Let author A.A. Garrison take you to Pemberton, North Carolina, a little mountain town with a big secret. Make sure you bring a raincoat; it regularly storms there, so I hear. More
Pemberton? Yeah, I been there. Take a right at the light, and you’ll see the sign. There’s not much to it, I’m afraid. Still, they got a right nice hospital, darned if I know why. It rains there, I hear.
Me? I don’t go down there, if I can help it.
You hear things about Pemberton, if you reckon. My cousin, Annie, she popped a flat coming down that valley last year, and, well ... I shouldn’t say no more about that, with her still in the psych ward.
You know they never did find that mayor that went missing? And he ain’t the only one – are all kinds of people who’ve got gone around Pemberton, if you can believe what you hear.
But, it don’t prove nothing, I suppose. You hear these things; but you hear lots of things. And as for Annie, she’s had her one right hard time, with the doctors talking about ‘post-trauma’ stress and delusions. And, well ... you hear lots of things.
I’ll say this, mister. If you’re heading through them parts, keep your windows up and your doors locked. And take a spare tire. Ain’t nobody should go around without a spare.
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