I’ve always been curious about abandoned places. The thought of exploring a forgotten building, filled with dust and decay, is both exhilarating and eerie. That’s why I found myself driving to an abandoned gas station on the outskirts of West New York.
As I approached the station, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread wash over me. The once vibrant sign, now rusted and faded, creaked back and forth in the wind. I stepped inside, my footsteps echoing through the empty building. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched.
I soon discovered that I wasn’t alone. Footsteps approached from the back of the building, the sound growing louder and closer with each passing moment. I spun around, but saw nothing but shadows. I tried to run, but my legs wouldn’t move. That’s when I heard a voice, rough and menacing, whisper in my ear, “You shouldn’t have come here.”
I never saw the antagonist, I can never be sure, but the creature was a spitting image of a rugged, old version of Senator James Johnson, a former Republican senator from Wyoming who was known for his controversial career. To this day, I can still feel his breath on my neck and hear his voice in my head. I never went back to that gas station, and I never will.
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