The Proctor Valley Hitchhiker/Proctor Valley Monster.

Here comes the most common sort of ghost story to come out of an urban area; take the most isolated, creepy back-country road that is within easy distance of the city and it seems to take on some sort of ghost story, and here in San Diego we've got a two-for-one on old Proctor Valley Rd. in South/South East San Diego county. Look on a map of San Diego, now head south, and near the southern coast near the Mexican/American border you'll find Chula Vista, a really strange city that runs the gamut of run down, ghetto-neighborhoods to lush multi-million dollar developments, and geographically runs the gamut from the coast to huge, undeveloped tracks of land. Its out here in the hinterlands that Proctor Valley Rd. runs. Formerly this area was home to many cattle ranches, but it seems now that much of the land lies vacant and unused, driving through the area I've noticed that many of the homes seem to have a few horses, and maybe a few head of cattle, but any large ranches aren't noticeable from the main road. Proctor Valley Rd. is located at the far eastern end of East H Street, which runs in an east-west direction throughout the length of Chula Vista; its one of those odd San Diego streets that change names for no particular reason once you've gone down them far enough. East H St. turns into Proctor Valley Rd. on the far edge of Eastlake, which is (I think) an “unofficial” community, basically a part of Chula Vista, it comprises acres and acres of recent tract housing developments, which have spread in an odd east to south direction. Once you hit Proctor Valley Rd. the developments start to thin out, though there is obviously a goodly amount of construction going on in the area. Finally after an interminable amount of travel you reach the ominous signs, “End of Paved Road”, and enter onto the notorious section of Proctor Valley Rd.

I've heard, in bits and pieces, the story of the Proctor Valley Monster. The stories themselves have supposedly been around since the early 1900s, with ranchers describing some beast that was killing and carrying away their cattle. The ranchers would scoff at it being a mountain lion being as the cattle had often times been dragged many hundreds of yards, the thinking being that even a full-grown mountain lion cannot possibly drag a dead cow very far . These sort of stories are common enough in any locale (for instance, who's to say that a pair of mountain lions aren't working in concert to carry away their kills?), but eventually local teens heard of the stories and undoubtedly began to add their own embellishments to them. The story goes (and there are some variations in the details, but it is essentially like this) that a pair of teenagers headed out onto Proctor Valley Rd. as either a short-cut or to make out. The boy's car breaks down somehow, and he tells the girl to stay in the car while he gets help. Once on Proctor Valley Rd. (at that time especially) the closest community is the small town of Jamul (some houses are located right up to the unpaved part of the road, and look to be from about the late 60s or early 70s), and from Eastlake/Chula Vista the road runs about six miles until Jamul proper. The boy set out from help, but never came back, come morning the girl got out of the car and finds either a) her dead boyfriend hanging from a tree (if it is this detail then she hears something scratching at the roof of the car and gets out to check, finding the corpse); b) a large pool of blood and guts lying a few yards away from the road; or c) doesn't wait until morning, gets out, and is promptly killed by the monster, at which point the boyfriend returns with help to find his gutted girlfriend lying by the car. If you've read more than one or two folktales in your life you'll recognize what's going on here as variations on the old “escaped killer with hook” story. Other variations that I've heard have necking teens startled by something enormous that jumps on the roof of their car and then runs off into the brush. More intriguing, I've heard persistent rumors that the local sheriff department, while investigating some cattle disappearances found a pair of enormous animal prints, casts of which have been kept on file. My “investigation” (as in not doing anything) hasn't progressed to the point of checking around various sheriff stations and being laughed at when I ask about “monster tracks”.

