This happened in Wentzville over a location unnamed on google maps.
I'm a bit of a car enthusiasts, been that way from age 2. My Father would tell me stories of Paul Newman and other top racers at Mid-America Raceway, a race track that would eventually fall to suburban homes.
There were still some bits of the track left, and knowing that there could still be some car debris under the dirt I drove out to the location to figure out the remains of the track. Driving on the country road that felt to the tracks entrance I felt the presence of a second passenger, faint images of cars being delivered on trucks, it was abnormal. I managed to sneak onto one of the bigger turns of the track (now a private service road), I didn't stay for long, I felt unwanted and drove like hell out of there.
Later, I walked around the suburbs to figure out where the track had been; even amongst the construction equipment I could faintly hear the race cars of days past, still roaring away, still trying to finish a race. I've visited the area only a second time and never got my passenger again, but whatever race I could hear was still going on. The only souvenir I found was the warped remains of a brake caliber right at the end of one of the tracks more sharp corners, couldn't tell what kind of car it came from, I just hope the driver survived the accident.
Ever since my visit I've had urges to return to the tracks remains, urges to drive in challenging weather, urges to watch more racing. I don't know if a spirit followed me home or if there's a certain energy that I absorbed in the area.
If there's anything that'll leave a permanent imprint its racing, the gruelling test of man against man for hours at a time, the joy and anger between pit crews and spectators, and the tragedy of accidents.
Afterward I read about a story where a family had passed away on the track when it was open, some drivers would report seeing people on the track at times. The family had passed away from carbon monoxide poisoning entering their tent from their heater.