The Haunting of Old Mill Road (West Virginia)

Narrator Profile:

• Name: Jack Crawford
• Age: 42
• Hometown: A small town near Old Mill Road, West Virginia
• Occupation: Mechanic
• Background: Jack is a lifelong resident of a small West Virginian town, where he works as a mechanic in a family-owned shop. Growing up surrounded by stories of the supernatural, he never fully believed in them until a personal encounter with something that would change his life forever.

Story:

I’ve always been skeptical when it comes to ghost stories, especially the ones told around the campfires of rural West Virginia. Growing up here, you hear a lot about hauntings, spirits, and things that go bump in the night. But I was a practical man, a mechanic by trade, and I didn’t put much stock in such nonsense. That was, until one late summer evening when I experienced something that made me question everything I thought I knew.

It all started a few years ago, when I was still working the late shift at my garage. I had just finished fixing a truck for a farmer up the road, and it was nearing midnight. The stars were out, and the air had that heavy stillness that you often find in rural areas after dark. The shop was a little out of town, along Old Mill Road, a stretch of country road that gets its name from an old, decrepit mill that’s been abandoned for decades. People around here avoid that part of the road after dark, especially since the mill has a dark reputation. They say it’s cursed.

I didn’t believe it. I was tired, and the quiet night gave me the perfect opportunity to take the back roads home and enjoy a moment of peace before heading to bed. I had driven that road a hundred times, but that night was different.

As I turned onto Old Mill Road, I noticed something strange. The air grew colder, unnaturally so, and a fog began to roll in, thicker than anything I’d ever seen. I couldn’t see much in front of me, only the dim outlines of the trees lining the road. It was almost as if the fog had been waiting for me, surrounding my truck and cutting off all sound. There were no crickets, no wind, no sign of life at all. Just the thick, silent fog and the road ahead.

As I drove, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. It was like a heavy weight pressing down on my chest, making it harder to breathe. The headlights barely cut through the fog, and I slowed down, my eyes darting between the road and the shadowy figures of trees.

Then, I saw it. A figure standing just outside the edge of the road. At first, I thought it was just a trick of the light, but as I got closer, I could make out a shape. A person, standing completely still. At first glance, it looked like an old man, hunched over, his face hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat. His clothes were tattered, and he was holding something in his hands, but I couldn’t tell what.

I should’ve kept driving. I knew better. But for some reason, I slowed down even more, my foot heavy on the brake, as I passed the figure. That’s when everything went wrong.

As I passed him, the man turned his head, and I swear to God, his eyes were glowing. Not with a natural light, but an eerie, greenish glow that I could see even in the fog. I slammed my foot down on the gas, my heart racing, but the image of his eyes burned into my mind.

I don’t know how to explain it, but it was like time stopped for a moment. The whole world went silent again, and for a brief second, I couldn’t move. My truck seemed frozen in place, and the air grew impossibly cold. Then, just as quickly as it had come, the moment passed, and I was speeding down the road, my hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel.

I didn’t stop until I reached my house, slamming the door behind me and locking it. My heart was still racing, and my body was shaking from the cold that had seeped into my bones. I tried to shake off the feeling, tried to convince myself it was just my imagination. But I couldn’t. I knew what I had seen.

The next morning, I went back to the road to see if there was any trace of the figure. The fog had cleared, and everything seemed normal, except for the fact that the man had vanished. There was no sign of him, no footprints, no nothing.

I drove past the mill again, but this time, something was different. The mill had always been eerie, but now it felt…wrong. Like something dark lingered there, something waiting for anyone who dared come too close.

Over the next few days, I began hearing stories about the old mill, stories I hadn’t paid attention to before. People talked about the curse of Old Mill Road, about how the mill had been the site of a terrible tragedy decades ago. A family had lived there, and the father had gone mad, murdering his wife and children before disappearing into the fog one night. They say his spirit still haunts the road, and if you’re unlucky enough to cross his path, he’ll drag you into the mist and make you one of his own.

I don’t know if it was the curse, or something more sinister, but I’ve never been able to shake that feeling. I don’t drive Old Mill Road anymore, and I tell anyone who will listen to stay away. Some things, it seems, are better left undisturbed.

And that figure, the man with the glowing eyes? I haven’t seen him again, but every now and then, when the fog rolls in on a cold night, I swear I feel his presence, watching me from just beyond the reach of the headlights.