by Christine Lorraine Morgan, April 22, 2026

Awhile back, a friend and co-worker told me a story about something that happened one night regarding the underpass at 16th and Ash. It’s always made me wonder if there is some unusual history about this spot.

This story took place in 1996, shortly after the prison was built on Ash Street near Buffalo Road, and shortly before cell phones.

For anonymity’s sake, we’ll call him Joe.

Joe said that as an adolescent, he feared his mother’s wrath and did whatever he could to avoid it.

That’s why when his curfew of 10 o’clock approached one November night, he told his friends he’d see them tomorrow because he had to leave. They all knew he avoided upsetting his mother, so they bid him “good night.”

He said it was a little bit foggy that particular night, and not easy to see far ahead in the darkness. He was walking north on Ash from E. 18th on the east side of the street because there were buildings on that side, and only the desolate prison on the other side.

His pace quickened as he entered the underpass, it was a pretty frightening place to a 13-year-old at any time of the day, and especially so at 9:50 p.m. in the inky darkness, with no cars on the road.

As he tried to reach the other end of the covered area, he felt like his feet had become stuck, almost like they were glued to the ground with thick molasses.

He felt a light touch on his arm, and turned his head to see an apparition that he said “resembled an elderly gentleman with white hair and a short beard.”

With that touch, a blindingly bright light appeared on the other side of the underpass, and he felt drawn to the light. Joe also felt relieved because the closer he got to the light the more dim and normal looking it became. His feet became unstuck and were able to move again, so he scurried home as quickly as he could.

When he opened the front door to his house, his mother was waiting there for him, fuming, her hands on her hips, towering over him.

He couldn’t figure out why she was frantic and yelling at him.

Then he saw the digital clock on the mantel. It said 2:10 a.m.

That’s when he realized that he had disappeared from the face of the earth for four hours, and he knew that trying to explain this to his incensed mother would be an exercise in futility.

“To this day I don’t know what happened,” Joe said. “I never walked through that underpass again, though.” He added that he used to go several blocks out of his way to walk home after that to avoid Ash Street altogether.

View inside the underpass on Ash Street near 16th on 4/21/2026