Sinclair

About this location

A few stories people tell about this place

1. At dusk one night, a Sinclair gas station attendant noticed something peculiar: every time he filled up a certain truck, its headlights would briefly flicker with an eerie green glow. Curious, the attendant mentioned it to no one but his wife, who suggested it might be some kind of ghostly fuel spirit. Soon enough, word spread among locals that Sinclair’s gas was haunted. One day, a delivery driver asked for ‘the special green stuff,’ and the attendant laughed it off until he saw the driver’s eyes light up like Christmas trees. Since then, Sinclair’s has become known for its friendly ghostly glow—and everyone gets a free cup of coffee if they spot it too.

2. At dawn one morning, a Sinclair gas station attendant noticed an oddity: every time he filled up a trucker's tank, the truck's license plate changed to match the state where it had just arrived. One day, an old delivery driver pulled in with his usual smile and chatty demeanor. The attendant filled up his tank, and when he looked again, the license plate now read ‘IDAHO.’ ‘Hey,’ said the driver, scratching his head, ‘I’m from Texas!’ They both laughed, realizing that somehow, someway, Sinclair’s plates were playing tricks on them.

3. At sunset one day, a little boy approached the Sinclair gas station and pointed excitedly into the distance. ‘Dad,’ he whispered, ‘look! The pump numbers are dancing!’ The father squinted, rubbed his eyes, then laughed heartily. 'Son,' he said, 'those aren't numbers—just reflections from the setting sun on those old pumps!' They both watched in amusement as the 'dancing' digits turned into wavy lines when the light shifted. To this day, locals sometimes claim they still see the magical numbers at Sinclair, especially during twilight hours. But everyone knows it's just an optical illusion—a friendly reminder that sometimes our imagination can make even ordinary things seem extraordinary.

4. At midnight, a delivery driver pulled up to the Sinclair gas station, fumbling for his keys in the dark. Suddenly, he heard a voice whispering from inside the car: 'Fill her up, Joe.' He jumped, spilling gas everywhere, and frantically searched for the voice’s reflection in the car. ‘It’s just me,’ said an amused neighbor filling his own tank. The delivery driver sighed, shaking his head. ‘Always something happening at Sinclair.’