I had done a lot of reading about the place in Weird N.J. before I had first gone there in October of ’99. The stories were wild, too.
First, let me tell you about the place. On the surface, it’s just an abandoned neighborhood. The houses are in disrepair. There is allegedly Satanic (I use the term allegedly because most bored suburban youth don’t know what the deal is with Satanism) spray painting going on. I’ve seen the graffiti, actually, and it gives me the impression of what kids who listen to way too much Slayer might do if they have free time. There might even be a beer party, or two.
Now, for the stories. Just to set this up, the neighborhood is abandoned. You’d remember that if you’ve taken your Ritalin, and been paying attention. However, there is a strange twist to the whole thing: The families left everything behind. I can neither confirm, nor deny, the fact that I have been lucky enough to get inside of one of the houses, and just looked in awe at how everything was. It was like someone had taken a picture. Clothing, furniture, toys, appliances, and even some mail were all left behind. In one house, the kitchen table was set like a family meal was going to be had. That is what I can neither confirm, nor deny, what I have seen.
From the stories I have heard, there are two that stay with me. The first is that some cult had moved into the area, and the cult leader had invited the neighborhood to his house. While the families were there, the other cult members were hiding upstairs, trapped the family in the house, and killed them. The cult then, strangely, moved away, and the town, West Milford, won’t talk about it. I have tried to do research about this, and found nothing that would give this story credibility. There are too many holes. Why wasn’t this story in any newspapers, or on t.v? A whole neighborhood being killed at once deserves some press coverage, don’t you think? Why haven’t we heard from any of the families’ relatives and friends? One thing that gets me about Weird N.J. stories is that too many of them have this alleged, unspecific “cult” activity surrounding them. If that were the case with Demon’s Alley, the place would have a Jonestown mystique to it, and there would be a hell of a lot more people going there.
The second story has a hell of a lot more credibility. Something happened there involving the paranormal that was so bad, the families left with just the clothing on their backs. The whole area where Demon’s Alley is, that whole stretch of Rt.23 from Stockholm to Wayne, has a weird vibe to it, and it can be felt most during sundown, or at night. I have had numerous other reports confirming this. There is, or at least was, a Satanic grotto in that area. For unenlightened, this grotto is the LaVeyan Satanists. They don’t kill animals, kill kids, drink blood, or any of the other things they are alleged to do. Devil worshippers are the troublemakers, and there is supposed to be a devil worshipping group in this area. If that’s the case, and they are doing their rituals in the woods or where ever, they would be inviting bad things to happen. However, we still have to wonder why no one has talked about this, other than midnight travelers. No one’s family or relatives have come forward to talk about this. Maybe they know something we don’t.
After someone had told me how to get there, my attorney, Jim, and I went to investigate it. We had parked my car at the abandoned go-go bar, next to the gas station, at the bottom of the hill, and we walked up. We spent a good amount of time just roaming the neighborhood, and we found a few things there of note. In one yard, a swing set was quietly rusting away. In another yard, there was a shed that still had a lawnmower, and other garden tools in it. I also can still neither confirm, nor deny, about me going into the house with the table set for a meal, either.
One house had caught my attention. There was an open window, and I was just about to climb into it when Jim, who was standing in the street at the time, called me. I turned in his direction, and that was when a white pick-up truck came up from the bottom of the hill. Demon’s Alley is located in the Newark Watershed, and they have their own security, all of whom drive around in white pick-up trucks.
“Shit. We’re busted.” I muttered as I walked out to the street.
“It’s cool. I’m your legal representative.” Jim responded.
“Great. I’m in for life in Rahway.” I answered.
We stood there in the street laughing about it, as the truck stopped, and a very cranky looking, black mustached guy got out of the truck. His glasses looked like he had them since The Rockford Files were on in prime time.
“What the hell are you guys doing?”
Jim asked if there was a problem, but after sizing the Watershed Nazi, as he soon would be known as, I social engineered him. I told him I was taking an anthropology course at the local college, S.C.C.C., and I was doing a project on urban legends. Jim followed my lead, luckily, and the Nazi bought it. The Nazi was pissed, to say the least. He kept telling us that “There are no ghosts here.” We were also told of the history of the place.
As it turned out the real name of Demon’s Alley is New City Road, and the houses were there for the families if the workers of the Watershed. The place was getting some historical status, and the reason the families left was because the state had bought the land, and sent everyone packing. I wasn’t fully convinced. There seemed to be a vibe he was giving off like he was covering something up. While he was hassling us, a couple in a white Neon had pulled in behind a house. The Nazi told us to stay put, and he jumped into his truck, and blocked the car in. When he came back he told us it was a guy and his girlfriend, and they had stopped there for lunch. Looks like he was going to be eating out. Why can’t I bang some chick in an abandoned neighborhood? All three of us had a good laugh over that one.
The Nazi went on. He told us how he finds drunks and druggies in the houses from time to time. He told us how he found some guy’s body by the dam, after he had “…blew his brains out. He was lying there in the summer sun for a couple of days.” We even got to hear about the maggots in the guy’s brain. At one point, the guy had gotten so worked up, he was actually panting, and he wouldn’t even refer to Weird N.J. by name. He kept calling it “…that damn magazine.”
Finally, he stopped.
“Diner?” I asked Jim.
“Diner.”
It was cool that the Nazi let us go, but that wasn’t the last time I would go there. I’ve been there at midnight on Halloween. I drove by there after one of the houses had burned down. I’ve been there when the West Milford police were busting someone, and it wasn’t me. I’ve been there so much, I should be living there. One time, as I was leaving there, my windshield had fogged up, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t get my windshield clean again until I was a few miles away from the place. This had also happened to someone else I know.
At a much later time, I had gotten wind about something that was going on there. An acquaintance brought up an idea that I hadn’t thought of. He said that the stories might be just some scare tactic to keep out of there while things go on. I checked out that tip I had gotten, and, if this pans out, there is something much more sinister happening, and the evidence warrants more research. More on that later.