Throughout my childhood, I lived in central Alabama. However, I have many stories along with my friends.

This is just one of the stories I refused to talk about openly to my friends for many years,

until I finally decided to share this spine-chilling story today on the show.

The day was Saturday, November 8th, 1986.

It was a cold evening in a small town called Stewart, Alabama,

southwest of Talladega, Alabama.

I was 15 and was walking down what at the time was a small dirt road called

White Road with my golden retriever, Jack. The road was significantly more minor back then

than it is today, so you would rarely see any cars. However, there is always this one old

house, with one half of it made from wood and the

other out of bricks.

It's a very interesting looking house.

It was about 30 or so feet away from the road, and it had a carport with what looked

to be a black with a white-stripe, 1962 model Chevrolet Corvette. The house belonged to a lady who passed away in

1971. Now it belonged to her son, who lived up another mile up the road. I remember about a year

or so before this occurred. I asked the man, who was in his 40s, why hasn't anyone gotten the

Corvette? This man was excellent. He has given me old fishing lures and a tackle box before.

But what he told me still gives me chills to this day.

He said,

We would, but that corvette is the same place, Mom, and my aunt died of a heart attack.

I remember making a response something along the lines of, I'm so sorry for your loss,

or something along those lines.

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