I offer many psychic services in Omaha (and other cities around the country). But in recent years I’ve been so busy giving readings and delivering lectures that I don’t often find time to go on paranormal investigations despite the fact that I’m very interested in them. Paranormal investigation teams are trying to achieve the same goal as me – to prove there is an afterlife and that we can communicate with the deceased. Ghost hunting teams simply go about it a different way than I do. I personally know many members of Omaha’s ghost hunting group known as PRISM. They’re top notch in my opinion – they’re the very best around. But, this next true story might even leave PRISM stumped for answers. This is a true story my Grandma Myers relayed to me when she was alive. It’s not for the faint of heart . . .

My grandma and grandpa were road warriors. They loved to travel. On any given weekend, you’d find them on a remote stretch of highway, barreling towards destinations unknown. Their blue station wagon was methodically loaded to capacity. Their cooler contained ice cold cans of Pepsi and ham sandwiches. My grandma was a master map-reader, and my grandpa was always the driver. From coast to coast and North Dakota to Texas, they’d gone everywhere together.

One time, in the heart of Kansas, they were lost. The map indicated the two-lane highway should have gotten them from point A to point B in a mere twenty minutes. Yet, it had been over two hours, and they hadn’t arrived at their destination. Taking stock of their surroundings, they were amazed at just how flat the terrain was. Grandma said you could see for miles in every direction. Not an incline, bump, or molehill as far as the eye could see. Equally astonishing was the fact there was nothing around. No farms, no barns, no houses, hay bales, or horses. It was truly desolate.

Running low on gas, and assuming their map was outdated, they were in a real pickle. Mind you, this was a time well before cell phones and GPS. Thankfully, Grandma and Grandpa finally spotted a small farm house off in the distance. Hoping a nice rancher could point them in the right direction, they headed for the house. Pulling into the dirt driveway, they noticed the ramshackle house hadn’t seen maintenance in decades. It looked as if it were from a different era.

Grandma and Grandpa approached the front of the house. The splinter-filled wooden door was wide open, and they could see inside through the screen door. There was a kitchen table, set for dinner. Plates were filled with piping hot food that gave off steam. Yet, the meals hadn’t been touched. Full glasses of milk were distributed around the table, as were forks, knives, and napkins. The water faucet in the sink was running full blast, as if someone had just been doing dishes. The strange thing was… nobody appeared to be home.

With a stern knock on the door, my grandpa barked out a friendly “Hello? Is anybody home?” After waiting there for several minutes and hearing no reply, they nervously opened the door. Inching their way into the home, my grandpa again called out, asking if anyone was there. Not a single soul appeared to be home. The kitchen faucet continued to run, and the food on the table was getting cold.

Perplexed, they stood there for several more minutes before slowly backing out of the strange home. My grandma wondered if the house was somehow frozen in time, or if they’d simply hallucinated the experience. It was the strangest thing, like something out of the Twilight Zone.

They got back on the highway in hopes of finding a gas station or any kind of civilization. Moments later, they spotted a blue pickup truck headed their way in the opposite lane of the highway. Grandma waved to the truck, indicating they needed help. Both vehicles coasted to a stop next to each other on the deserted stretch of road. My grandpa rolled down his window and asked the driver for directions.

From the passenger seat, my grandma caught a glimpse of the man in the pickup truck. His skin was tan and leathery. Years of prolonged sun exposure had created wrinkles and lines that cut through his skin like the Colorado River. He was gruff and to the point. With a raspy voice, he said, “Keep headin’ that way, and you’ll eventually see a town up yonder.”

In the passenger seat of the pickup truck was a teenage boy. The boy wore a baseball cap that was pulled down so far my grandma couldn’t see his eyes. The boy stared directly down at the floor of the truck, and didn’t say a word. He avoided eye contact, as if he didn’t want to be noticed. The two strangers gave my grandma an unsettling feeling. They were clearly not in the mood to entertain lost travelers. With a nod, my grandpa offered a thank you to the other driver. The two vehicles parted ways, and took off in opposite directions of the highway.

Two seconds later, Grandma said “Wait, you forgot to ask them how far away the town is. We don’t have much gas left!” My grandpa immediately whipped the station wagon around, attempting to catch up with the pickup truck. At this moment, they saw something they would never forget. They saw nothing. The rusty, blue pickup truck had disappeared.

Slack-jawed in disbelief, they gazed upon an open stretch of highway with not a vehicle in sight. In the time it took my grandpa to turn his car around, the pickup truck had vanished. The terrain was as flat as an ironing board for miles in every direction. There were no ditches, hills, fences, or anything that the truck could have hid behind. There was no cornfield or tall grass that would have obstructed my grandparents’ view of the truck. It was simply gone.

They eventually found the nearest town, and their vehicle was running on fumes as they rolled into the gas station. My grandpa shook his head in disbelief as he fueled up the car. Grandma sat silently in the station wagon trying to make sense of the day’s events. An abandoned house with a dinner table set for five. Piping hot food ready to eat. Water running in the sink. Yet, not a soul was home. A disappearing pickup truck on a godforsaken Kansas highway? It was too much for my grandma to wrap her head around.

Were the two men in the truck actually ghosts? Were they even real? My grandma said they looked as real as the next person. They were just regular old farm guys. One second they were there, and the next, they were gone. Was the crumbling, decaying farmhouse a figment of my grandparents’ imaginations? Had they slipped through time and space to view a ghost house that hasn’t actually existed for decades? You decide.