Thornton, Colorado – Riverdale Road
The most haunted road in the US – The Gates of Hell
Some think the most haunted road is in Florida, I-4 to Tampa. It is not. The most haunted road in America, is right here at home, my home.
All of the ghost stories, the crap you find on YouTube, Ghost Adventures, all of the hokum. That will never tell you the true story of a road I could both drive and walk down blindfolded, for I travel that road more frequently than anyone should.
The stories of the road are aplenty, a man burned down his home within the gates of hell, while his family was asleep, some stories tell you that he killed his family before burning the home, I believe at the old mansion, some say it is the sacred burial ground of Indians.
A woman wanders the road, she is in all white, presumably the wife of the man who torched his home.
Other stories speak of animals that can speak, a jogger, demons who roam the earth.
Riverdale Road is none of the above. If you do not believe me, ask Lorraine Warren. The road has called to her, her entire life. She and her husband collected many pieces that were born of the road.
To say that the road contains the gates of hell would be an understatement.
That road contains the purest form of evil that has ever been seen.
Energy, in and of itself is not evil, nor is it good. Energy is just that, Energy, it does not know good or bad.
What you will find on that road is something that is neither.
When I was a kid, some of us knew something was not right with the road but never said anything or understood it to be haunted, we simply all just felt an evil. It never stopped us from playing on it.
Now if you google it, you will learn that it is haunted. But by what, most do not know.
At the time, as a child, a teen I admit, I never understood the word; haunted, I always thought it as something to be normal.
I grew up near Riverdale Road, and no matter how many travels I have, no matter where I go, I always end up near Riverdale Road.
Henderson, Brighton, Thornton, Northglenn, Derby, it’s all connected, to the Gates of Hell.
A digestive tract if you will.
My Native American Friends, they tell me that the road is a gateway. Not to anything that they know or understand, they fear that road in fact.
My earliest memory of the road was when daddy was driving us from Uncle Don’s and Aunt Mary’s place in Thornton to our home in Brighton. Mommy wasn’t feeling well, so daddy took a shortcut down Riverdale Road. It was dusk, the road grew foggy, I was 6.
I felt a heavy darkness around us, something was with us, I looked out the window and saw chaos, death, hatred, people wandering, so many lifetimes passed around us, so many things reaching for us.
It would not be the last trip that I took on the road.
I should have been afraid but I was not. When that darkness reached to strike fear in us, I reached back.
I reached out to the darkness, the shadows following our car.
I wanted to touch it.
It was my dad’s last drive down that road, for that evening, and I have no idea why, that drive freaked my dad out so much that we never took it again!
All I remember was him looking over at my mom who at the time had her eyes closed, just feeling, he had a horrified look on his face and just like that he shoved it away and turned his eyes back to the task at hand, driving us home.
The fear that I sensed him, my father, that fear always draws me back to that very road that is known worldwide for containing the gates of hell.
The second encounter I had with the road, was when I was I was a teen. Cruel friends, playing a prank left me on it, alone one day.
My bullies left me at the gates of hell. Instead of running from the gate, I walked through it. I still to this day could not tell you what I might have been thinking.
What I encountered I could never put into words. It felt like days that I had become lost on that road, at the gates of hell.
All that I know is that I grew up on that road, traveled through the gates of hell and came back through them alive and well.
If you ever want a guide through them, if you have the courage that is, I am but a call away.
Cristal M Clark