Acid Park

I grew up in Wilson, NC. I moved there when I was in second grade and went through all the "schools" (elementary, middle, high, hell......even two colleges) while residing there. Those not familiar with it should know, it was a small town. You pretty much knew everyone or had heard some probably false rumor about them, at least. The places to hang out for any teenager consisted of the Winn Dixie parking lot, the Hardees parking lot, a barren spot dubbed "The Hole" out in the middle of f@#king nowhere or the Curb (and that's my solitary shout-out). Sure, you could hang out at various houses, but the above mentioned were the prime spots. Many a night was spent sneaking sips of beer in your car or nonchalantly burning a joint ("What?...........it's a cigarette......") to pass the time.

Every now and then, someone would utter the magic words: "Ya'll wanna go to Acid Park tonight?"

Here is Acid Park in a nutshell (or at least how I heard it; many a Wilsonian will argue their version of it).
Way out towards Elm City, there is a house where a young girl lived. Late one night, while driving drunk, she skidded into the long, winding dirt driveway that led to her house. The momentum of the skid wrapped the car around a tree, killing her instantly. Her father (I never heard about a mother) was so distraught about his daughter's death that he plastered the driveway, house, trees and nearby windmill with bike reflectors so no one would meet a similar fate. At night, when driving down the road, you would crest a hill and there would be a thousand reflectors gleaming back at you. Supposedly, if you were tripping your balls off, it looked kinda cool.
Hence, Acid Park.

I heard stories galore about this place. Supposedly, if you went on a "good" night, the father would be so pissed that he would run out of his house with a shotgun and start shooting at your car. His daughter's vehicle was still wrapped around the tree and you could slowly creep past it and let your imagination run wild. I was definitely curious about all this, but not curious enough to actually offer to drive out there. I mean, c'mon! A shotgun? F@#k that!

The fateful evening came when I was hanging with my friend Ben (BUTTERBEANS!), Jennifer, and Leann. I don't know who uttered the magic words, but before I knew it, we were well on our way to Acid Park. The whole ride there we tried to out-creep each other: Would there be blood on the car? What would the reflectors look like? Would this be a night where Daddy had his gun?
I clearly remember seeing it for the first time. Ben was driving, Leann had shotgun and Jennifer and I were in the back. One minute, we're driving down a dark road in the boonies of Wilson County and we crested the hill and........Hoooooooly S@#t.
Once the car's headlights hit the reflectors, it looked like a mad carnival in the middle of nowhere. The reflectors were everywhere! They spun on the wheel, lined trees, dotted the road. All conversation in the car kinda faltered at that point. We were here whether we liked it or not.
No turning back now.

Ben pulled into the dirt driveway and once the glow of the headlights passed the reflectors, it was immediately dark again. He cut the lights and creeped forward. We looked out of all the windows. I remember sitting in the back left and looking out my window and seeing the girl's car right as Ben said, "Oh s@#t, there's the car!" This was another truth we discovered: there, completely wrapped around a tree, was a rusty, demolished car. Graffiti covered any available space on it by people brave enough to get out of their own car. And that was when Ben killed the car and took out the keys.

"Dude, what the hell are you doing!"
"What?"

We sat there, me too terrified to admit that I was terrified and girls loudly exclaiming how terrified they were. Ben grinned and laughed at us. But all I could think of was looking out my window and possibly seeing a teenage girl standing by the car with dark holes where her eyes once were, beckoning me to come for a closer look. Ben finally started the car back up and we drove on down the long dirt driveway. Now that the scary part was over..........
As the driveway curved around to let you back out on the rode, you drove right past a small house that was plastered with signs: KEEP OUT! NO TRESPASSING! VIOLATORS WILL BE SHOT!
Shot?!
F@#k me, man!
As we (quickly) drove past the house, the porch light cut on. We gunned it out onto the street before we could see anything, but my imagination wants to say I looked back and saw a figure coming out of the house, holding something in his hands.
But that's just my imagination.
I couldn't even tell you what we did after that. That part of my memory has been erased by too much partying and the effects of years passing.

So, that's MY Acid Park experience. Could it have been heightened by my brain filling in gaps? I suppose, but it's how I remember it. I'm sure anyone who grew up in that area has their own Acid Park story, and I'm sure they're a hell of alot more entertaining than mine.

It just goes to show: every small town has it's Urban legend and Acid Park is Wilson's.
The house is still there.
The owner is actually a very cool and nice man.

If you want to go one night and see, I might just go with you.