.”
“Is he sittin’ right here at the table?”
“No, he just got up. He’s standin’ right in front of you.”
Louis extended his hands as if to touch his friend—nothing there.
“Mr. Mike, I’m right sorry to find you here.”
Brent conveyed Michael’s response. “He says he’s sorry to be here too, but he’s doing all right.” Brent chuckled when he added, “He also says he’s sick of eating pizza every day!”
Louis smiled and spoke again, feeling foolish as he addressed the void in front of him. “Mr. Mike, is there anything I can do for ya?”
“He wants you to tell him about his wife. He saw her here about a month after his accident. He saw her talking with you.”
“Oh, my, I’m glad you reminded me. Miss Karen and I had a good talk. She’s a real sweet woman, your wife is.”
Brent, seeing Michael’s response, gently took Louis by the arm. “He’s getting a little teary eyed. Maybe you should change the subject.”
“I’m sorry ’bout your sadness, Mr. Mike. But I can tell ya some good things Miss Karen told me.”
Brent turned to Louis. “He wants to know what she said.”
“Miss Karen, she said she and the children love you very much, Mr. Mike. They miss you a whole lot. You gotta know that. And she told me somethin’ she said was important. She wanted you to know they all gonna be all right. She said she was frettin’ ’bout that a lot, at first—bein’ worried ’bout how the family was gonna get on without you. She said a strange thing happened the day she come here to the plaza. She had a real good feelin’—a feelin’ of love and safety. When she left, she knew everythin’ was gonna be just fine.”
Louis saw Brent looking intently at the empty space in front of him. “Louis, he says he feels better now. He said something about staying here until he made sure his family was safe and says he’s ready to leave now. Louis, I don’t get it. Where’s he going?”
“I guess he’s goin’ where he belongs.” Louis turned back to talk to his friend. “I’m mighty glad to hear you gettin’ outta here, Mr. Mike, mighty glad.”
Brent spoke. “He says he’s gonna miss you, Louis. He’s been watching you work every day, and he’s tried to talk to you without any luck.”
Louis turned to face Michael again. “Mr. Mike—Mr. Brent here tells me the woman’s children are gone. You know anything ’bout that?”
“Michael says he hasn’t seen them for weeks. He thinks they paid their dues and got to leave.” Brent looked even more confused. “What’s he talking about, ‘paid their dues’?”
Louis didn’t answer. He looked straight ahead toward the vacant table. “I think you’re right. And I gotta feelin’ you done paid your dues, too, Mr. Mike, you bein’ such a nice fella and all. I bet you been here long enough, Mr. Mike, plenty long enough. But that woman, I ’spect she’s gonna be here for some time.”
Brent paused a moment to listen to Michael’s response. “He’s smiling, Louis. He knows he’ll be leaving soon. He’s been feeling it deep in his bones for days now. He’s glad he got this chance to talk to you before he goes. He wanted to hear what Karen said. He says he’s okay now, thanks to you.”
Louis took a long look at the space before him. “Mr. Mike, when you get there, how ’bout you put in a good word for old Louis. I’m gettin’ up in my years, and I ’spect I won’t be round much longer. If I’m figurin’ right, I got a beautiful woman waitin’ to see me. I’m kinda anxious to go.”
Brent smiled. “Mr. Mike says to consider it done. It will be his pleasure.”
A truck driver experiences a taste of hell, purgatory, and heaven at a turnpike plaza in Ohio.
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