I grew up and went to high school in South Jersey at a time long before social media, and the internet was barely even a thing.
Yet somehow, urban legends could still spread from kid to kid and town to town, and one tall tale that it seemed everyone I knew had heard of was the Atco Ghost.
In short, the story we’d heard was that there was a street in Atco, deep in the woods that led to a dead end. If you drove down that dead end, turned your car around to face back the way you came in, and did some combination of actions, then a ghostly figure would appear on the side of the road and drift out into the street in front of your car. Exactly what those actions were depended on the version of the story you had heard.
The story we heard was that the spirit was that of a young boy, who had been killed when he was hit by a car while chasing his ball into the street.
On the night of this particular story, as on most nights, we didn’t see anything.
But, on this particular night, someone brought a Ouija board along on the trip.
There was Satanic-looking graffiti spray-painted all over the street at the dead end, likely inspired more by some Heavy Metal band than by any demonic cult.
But there was a pentagram on the ground, so naturally, we thought this would be the best place to use the witch board.
Pretty soon, we’d “made contact,” or at least someone in our group was pushing the plastic thingy along the Parker Brothers “game board,” whether consciously, subconsciously, or under some spiritual influence.
We started to ask it questions to determine if the spirit we were communicating with was that of the boy with the ball. It was determined this was not him. We were disappointed.
The ghost we were chatting with said his name was Bob. He said he had been an older man, not a boy, he died deep in the woods, not by the roadside, and he died of a heart attack, not from being hit by a car.
Wrong number, I suppose.
I usually tell this story in conjunction with a number of other tales from my youthful exploits hunting the famed Atco Ghost.
I tell it alongside the story of the first time I went, the only time I thought maybe I saw something – maybe. I usually explain that one away with something about how I probably just “really wanted” to see something, or that it was an optical illusion caused by lingering exhaust or a cloud of dust kicked up by the car and reflecting the headlights or overhead streetlight.
I usually tell it along with the story of how years later, I would take my future wife who had grown up in Philly and never heard of the Ghost, to go looking for it along with her friend who also had no knowledge of the ghost boy, and how my now wife and publisher was so frightened she stayed in the car covering her eyes while me and her friend ran down the road trying to scare her.
But one thing’s for certain. I ALWAYS tell that Ouija board story with the caveat that I am a non-believer in such things. That saying I’m skeptical of all things supernatural doesn’t come close to describing just how much I don’t believe in such things.
But I’m always certain to let people know just how skeptical I am, right before I finish that Ouija board story, because the story ends with a set of headlights coming from a dirt trail deep in the woods.
A man in a truck drove out of those woods and pulled up next to us and rolled down his window, “You kids here to see the ghost?”
Yes, we answered, fearing we’d soon be able to help the kid chase his ball.
“Ain’t no kid ever get killed by no car out here,” he said.
Oh no? We asked through nervous laughter.
“I’ve lived here my whole life,” the man in the truck said. “Only person I ever knew who died out here at all was old Bob, who lived in a shack out there in the woods. Died of a heart attack a few years back. Damn shame.”
We were too shocked to let him know Bob says hi.
Happy Halloween Everyone!