A Ghost Story
Before this story, a quick disclaimer. This story really happened, and this is how I recall it. I will admit that there are parts of it that seem implausible and can, in all likelihood be explained by some error of perception on my part. The event happened at night, and after things began to get weird, my priority was leaving safely, not a thorough investigation.
Even now though, in the broad light of day, with Ciudad del Carmen in our rearview mirror, there are aspects of last night that I can’t fully explain away. I will leave that as an exercise for the reader.
Following is an account of the events of January 6th, 2020, as written in the moments immediately following their occurrence.
We didn’t choose Ciudad del Carmen, it chose us. Our plan had been to get some laundry done in the morning, and in the afternoon roll out for Cárdenas and stay in a trucker hotel on the outskirts. We had already spent a night in Ciudad del Carmen, parked by the boardwalk the night before. It was cute and safe, regularly patrolled by the town police throughout the night. But there was a festival going on and the noise had been a bit bothersome while we were trying to sleep.
But that morning, luck was not on our side. The first laundry we went to was closed. A discussion with a local man seemed to suggest it was closed indefinitely. But he pointed us to a lavanderia down the street and we hauled our dirty clothes over there.
They took our clothes, but already had a backlog, so ours wouldn’t be done until seven that evening. Too late to start driving. It looked like we’d be staying another night in Ciudad del Carmen.
We bounced around the city for the day. Getting tourist forms printed to drive in Mexico City. Writing at a hip patio coffee house. Worrying about the electrical system and trying to find information regarding our alternator. Finally, we found ourselves at Playa del Norte. As the name would suggest, a beach on the north side of the city.
It was eerily deserted. Behind us we could see high-rises, and cars cruising the seaside boulevard. But the beach itself was empty. We spent several hours there, cooking and reading and walking beside the crashing waves. For most of that time we were the only car parked in the whole of the expansive parking lot. A father arrived with two children, teaching them to ride their bikes. Two high school aged girls sat on top of their CR-V taking pictures with the ocean in the background. Every now and then a car would cruise by us on their way to a drive along the beach itself. Other than that, we had the place to ourselves.
At seven, we returned to town and picked up our laundry. After that, we decided to return to Playa del Norte. It would be nice to spend a night without cars passing us constantly. No sound but the crashing surf.
I hadn’t liked the look of the parking lot we had been in that afternoon. It was too remote and deserted. But there was another parking lot a few hundred meters to the East. It was near to a grouping of high-rises and a well lit park. We stopped there and faced our van around so the back windows looked out over the ocean. No need to put up the window covers, we’d get some morning light when we woke the next day.
I cook us a pasta dinner and we’re settling in for the night. Julia sits on the bed reading aloud to me and I crack open the back door to get a cross-breeze flowing.
Just then, outside, we hear a sound like a car door slamming close to us. We try looking around, but with our lights reflecting off the insides of our windows, we can’t see anything. By the time we turn off the lights, whatever made the noise is gone. A strong wind is blowing in off the sea. Maybe something had fallen over, making the noise?
I latch the back door shut and lock it. We go back to reading. After a half a page Julia stops, “What was that?”
“I think it’s just the wind moving our back door around. It’s not fully shut.”
“OK”
Julia is about to start reading again when we both see movement in the rear window. A man’s face is there, pressed against the glass. He’s stooped so that his nose and mouth are out of view and we can only see his expressionless eyes, looking in at us.
I wonder who he is. The guard for the park next door perhaps? Coming to ask what we’re doing parked here. Or a beggar hoping for some pesos? Ciudad del Carmen has more that its share of them. I throw on my shoes and open the side door. The man’s face is still against the glass of the rear window, looking in.
I stick my head out of the side and shout “Hola.”
Julia shouts, “¿Quien?”
There is no answer. I step out of the van and lock the door behind me. I walk around to the back to ask the man what he wants. Why he’s at our window.
When I get there, having taken a total of perhaps five steps, the man is gone.
I circle the van. He’s nowhere. To one side of the van is a soccer field. Clear for twenty meters or more except for the goal posts. On the other side is the beach. Flat sand all the way to the water line. The only vegetation for fifty meters is ground hugging vines. The only structures are sun shelters: thatch roofs, but no walls to hide behind. There’s no lights for this parking lot, but the lots to either side of are brightly lit and illuminate everything with crisp fluorescent beams.
I look up, half expecting to see the man hovering above me. There’s only a few dim stars, twinkling in the mostly cloudy sky.
I return to the van and we decide to go. There is no comforting explanation for what just happened, and this secluded spot by the shore no longer seems a pleasant place to spend the night. Visions of a sunrise over the ocean are crowded out by visions of those eyes, returning to the back window. A face silhouetted on the dark sky.
We crawl over the shoe-rack to get to the front seat, not wanting to leave the van. I start the engine and flick on the headlights. Nothing ahead of us but the open field. The door-ajar light is on. Clearly something wasn’t shut properly, but we ignore it. I shift into drive and creep forward. Don’t want to spin out on the parking lot’s loose sand.
We make it to the boulevard and I turn and drive West for a kilometer or so. Only then do we put on the GPS.
We returned to the board walk and I got out of the van to stand by myself for a moment and collect myself. All around, families ambled through Christmas displays, still up although it’s now well into January.
The twinkling lights and low murmur of voices was comforting. But the cheap speakers playing tinny renditions of classic Christmas songs seemed somehow unsettling. Perhaps they’d been left up too long; were starting to go out of tune. Probably it was just in my head.
I returned to the van and wrote this account while it was still fresh in my mind.
