cemetery ghost

The worn path through the woods was covered with newly fallen leaves. The trail was known to many who took the short cut. It was a quick way for you to shave at least a mile off of your walk. Instead of traversing the main road, you could cut through woods behind an old church. The trail was marked and used year-round by bird watchers, nature lovers and hikers alike. Some people claimed that it felt unwelcoming at certain times of day. In the early morning when mist would rise from a small creek between the trail and the church where an old cemetery looked down from a hill or late in the evening when the shadows fell long. I often felt comfortable walking there, but I had heard strange noises and seen unusual sights along the path, especially in the evening. One year in the fall, it was particularly wet because an abundance of rain. It was usually moderately dry this time in October, but weather patterns had shifted. Some people said that it was just a natural cycle, but others believed that it was because someone or something had made the spirits angry. The old cemetery was considered hallowed ground by many, but to others it was just an eyesore. The church was a historical site and was still used by the local community for social gatherings and events such as wedding. The cemetery was kept clean by volunteers but several of the graves were in disrepair. Some of my own relatives were buried there. I went up from there one day and saw the grave of my Great, great Uncle was damaged. The head stone had been vandalized. The writing on the stone was faded and you could barely make it out. I knew from photos that had been taken of the head stone for historical records years earlier who the relative was. He was a lieutenant in the Southern Calvary during the civil war. He had lost his left leg but survived the war and went on to become a successful barber and animal doctor. There had been stories of people seeing shadows and grainy images around the cemetery and on the walking trail. Like I said, I have seen things, but I dismissed them as tricks of light or my overactive imagination.

In this particular year, as we got closer to Halloween, more people than usual began telling stories of seeing unnatural shapes and some people along the trail. Stories of children laughing as if at play down by the small creek but nobody being present. I keep my own thoughts to myself, mainly I didn't want people to call me crazy and because I was involved with a project. I had been working on repairing several of the graves in the cemetery. I was doing it as part of my community involvement project for a local club I belonged to. It was also something I felt compelled to do for some unknown reason. It was like I was magnetically drawn to make amends somehow for the way the graves had been neglected. My grandmother told me that I was being called by my ancestors to pay them homage whatever that meant. I just knew that it seemed like the right thing to do. She told me that you get out of life what you put in it, and that the dead can repay your kindness.

The work took several weeks, but just shy of Halloween I had finished my part. The last thing was getting a new headstone for my Great, Great Uncles Grave. It was pretty simple but with a carving of a man on a horse in a military uniform. It was engraved on his marker from an old photo my grandmother had of him. I had to get help from my dad and cousin to put it in place. On the day we got it done, it was overcast, and a good bit of rain was forecast for the next few days leading up to Halloween. I was glad that we had gotten the work done. There was supposed to be a community party for the younger kids at the church on the Saturday before Halloween as the holiday fell on a Monday that year. I was going to attend, but only because there was going to be a spot by a local civic leader lauding all of the hard work that had been done on the cemetery by myself and the other volunteers. While many were pleased with the work, there were some malcontents that believed that the church should be torn down and the graves should be left to time. They were mostly local kids who had nothing better to do but cause trouble or a few adults that thought the place was a drain on community resources that could be spent in other places. All along, the weather was getting markedly worse. The weather man predicted that Halloween would be an extra bad night given the rain that was forecast. The number of reports of strange happening along the walking trail and at the area around the church had increased as well. My grandmother told me that something was about to happen, but I dismissed it as her being old and superstitious. The day came finally when the festival was to be put on. It was especially chilly that day and the sky was overcast. The fall wind kept whipping leaves into a tizzy of swirling colors around the church. I could feel an uneasiness that particular evening. The festival started around 4 pm and was to go until 7 pm. There were games, prizes, booths with candy and cookies. Older people were telling stories and there was some music and dancing. Everything went on fine, even the local constabulary didn't speak long. They just praised the work that had been done. All the while, I felt as if I was being watched from a distance. The hair on the back of my neck stood up more than once. I didn't pay much heed to it. The festival ended and I helped take down the booths and pack up some of the games. By 9pm it was all gone, and the clouds had cleared out to show a bright yellow moon. Brighter than I had seen in a long time. As I got ready to leave, I looked back to the cemetery, and I stood frozen in disbelief. By my estimation I was at least 75 yards from the edge of the cemetery. There in the pail moonlight, I could have sworn that I was a Silver Grey figure on a horse looking down at me from the middle of the cemetery. I stood transfixed then my dad snapped me out of my stupor. I walked unsteadily to the car, and we were gone.

