For the common eye, Autohaven Wreckers was nothing more than a scrap heap with old cars.
Maybe, to some, an eyesore as people passed it on their way to work.
But nobody really knew the secret it kept within.
Nobody thought that the police would find hundreds of bodies.
Bits and pieces.Some more rotten than others.Crammed into cars.
Human bones bent in unnatural ways.
The stench that struck the police was unbearable, and the most horrific finding was the owner.
Stuck in the crusher, without a head.
The few employees that could be found held no answers to the deeds that had taken place at the scrap yard.
The place was condemned and as it soiled the town's reputation, people just let it be overgrown.
Maybe with a naive hope for it to be consumed by nature itself.
But as the townsfolk started to see how the lights turned on and off at night,
and even could hear the crusher working, they suspected something more.
But all they did was to speed up as they passed it on their way to their now somewhat safer lives.
This old garage was once not just a place of death and execution.
Automobiles was actually mended here. Amongst oil mixed with blood.
But as investigators found out about the atrocities that took place, it became forgotten.
The Office is where money changed owners and hands were shook.
The heavy duty safe in the floor might have been a dead giveaway to the shady business that took place.
Wads of cash were hidden all over this hellish place.
Stating that money wasn’t an issue, maybe people got executed for enjoyment, rather than wealth.
A run-down log cabin at the edge of the scrap yard and the home of its owner.
Weird carvings and etchings in the wall perhaps say more about the owner’s state of mind and allude to his disappearance.
Reports suggested that prisoners were held in its dark basement before they were taken to the crusher.
The Junkyard is packed with sharp objects.
Walking around the area, aware of the bloodbath that took place here, changes the landscape.
Blood covered metal and bits of flesh. One does not willing walk amongst all this evidence of death.
For decades, Azarov’s Gas Heaven offered the last chance for weary travellers to rest and fuel up before the long,
hard haul through the backcountry wastes.
Wiser travellers learned to turn down that offer.
Cars and trucks were always breaking down around Gas Heaven, the phones never worked, and people had a peculiar habit of going missing.
When the new highway came through, bypassing Gas Heaven entirely, business dried up and the old gas station was abandoned.
Between the disappearances and Azarov’s mob ties,
no one knows quite how many bodies are stashed out there in that forest, or what else is hidden in the ruins of the old rest stop.