The Proctor Valley Monster itself is slightly famous, if not as convincing as some other cryptozoological finds (like the infamous pictures of the Florida skunk ape). A more obscure story of the area is the Proctor Valley ghost woman. There is virtually no back story on this at all, only obvious embellishments meant to flesh out a rather vague story. Supposedly, late at night on the lonely dirt path of the Proctor Valley Rd. the ghost of a woman walks at the edge of the road. Some accounts state that she is a hitchhiker looking for a ride. Others that she is simply a wandering ghost, perhaps the victim of a murder or a hit-and-run accident, or even the victim of a car crash on this slightly treacherous road (more on this later). One very interesting account which seems like it could have taken place on or near Proctor Valley Rd. states that a woman with a “very unpleasant” face was seen wandering about on the road late at night (two or three in the morning). The anonymous storyteller was quite startled by this, but decided to go back and see if the woman needed help, when he returned to where he had just had sight of her she had vanished. While the location can't be ascertained from his account, he does say that it took place near Rancho San Diego, or Jamul. Of course, it could just be that whoever this person is he merely saw a drunk walking along the side of the road at two in the morning. None-the-less there are several accounts of people seeing a mysterious woman wandering the side of the road. Now, I'll admit, for some time I've been wanting to go down Proctor Valley Rd., but didn't have the guts to do it. Something about that place gives me the creeps, even in the daytime. I suppose it is simply because it is so isolated and desolate, not to mention a bit wild, it just doesn't seem to be the sort of place that one would want to linger around. At any rate, cut to the night of June 22, 2003. My part-time friends (so called because we don't do too much together) had gathered to go bowling. Beyond me there were (initials used to protect the stupid) T., M., and M.'s boyfriend, G. Of them, G. had been around Proctor Valley Rd. before on a construction crew. Our bowling plans were cut short when the alley closed at 11:30; we tried to think of something else to do when I suggested “let's go down the ghost road” everyone agreed, and we decided on a brilliant plan of action, stop at M.'s place to get some beer and head out to check on the supernatural happenings on Proctor Valley Rd. T. is driving a rental car, a Chevy Malibu to be exact, and has a mug of beer in his lap (good idea). I manage to get us slightly lost, as we take the wrong freeway exit, though finally I get us on the right track. There's a bit of apprehension as East H St. turns into Proctor Valley Rd., it starts to get dark, there aren't any more housing developments around, finally the aforementioned “End of Paved Road” sign. Not much further down the dirt road there is a fork, the right fork heads to a construction sight, near some more housing complexes that are in the early stages of being built. We kept on the left fork, which heads up a slight hill, then down an even slighter hill. At this point (heading down the hill) T. decides it would be a wonderful idea to gun his engine, the car starts to fishtail slightly, he hits the brakes, the car skids and heads straight into an embankment, coming to rest about two inches from a barb wire fence. Think of the road like a snow road in winter, there's dirt piled up on both sides of the road, and the road is on a higher elevation than the surrounding area. So, here we are, on the lonely ghost road, at twelve o'clock at night, stuck on the side of the road. We try to back out, but the car is stuck tight. Not only are the wheels dug nice and deep, but the undercarriage of the car is completely ensconced in the dirt. We try rocks, we try digging, we even consider trying to knock down the the barbed wire fence. Nope, nope, and nope. G. suggests we head over to the construction sight and try to grab some wood. This, at least goes well, and our “luck” continues when a kindly passer-by helps to drag us out of our rut. So, here's my poor friend with a rental car that he didn't bother to take insurance out on (how somebody who, by their own admission, has had “at least” five accidents thinks that he can save a few bucks by not insuring a rental is beyond me) with a big dent and scratches on the passenger side door (I have to say, despite the skidding and whatnot I didn't feel any impact, I suppose that could be a plus for the Chevy Malibu), driver's side trim that is hanging off the car, brakes filled with God knows how much dirt and dust, etc. Of course we decide to complete our drive down the “ghost road”. Since we were listening to Paula Abdul right before the accident we decide that she is cursed, and continue our journey without music and with the windows down, at a very slow rate of speed, since T. is paranoid about crashing again, so if there's anything unusual out there we'll spot it. Unfortunately there wasn't anything out there that night, at two o'clock in the morning at any rate. A lot of spent energy.

I decided the next night, having become acquainted with the road previously to take a look at things myself, so I jumped into my BMW (don't get excited, its a 1988 528e, in other words it doesn't have any power) and took off for the ghost road at around ten o'clock at night. It wasn't nearly as deserted at that time, as several cars came down the road as I started up, and two cars passed by me the opposite direction as I drove down the road. Not only that, but the lights of off-roaders could be seen constantly. I had much better luck driving (I came to the conclusion that T. is simply a terrible driver), the only thing I think I saw was someone standing a few feet off the road, but, unfortunately, he/she/it was wearing a helmet, and was almost certainly an off-roader (if anything, it could have just been a plastic bag in a tree). There really isn't anything out there to speak of, at least at night, lots of 24 pack beer cases, some trash here and there, a burned-out car right off the road, and lots of road signs warning you of sharp curves (of which there are several). I'd be lying though, if I said I wasn't a bit nervous, not only because of the previous night's excitement, but also from the slim possibility of seeing a ghost/monster/etc. When I saw the probable off-roader standing in the dark my heart skipped a beat, which is probably why there are stories surrounding Proctor Valley Rd. and the surrounding area. They're lonely and isolated and a bit spooky. Driving through there late at night the eyes can play tricks on you, maybe somebody did see something, but with all probability it was simply a homeless person walking down the road and heading to their camp in the bushes, or a drunk party-goer who had wandered from the group. Maybe it was a ghost, but I imagine, now that houses are springing up (the city of Chula Vista and San Diego “promise” that the land will be preserved, but as soon as some developer dangles a check for a few million in front of their greedy faces there will be “planned communities” going up before you can say “boo”) the area will become less and less isolated and lonely and more urban. The road itself, besides being the destination of choice for local off-roaders is becoming a good shortcut for people coming to and from the South Bay and heading to the various East County Indian casinos that dot the landscape now. Eventually, I think, the road will be widened and paved, and in ten or fifteen years Proctor Valley Road will be another suburban tract. Who knows, maybe locals come up with these stories to scare away outsiders from moving there, but San Diego, like most cities in this country is getting smaller and smaller all the time.

See Pictures of the Terror!!!