Scar Creek Airport. Yeah, it's been abandoned for more than a year now. It wasn't anything to do with the decreasing trade the airport was doing, either. The problem was that too many planes were landing.
Scar Creek might have been one of those backwater airfields where you'd get four or five Cessnas taking off and landing on a good day. But as soon as night fell, that was when the show started.
They would come in silently, or with maybe just the slightest hum. Broken, rusted airliners. Twisted, waterlogged aircraft dredged from the bottoms of lakes or left to sink to the bottoms of seas.
The first one was an old DC-3. It only had one wing, and there were gashes all over its fuselage. I was there when it landed, flying elegantly and silently, with seawater dripping from it like rain. It sat on the tarmac like that for what felt like hours before its passengers disembarked. Jesus! The rotted remains, the animated semi-skeletons, climbing down from the plane. They milled around for an hour or so then they staggered back into the wreck and it took off, screaming into the black above us.
The next day we were convinced we'd just imagined it or something. The office was checked out thoroughly for gas leaks. Not a thing, but we kept the windows open that night, just in case.
Just after midnight, and the DC-3 came in, low and slow. And it had brought friends.
They didn't abandon Scar Creek because there weren't enough planes landing there. They abandoned Scar Creek because there was no sense sharing it any more. And trust me, if you've ever lost relatives in an air crash, stay the hell away from Scar Creek. Chances are one day you might see them, having a smoke break by the waterlogged or flame-scorched wreck they died in, before they take off silently from the Airport Of The Lost.