Shanghaied, iii. Alexis White

I am equally prepared for a hoax or history, on a tour led by a group calling itself “The Cascade Geological Society,” a “non-profit group dedicated to the preservation of Portland’s forgotten past.” We sign a waiver saying we will not sue for twisted ankles or use this experience for personal gain (a violation of which I’m now culpable). The guide walks with a cane he may or may not need, reminds me of my uncle, the one who drank himself to death (the one who no one talks about): the same gin-roughed cheeks and vaudeville sneer.

He has given us several options for the tour: the historical tour, the ethnic heritage tour, and the ghost tour. We want the ghost tour—everyone always wants the ghost tour. The pamphlet tells me this is the “10 th Most Haunted Place in North America.” Primetime tells us ghosts are the emotional fallout from unspeakable events, lingering radiation from a long-ago blast. If this is true, it follows that there are nine other places where worse things have happened than this.

Gabrielle Montesanti