Amy: Lick Road

 

I’m willing to wager all the cash in my purse that there’s not a single native to Cincinnati between the ages of 15-30 that hasn’t heard of or searched for Amy on Lick Road.

If you or someone you know hasn’t, then congratulations. You’ve won a whopping $1.36 in change. Consider this my IOU.

According to the legend, Amy was murdered by her boyfriend on Lick Road. If you drive to the dead end, turn your car off, and flash your lights three times (or honk your horn according to some variations), one of three things will supposedly happen, depending on who you ask. You will hear Amy’s scream from the woods, her ghost will appear from the woods, or your car will fog up and the word “help” will appear on your window.

Most people my age have made at least one visit, if not multiple to the end of that winding road. It’s an unofficial high school tradition for every student in the city. Although the point was to catch a glimpse of Amy, I have a suspicion that everyone is secretly but pleasantly surprised to leave after seeing nothing more than an empty, dark field.

 

There is a rumor that the guard rail has blood on it. All I found was red paint.

While many people claim they have had encounters with Amy, nothing has been documented. Here are a couple of firsthand accounts.

“The last time I went there I was like 17. We were playing “padiddle” in the car and the guys were in their underwear! When we got there, we decided to get out and walk to try to look brave. Before we knew it, three cars pulled up and we ran to the car and they tried to trap us back there! “
~Bethany

“I went there over late summer/early fall of last year and unfortunately, I didn’t hear or see anything unusual.”
~Traci

I personally made well over a dozen trips with my friends in high school and never saw anything. But I pretty sure I single-handedly made believers out of four people with me.

Not long after getting my license, I borrowed my mom’s car over summer vacation to pick up my friends and go see a movie. Only when I told my mom we were seeing a movie, I meant we were going to drive around all night looking to shit to do.

Thank god she never checked the odometer. I racked up over a hundred mile in just one night on a few occasions.

Anyways, we went to the end of Lick Road. I kept my battery on, and as my friends were looking around, I slipped the car into drive. After we had flashed the lights, honked the horn and nothing was happening, it was a unanimous decision to get the hell out of that creepy dead end.

Again, unbenounced to my friends, my car was in drive, not park, therefore it was not going to start. I turned my key and nothing happened. They thought I was messing with them, so whoever was riding shotgun turned my keys and again nothing happened. When they realized the car wouldn’t start they started freaking out, yelling and cursing. Well, during their meltdown I slipped the car back into park, started it up and peeled out of there.

I decided to make another trip out to Lick Road, this time in the light of day. No, I wasn’t scared, I’m just not stupid. After all, how smart would it be for a young girl to drive around a dead end road in the dead of night?

As I pulled up it definitely smelled like a murder scene. But in fact it was merely a dead bird of some sort baking in the sun. As I got out of the car I heard a familiar sound. A couple kids were riding dirt bikes just beyond the “No Trespassing” sign on the right side path.

I walked down the alternative pathway, ignoring the “No Trespassing” sign myself, to the place where Amy’s body was supposedly ditched. It was a bridge built on top of an old train track bridge, probably no more than 30 feet high.

I saw nothing, and had no creepy feelings.

In the end, I think it’s because of people like me that these stories even stick around. As annoying as it is that people literally believe in them, I tricked my friends into thinking something spooky was going on. I could have easily done nothing, and nothing would have happened, and that would be that. But what’s the fun in that?

It’s like using a Ouija board. There’s something intrinsically satisfying about being the punk that moves the pointer with your own hands, all while swearing on your grandmothers grave that you weren’t doing anything.