About this location
A few stories people tell about this place
1. At night, when no one was around, an old Shell station in New England seemed to come alive. A little boy visiting with his family noticed something odd: every time his father filled up the car, the gas pump would briefly light up like it had a mind of its own. One evening, a delivery driver stopped by and asked if everything was okay—after all, he’d heard strange noises too. Turned out, the pumps were just old and maladjusted, playing tricks on everyone’s imagination. From then on, whenever someone mentioned the haunted station, they’d smile and say, ‘It’s just an old Shell, nothing to see here!’
2. At dawn, when most gas stations were still closed, a delivery driver pulled up to an old Shell station outside of town. The pumps hummed softly as he filled his truck, but something unusual caught his eye—a small, handwritten sign reading ‘Ask for Frank’ appeared on the counter. Finally, the driver approached the counter and asked, ‘Excuse me, who’s Frank?’ A gruff voice replied, ‘Frank? That’d be me!’ An elderly man emerged from behind the counter with a twinkle in his eye. ‘Just wanted to make sure you got my memo,’ he said, handing over a note that read: “Regulars only—ask for Frank.” The driver laughed heartily, realizing it was just another quirky local tradition.
3. At midnight, when even streetlights dimmed, a delivery driver pulled into a deserted Shell station. The pumps hummed softly, but something felt off—until he noticed the neon sign blinking ‘Welcome, Friendly Neighborhood Gas Station.’ As he filled his tank, an old man approached from behind the counter with a warm smile.
‘Need some change for your meter?’
The driver looked down and realized he’d left his wallet in the truck. With a laugh, he said, ‘Guess I’ll be back tomorrow.’
‘No worries, friend,’ replied the kindly stranger. ‘We’re always open late here at Friendly Neighborhood Gas Station.’
4. At dusk, when kids were rushing home from school, a little girl stopped dead in her tracks outside a quiet Shell station. The pump nozzles twirled on their own, spraying tiny streams of gasoline into empty air. Just then, an old delivery driver walked out and casually adjusted his cap. ‘Ah,’ he muttered, ‘the wind must be playing tricks again.’ He flicked off a switch, and the nozzles went still as if nothing had happened. The little girl blinked, shrugged, and ran inside for an ice cream. The end.