Walk it today and you’ll think it’s just a trail—quiet, leafy, lovingly maintained by neighbors who trim back the brush and keep the path clear. But beneath your feet lies the ghost of a road: Old Glenwood Park Avenue.

Once, it carried cars across Mill Creek, a ribbon of asphalt threading through Erie’s wooded heart. Then it was closed, swallowed by time and rerouted progress. What remains is a trail with secrets layered into its soil.

At certain bends, the past peeks through. You can see the strata of the old road, cracked and weathered, like a fossilized artery. A fragment of the highway’s cable barrier still juts from the earth, a rusted relic that once kept travelers safe—and now looks more like a skeletal rib cage rising from the ground.

And then there’s the art. Spray-painted phantoms, crooked faces, and cryptic symbols bloom along the concrete remnants. Some are playful, some unsettling, all of them ghostly graffiti that seem to wink at passersby. It’s as if the trail itself has invited artists to leave behind messages from another world—half joke, half warning.

It’s lovely here, yes. Birds call, the creek murmurs, and the canopy dapples the light. But linger too long and the atmosphere shifts. The trail hums with memory. Every step feels like trespassing on a forgotten passage, where asphalt, street art, and ghost stories intertwine.

Most walkers don’t notice. They pass through, unaware of the hidden history all around them. But Weird Erie knows: this is no ordinary trail. It’s a road that refuses to vanish, a place where the living and the uncanny leave their marks side by side.