Sunday passed and not much went on. Then Monday morning at school, I heard a lot of talk. They didn't one person said, yes another responded. I listened until I hear someone telling the story. Apparently, the night of the festival, some of the local malcontents had hidden out in the woods near the walking trail. They had watched quietly as the local community celebrated. Drinking beer and waiting for their opportunity. Just after 12 am in the cold pale light of the moon, they ventured forth on a mission of ill intent. They began painting gravestones with spray paint and knocking over stone vases holding flowers, at least that is how the story went. Then one person said, they suddenly fled the cemetery! Running for their lives it was said. One of the malcontents was nearly run over in the main road by a delivery truck. When confronted by the police for nearly causing an accident, the individual swore up and down that he and the others were chased out of the cemetery by a man on a Pale Grey horse. A man who screamed with a high-pitched voice like death itself. I was so stunned, that I could not believe it. That nervousness that I felt at the festival and the hairs standing up on the back of my neck returned. For the rest of the school day, I couldn't stop thinking about it, I was both anxious and angry. Fearful of what I thought I had seen a few days earlier but angered over the hard work I had done being ruined by a bunch of drunks. I left school and got home; my grandmother was over fixing supper. She asked me how my day was and if anything, interesting had happened. I related the story to her about the vandals, taking care to leave out the part about the man on a horse. She just smiled and said that such things have a way of righting themselves. That night, as I went to sleep, a fierce rainstorm blew in. The night was Pitch Black, and the wind howled something fierce, it sounded like the mournful cries of the dammed. By morning it was passed and there was a fog that morning. I got the word that the start of school would be delayed because of trees being down and flooding. So, I decided to venture to the cemetery to see if any damage had been done beyond what had already been wrought by the malcontents. As I approached the church on my bicycle, I could see the white mist low over the gravestones. I parked my bike by the church and walked up the hill. The overcast skies were a Silver Grey, kind of like a wool uniform of a confederate soldier. I felt a sense of uneasiness all around the cemetery. As I approached my Great, great Uncles grave, I could see the remnants of Red Paint still on the Grave Marker. Though it had been sprayed, it looked as if the rain had washed some of it away. As the mist cleared away a bit, I could see the extent to which the drunkards had damaged the cemetery. Honestly, I felt heart broken, between what they had obviously done and the storm, there was erosion and damage far worse than what we had previously repaired. My heart sank in my chest, I was on the verge of tears when I felt an ice-cold chill seize my whole being. I then heard what I distinctively knew to be hooves of an animal. Too terrified to turn around, I felt something akin to complete terror as I saw a Grey Image passing in front of me. I didn't want to look, but I was all but compelled to. As I lifted my head, a transparent grey figure on a horse stared right through me. Then with a gloved hand, he pointed to his grave. I could only move my eyes, but I saw something sticking out of the dirt beneath his tombstone. Then as if it was a dream, a ray of sunlight pierced the Grey and misty morning, and the figure was gone.

The thing sticking out of the bottom of the tombstone turned out to be an old piece of cloth. I did work up the courage to pull it out but didn't open it until later that evening. With my grandmother, we looked inside the weathered rag. It contained a leather bag that had seen better days. Inside it, we found an old gold pocket watch and 2 20-dollar gold coins. I was stunned, but my grandmother just laughed. She said that it was a practice back then to bury something with the dead. She asked me how I found them, and I told her the whole story. She just listened intently and smiled. She asks me what I was going to do with my newfound fortune. I was perplexed by what she meant, but as it turns out the coins were a rare find worth hundreds of dollars each. The watch while in decent shape was no longer in working condition. I decided that it would best to take a piece of my grandmother's advice and pay homage to the dead, given the way I had come by the watch and coins. The coins were auctioned off and the money was donated to help pay for restoring the cemetery. The local Sheriff gladly accepted the donation and had 7 willing volunteers under order of community service to do the work.

That happened over 20 years ago, and to this day I still get chills thinking about it. Today I have a job working here in the local county government. I always make sure that the local historical sites are preserved. I take my two children out to help cut grass and put flowers on graves periodically. I believe in community service and giving back and well as preserving history. Now and then, when I pass by the old cemetery, I can almost swear that I see a Grey Clad figure on a horse looking at me, as if to say I am watching you and take care.