🚀 Florida’s Space Coast is a symbol of American ambition. But hidden between the triumphs of Apollo and the silence of scrubland lies Launch Pad 13, a disused concrete relic fenced off from the tour routes at Kennedy Space Center. Officially, it was decommissioned in the early shuttle years. Unofficially, it’s avoided—by maintenance crews, security drones, and even birds.

Employees call it “the pad that looks back.” Cameras frequently glitch when aimed at it. Automated gates misfire. And on hot August nights, some say you can see a figure in a silver pressure suit standing alone at the far end of the flame trench—just for a moment—before vanishing.

The ghost is believed to be Commander Elias “Red” Halvorsen, a test pilot scheduled for a classified orbital launch in the early 1960s. His mission was canceled after a catastrophic test fire on the pad that incinerated three engineers. Halvorsen disappeared from the public eye shortly after, allegedly reassigned—though some insiders whisper he died in the suit that day, body unrecovered, mission scrubbed, name redacted.

Those who’ve gotten too close to Pad 13 report a powerful hum, like engines spooling up beneath the earth. Others have described a sudden pressure change, as if the air were being sucked skyward, and the unmistakable scent of scorched aluminum. A few have sworn they heard Halvorsen’s voice over defunct PA speakers: “Countdown initiated. All systems go.”

Vacation Tip: Don’t wander off during the Kennedy Space Center’s nighttime bus tour. If you see an older astronaut waving you toward a dark path off-route, don’t follow. You might just board a mission that never launched.