The Haunted Quarry

A few years earlier, a group of us had discovered a volkswagon bug with four brand-new tires still intact. After some underwater mechanic work, one lucky diver was able to replace his VW's worn tires with our salvage treasure. Sadly, I had never found any Corvette parts for my collection.

Shivering in the autumn chill, we stripped off our jeans and sweaters, then donned our wetsuits and dive gear. We pearched on a ledge that sat in about a foot of water, then slid into the quarry.

As I descended through the cold stagnant water, an eerie feeling came over me. I loved the quarry, but I always felt queasy sliding into its frigid depths. There was something unnatural about this place and it wasn't the icy water that chilled me to the bone.

When we reached the bottom, we headed for the mine shaft. As we approached its gaping maw, I could see something blocking the entrance. I turned on my light, but the murky green water masked the obstruction. As we got closer, I could make out the chrome bumper and headlights from a newly abandoned car.

It was a white 1963 Corvette coupe. Another chill swept through me. All the cars we'd found before had been late model "normal" cars. This classic Vette didn't fit the pattern -- and it was parked as if the mine shaft were its garage.

I swam around the Vette. It was in good condition, but the license plate was missing. I floated by the driver's side and saw that the keys were still in the ignition. With some effort, I pulled opened the door and slid inside. Other than an old umbrella poking out from under the passenger seat, the Vette was empty. I opened the glove box and extracted a waterlogged registration which I carefully tucked into my goody bag.

My buddy tapped on the windshield to signal that it was time to surface. Reluctantly, I glided out of the Vette and began my ascent.

Once at the surface, I spit out my regulator and asked my friend what he thought of our find. He was as confused as I was. It was the wrong kind of car and its resting place, in the mouth of the mine shaft, was bizarre. It was virtually impossible for a car that had been pushed into the quarry to land so perfectly parked.

I remembered that I'd forgotten to close the coupe's door. My friend smiled and said he was sure we'd be back --soon.

As we drove home, I fiddled with the Corvette's keys, trying to make some sense of our discovery.

When I put away my dive gear, I found the registration. It was soggy, but legible -- it was also three years old. I looked up the owner's name in the phone book. No listing.

That night, I slept restlessly; the vision of the '63 interrupting my dreams.

The next day, still curious about the Vette, I checked the motor vehicle records on it. There was no registration after the one I had pulled from the glove box.

I called a friend who was a volunteer fireman in the town shown on the registration. He recognized the owner's name, but his response only added to my puzzlement. The Vette's owner was also the owner of the quarry. After the quarry closed, the fellow had taken to drink. He'd died in a firey car crash three Octobers ago -- while driving the '63. My friend remembered the incident well and said that the Vette had burned to a crisp.

I sat frozen after hanging up the phone. The '63 at the bottom of the quarry was clearly not the same Vette that had been in the accident --yet the VIN numbers matched and I was holding its registration. Nothing was adding up. I had to get another look at the '63.

Though my friend didn't share my growing curiosity (he's not a Corvette enthusiast), he agreed to dive with me that evening.

We swam through the black murky waters towards the Vette with our dive lights guiding the way. When we got to the coupe, I saw that the driver's door was shut. I tried to open it only to discover that it was also locked. Perhaps some other diver had visited during our absence...

I double checked the VIN number on the '63. There was no mistake; it matched the registration. Strangely, there was no evidence of a fire anywhere on the coupe. My buddy looked at me anxiously. He was ready to call it a night. Realizing that I wouldn't get any more answers at the bottom of the quarry, I turned to leave. We hadn't gone 10 feet when both of our dive lights went out. I couldn't believe it! There was no reason for one light to go out, let alone two. We paused to gain our bearings before attempting to grope our way to the surface. Suddenly, we were bathed in a flood of light from twin beacons. I turned, expecting to see divers emerging from the mine shaft, but the light was coming from the headlights of the '63. A warm feeling came over me as we swam for the surface.

Obviously shaken, my friend was silent during the ride home.

Several weeks went by and in my spare time I continued to dig for information. The owner of the '63 had been a kindly gentleman who was well-liked by everyone. His '63 coupe was well known around town and former employees remembered how it was frequently parked on the far ledge of the quarry. Its owner used to joke that his Vette was "just keeping an eye on things." When the quarry was forced to close, the owner had felt a deep sense of guilt towards his employees who lost their jobs. All who had known him agreed that his quarry and his '63 had been his pride and joy.

At the end of October, I asked my friend to make another dive with me. I had become strangely attached to both the '63 and its owner. I didn't explain my purpose, but I had to see whether there was any chance of pulling the coupe from the quarry.

We dove on the last night of October. The moon was just rising as we reached the quarry. Leaving nothing to chance, we both brought two lights.

I knew this would be the last time for months that I would be able to see what I'd begun to think of as "my" Vette. The depth of the quarry prevented it from freezing in the winter, but my thin blood prevented me from diving in its icy waters.

We dropped into the chilly, dark, water and began our descent. Seconds seemed like hours to me as we drew closer to the mine shaft. When we were within a few feet of it, I knew something was very wrong. The water wasn't especially murky, yet I couldn't see the shiny reflection of the bumper and headlights.

My worst fears were confirmed when we reached the black opening of the shaft -- it was empty. Always chicken when it came to cave diving, I hesitated before linking myself to my buddy with a safety rope and penetrating the shaft. I didn't go in very far. The ground at the opening was pitched slightly, but leveled quickly. There was no chance that the Vette had rolled backwards into the shaft.

We explored the area in front of the mine shaft, but there was no sign of the coupe. Annoyingly, my buddy gave me an "oh well" shrug, then suggested we surface. I climbed out of the quarry waters frustrated and confused. "My" coupe had vanished and I hadn't even hand a chance to say goodbye.

As I changed in the moonlight, I heard a noise. Instinctively, I looked up. On the opposite side of the quarry, I saw familiar headlights. I grabbed my friend's arm and pointed. He insisted that I was imagining things and it was probably just a couple of lovers looking for a place to park. I didn't believe him, but wasn't going to argue since there was no way we could easily get to the ledge. We finished packing our gear and turned toward the path. The distinctive sound of a Corvette horn broke the silent night air. I spun around in time to see the headlights across the way blink three times. I stood frozen and watched while the car across the way backed up and turned. As it wheeled around, the moonlight was reflected off the white coupe's body. I looked for my friend, but he was already headed down the path. I glanced back across the quarry -- but the coupe was gone.

Next spring, I'll dive the quarry again -- and I'm sure I'll find newly abandoned cars on its bottom. The Vette's keys and the registration are carefully tucked away -- just in case I decide to dive the quarry next Halloween eve.

For those of you who found this quaint little story intriguing,
click here to read the rest of the story...
the really scarey part that's TRUE.

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Copyright 1996 Barbara Spear