Photography by Thomas Crone
Researching Zombie Road online, it’s impossible to not think that a pre-Halloween weekend would be the perfect time to wander the trail in suburban Wildwood. Stories cite the walk as one of the most-haunted in the Midwest and the web’s appropriately dark photographs add just the right, come-hither visuals. By going in during the Halloween season, the prospects of something interesting happening seemed better. Even if spectral activity wasn’t found, the thought was that others of a supernatural ilk might be skulking around, looking for a bit of weekend action.
Saturday turned out, in some respects, to not be the perfect day for a walk in the woods; at least not these particular woods, at least not when going in the hopes of finding ghosts and their kin. Oh, sure, it was sunny and in the low 60s. A lovely day, by any normal measure. But that doesn’t exactly inspire any kind of dread from the forests of Wildwood.
Let’s start at the beginning: parking at an elementary school and finding the entrance to Rock Hollow Trail, there was hope that some kind of marker would indicate this as “the place” to start a walk down Zombie Road. But Internet reports, as they’re wont to be, suggest different things: for example, that the Al Foster Trail is actually the Zombie Road. And Al Foster Trail’s a full 2.3 miles from the head of the Rock Hollow Trail. This was going to be a day for a real hike, apparently. On-site with Salt Lake City-based hip-hop researcher Munny-B, we decided to plunge ahead, even without all our info. We started walking.
We weren’t alone. About a dozen hikers and cyclists passed us in either direction, along the way, as did a few deer. Eventually, one of the power-walkers looped back to us, having hiked down to the end of the trail; we asked him how far it was to Al Foster’s, still under the impression that that might be Zombie Road.
“Oh, no,” he said. “This is Zombie Road. You’re on it.”
And we’d been on it for the better part of half-hour, not sensing anything surreal, unreal or otherwise chilling. But in about five minutes, our impromptu tour guide broke down all the elements we’d gleaned from online reading, but in a more literal, less-excited way. Though Wildwood’s population explosion’s happened in recent decades, this walker had called the area home throughout life. He and friends would go to the trail to drink and smoke and carouse. Those stories are all definitely true, he said, suggesting that this place was the spot to socialize for west county youths in previous decades. At some point, St. Louis County shut it down for a remodel and instead of the rock-strewn path of yesteryear, there’s now a very nicely appointed walking route, including sturdy bridges and markers.
Otherwise, it’s pretty remote and devoid of human touches. There’s a small-scale railroad track on one stretch and a bridge that you can cross, if you veer off of the path for a couple-hundred yards. At moments, you can see large houses built onto the edges of cliffs above you. And, every so often, a little piece of detritus comes along: a glass sitting on the walkway; a couple of beer bottles lying under a bench; and, in maybe the only allusion to the place being haunted, a balloon blowing around atop another bench, affixed to a white rose and a message to a dead child. That was an odd touch, but not exactly mind-blowing; it was easily enough explained away when the note was read.
After arriving at Al Foster’s Trail, and then going a bit beyond, we weren’t able to find the Meramec, said to be nearby. So we turned back up the winding trail and paused a few times to invoke spirits. Like, literally we were standing there and asking for anything/body/one hearing our voices to check in through whatever form comfortable to them. That really never clicked. Nor did we ever come across modern-day local teens, drinking and smoking and carousing. Those things we’d hope to see, or expect to see, we didn’t see.
As signs throughout the park stated, there’s a $1,000 fine attached to after-dusk visits to Zombie Road. It’s possible that the fee’s so high due to the supernatural activity being that awesome once the sun goes down. Or it’s just a nice source of municipal income.
We had to ask a local. Our fit tour guide mentioned that he’d been on the road hundreds of times, “maybe thousands.” In only a few cases, he said, did feel “like something was behind me, following me.” Munny-B and I perked up at the idea, but then he added the buzzkilling amendment that “I was probably just imagining that.”
We were imagining a few things, too. But sometimes, under a beautiful sky, you’re just taking a natural walk. And that’s all your doing. And you should be happy with that, even though you’re not. Nature’s full of lessons, ain’t it?
