Notes from Maine - 2025/10/12

Have I told you about Maine’s “Most Haunted Convenience Store?”

It was a rumor I invented about a decade ago. When I’d go in this store, I would casually ask the clerk, “Have you ever heard anything strange late at night here?” Sometimes I would just get a weird look. Often, the person behind the counter would nod and tell me a story. Strange noises are an integral part of working late nights at a convenience store. The rumors of odd events spread among the clerks, and the stories I heard became more and more detailed. I tried to remember who I had and hadn’t talked to so I wouldn’t press the issue too hard and raise suspicion.

Eventually, it was time to elevate the game. When we stopped for ice cream one night, I asked my friend to pose the question while I waited in the car. Over the years, five of us planted the seed just by asking, “Is it true that this place is haunted?”

One of the clerks was there for several years. I must have overplayed my hand because he pointed at me one night and said, “Hey, the ghost guy.” My habits changed and I stopped frequenting that store. It was a fun game though. 

We had a milestone in Lilly’s (the little filly’s) life this week. The farrier was out to trim feet and she had been training for a month. For the first time, she was just like a grown-up horse, waiting patiently as her feet were trimmed and filed. I scratched her the whole time trying to distract her. The farrier was covered in drifts of hair when he finished. 

It felt like a real accomplishment. A bad first experience with the farrier can take years to overcome. Every day leading up to the appointment I would pick up her feet and clean them. I even rasped them a bit so she would understand the sensation. It was a huge relief when the appointment was done and I decided to do something I almost never do on my own—I ordered takeout. 

After placing the order, Albert and I piled into the truck and drove over to the restaurant, arriving much too early. To kill a little time, I went into the convenience store. I didn’t recognize any of the people behind the counter, so I raised a hand to them and went to find a soda while I thought about what I might say to them.

“Is this place haunted?” is a good opener. It doesn’t carry any strange overtones, like, “Do you ever hear weird noises here late at night?” In the first question, I’m just asking about the store. In the second, I’m asking about their experience. It’s a bit more intrusive. My plans were thwarted by a couple of dirtbags who were engaged in some deep dirtbag math over near the cooler.

“You can get one of these hard lemonades or two of those beers. The beers will last longer, but the lemonade hits harder,” the younger one said. The older one studied the different drinks in his hands and had to keep pushing away his long gray beard as it blocked his view. 

I abandoned my questions about ghosts and merged with the dirtbags. Their plot line seemed much more interesting. I’m dirtbag adjacent most days, and after doing horse feet with the farrier I blended right in. 

“What are you getting?” the one with the beard seemed to ask. He didn’t actually say anything. He just pointed at me with raised eyebrows.

I held up my soda. He shook his head and I shrugged. The other guy was counting through his bills, triple-checking that they had enough to cover. As we walked to the counter, the woman working the register lit up with a big smile.

“How are you, darling?” the guy with the money asked.

“Fair to midland,” she said. Maybe she said “middling,” but it sounded like, “midland.”

“My birthday is tomorrow so we’re kicking off the celebration tonight,” the guy with the money said. The older guy nodded vigorously and his long beard bounced. 

As she scanned their drinks I stayed back a half-step, making it clear that I would be paying separately. As she took the bottles from the men, she leveled a serious look at each one and said, “Make good choices.”

When she took my soda, she repeated the instruction. “Make good choices.”

I nodded solemnly and rushed to catch up with the others so I could see what kind of vehicle they were driving. 

They were already gone.

The door closed behind me, and then the electronic bell sounded as another patron stepped around me and went to their car. I had the urge to rush to the corner and see if the dirtbags had disappeared down the path that leads through the woods. 

Now I’m wondering if they were really there at all. 

Maybe it was just me and the young clerk, pointing to me and saying, “Make good choices.”