The Jonesville gas station has been for sale ever since I can remember. The stories in town is that the old owner, Billy, use to use the gas station to hide drugs in all the boxes in the back so he could sell them later. The other story is that some boy was killed and buried under the gas station parking lot when the cement was redone. No one knows if the stories are true but almost everyone believes one of the stories. The police tried to investigate about the dead boy rumor by digging up some of the cement at the gas station, but the police said they found something that could not be released to the public.  
The gas station is half a mile out of town on the right side of the road. Almost all the glass is smashed from the windows. The gas pumps have golden orange rust coating them. Vines hang off the roof and moss grows on the sides of the old cracking buildings. The parking lot has trash all over it from kids that go there at night, like me and Chris. The for sale sign is so faded you can barely see what it says. The paint is chipped like freckles across the buildings. I remember one time when I went in that gas station and saw something I could never forget.
    Our town is very small and not much happens here besides the annual cinnamon festival. One night me and Chris decided to go to the gas station because we were bored and wanted to smoke some cigarettes. Me and Chris have been best friends since fifth grade when He moved here. People think me and Chris are brothers because we both have dark brown hair, green eyes, are around the same height, and our laugh is almost identical. Me and Chris do everything together since we hate everyone else in town. We went to the gas station around 10 or 10:30 when it was dark enough to sneak out of the house without anyone seeing, like we have done time and time before. The moon cast our shadows long and tall against the damp grass, making them look like aliens. We could hear the wolves crying in the distance as we walked through the cold grass to the gas station. 
    “I really hope that dead boy isn’t there” Chris joked. He believed in the story of the boy.
    “ Yeah yeah” I laughed, “It’s just a story and people in town lie about s*** all the time.”
    When we finally got there Chris climbed in through the window and I went through the door. Chris always has to do things that aren’t always necessary but he thinks it’s fun so I don’t say anything. The old gas station smelled like mold and the air tasted like iron inside. We found a spot on the floor between two shelves where the roof didn’t leak.  I took an old blanket to sit on so me and Chris wouldn’t have to sit on whatever was on the floor. As I watched Chris light up a cigarette I thought I saw something behind him, but I brushed it off as nothing because it was probably a rat thinking we were going to leave some food around. I light the second cigarette and watch as the little flame lights up orange. As Chris lit the third one that’s when I saw it, in the faint light of the lighter flame.
My eyes were telling me that what I was seeing was real, but I didn’t want to believe it. In the faint light of the lighter flame I saw a little boy’s face. I jump backwards and look again but the face is gone.
“You ok?” Chris asked.
“Um not really since I saw a little boy’s face next to yours” I thought, but i didn’t tell Chris this.
“Chris I think we should go” I stand up.
“Dude why?”
“Because we should go it’s getting late”
“We’ve been here for like 10 minutes”
“I’m going” I scoff. I start fast walking towards the door. I can hear Chris slowly get up and shake off the towel we were sitting on. I slam the door open and walk out into the old cracked up parking lot. I hear Chris running up behind me.
“That’s cool, just leave me behind” Chris snapped.
“Whatever” I whisper. As we walk back to my house I don’t know if I really saw what I think I saw.
“You thought you saw a boy’s face because of what Chris said before we entered the gas station” I tell myself trying to put to past the incident past me. The walk back is quiet, as Chris is mad at me for making him leave the gas station so soon. You could still hear the wolves howling at the moon in the distance, the moon still cast our shadows long and tall across the grass. Chris tried to light another cigarette while we were walking, but the wind blew out the flame every time he tried to light it.        
  When we get back to my house we sneak in through the window in my basement.  Chris crashes on the couch when we get upstairs but I could not stop thinking about what happened. The image replays in my mind for what seems likes hours. I need to know if what I say was actually there or just my imagination. I did not sleep at all and when the sun came up I was glad.
After I woke up a little bit I decided to go to the library and see if  I could find anything about this dead boy story. I put on my leather jacket that I always wear, and headed toward the library. My house is only a fifteen minute walk to the library so I decided to just walk. As I walk in there are some people from my school and they looked surprised to see me in the library and honestly I am too. I go upstairs to where the computer and old newspapers are to see if I can find how this story started. I looked up everything I could think of that might relate to the story of the dead boy at the gas station. I found nothing, even after hours of searching on the web and in old newspapers. I did find articles about other people that said they had saw the boy at the gas station but the last one was dated twelve years ago.
As I walk back to my house I have this feeling of relief that other people saw what I saw even if it was awhile ago. I also feel kinda dumb for believing that I actually saw something when I have no proof. For days I couldn't sleep, I was just thinking about what I saw. What if there really was a dead boy and the police found him but didn't want the townsfolk to know.
Years have gone by now and I still think about the gas station. I think about me and Chris sharing stories on the old floor of that gas station that smelled like mold. I also think about what I saw the last time I went there with Chris. I never really stopped thinking about the dead boy that I saw or didn't see, I still don't know if it was real. Now live in another town for college. When I go visit my parents the gas station is still for sale, the vines still hang off the roof, and the gas pumps still have a golden coat of rust. I've come to terms that I will never truly know what o saw that night, or if a boy was ever killed at that gas station. Sometimes I think I'm better off not knowing what really happened.