The Midwestern Gothic Stories of Eric Cyr

A driver on I-71 who takes the exit toward Ashland, Ohio, my home now for nearly three years, will be greeted with an oversized welcome sign, boldly proclaiming: “World Headquarters of Nice People.” Shortly after pulling off on this exit, a driver is also likely to find himself sharing the road into town with a horse and buggy—or several. Amish farms encircle the town as if embracing it in a gentle hug, their premises easily recognizable by the laundry billowing outside in the yard and chickens and children roaming freely. Hitching posts are available in the local Aldi parking lot. Everyone in town is connected to everyone else by blood or marriage or church membership. As a result, the crime rate is very low. And you plan for extra time when going to the grocery store or the public library because you will run into an acquaintance or several.