Chapter 1: Just Some Fun

Once, a group of college students out for some Halloween fun decided to visit a cementary for a glimpse of something that might scare them. They left mid-evening, all packed tight into three cars as they drove up the canyon road to an old cementary on the edge of town.

It was Halloween night. A hazy moon with a few clouds cluttering the sky cast long shadows next to the granted stones that dotted the land. A slight breeze tossled the old oak trees, swaying them so gently as if greeting the young adventures as they drove their cars up the hill to the cemetery entrance. It was dark, with a touch of chill in the air — yet silent as each person quietly exited the cars expecting something “really scary” to jump out. But nothing did. It was a hush welcome as each filed so slowly into groups to survey a quiet, but awe stricken place of dates and granite.

Names on the erected stones read like Epstein, Crawford, Dillian, Jamison, and Zboski. There were death dates that were only weeks away; other dates that spoke of a time no one remembers.
“Look here,” yells Mark, breaking the silence that bound the group, “died 1899 when only 14 years old. What a pity! He might be here AMONG US!”

Clay grabs one of the girls who instantly screams. Clay intended to make this venture frightening. It was his idea to come. He wanted a Halloween scare that everyone will remember, which seems so easy to obtain surrounded by death and perhaps ghosts, like perhaps this 14-year old whose life was snuffed out at an early age.

Others in the group were not as playful. Something spoke of reverence, as perhaps they should not be here as they as they walk among the tombs. You can expect some horse play when good friends get together. But not tonight, as each filed slowly along, hands in pockets, eyes wide open, passing by row upon row of stones and granite of names some knew, most names long forgotten.

“Had enough?”, quibs Van Kirk, one of the dashing, young men who held close two young ladies by his side as they passed one tombstone after another.

The group nodded in agreement. This trip was a fun idea, but boring. Nothing like the kegs of beer awaiting them back home.

“Let’s get going!” roars Clay, breaking the silence the spell-bound them to each other. Clay was the leader of the group — it was his Halloween party that brought them here tonight. It was natural for others to assume he made rules on when to stay and when to go.

Clay loosens himself free from the clutches of one girl and dashes like a mad man back across the cemetery grounds to the parking lot.

“First one back wins,” he yells back to the group, paying no heed to roadways that twisted and turned throughout the cemetery. Clay took the shortest route back, straight across the cementary grounds, showing total disrespect for grounds upon which he trespassed.

Others followed quickly. No one wanted to be left behind inside the cemetery. Over the ground they trampled, jumping the not-so-high granites, running in double circles around the tall ones; many of them playing “catch-me” if you can. Clay was the first to reach the cars — why not, he was probably the most athletic of the bunch. But others were not far behind. It was the game Clay made up as he ran wildly across the cemetery, yelling like a mad man, “they’re coming . . . look over there, the DEAD are coming to stop us. Hurry! We need to get out of here. . . FAST! Run! Run! Run!”

Nobody believed a word Clay said, intelligently. But emotionally, no one wanted to be left behind to find out. They each made record timing runs, dashing wildly from a place that did not want them. Who were these dead that were left behind in the ground, trapped, unable to escape the existence they’ve entered. Somehow, as they trambled across the grounds, each of them knew that someday, someday sooner for some, they will be brought to this place (or some other) to join those beneath the ground, confined in the walls of their coffins while children danced and played upon your grave. No! They were not wanted. Something whispered it so silently as they ran wildly across the hallowed ground. The parking lot, so far away at first, came closer with each frantic step. It was a welcome site as they jumped from the higher ground of the cemetary onto the parking lot, bent over by their automobiles to recover from their insane madness.

One, two, three, four, five, and so on came the friends. Gasping for air as they glanced behind at the frantic few who will still running for their lives.

“They’re coming closer,” yelled Clay, acting like a track coach, gesturing each person to run faster and faster. “They’re coming! HURRY!. We need to get out of here.”

“Ah, shut up!, Clay,” came one complaint. Many in the group didn’t appreciate the mad dash that Clay made moments ago. Startled like grazing animals on an African plain, they thought, sensing danger from the mist, was not what they expected or desired when they agreed to make this cemetary trip.
Two other boys in the group suddenly jumped upon Clay to give him a taste of “let’s get scared.” They froliced around the parking lot, lifting and wrestling as each tried to gain the advantage. When suddenly, unexpectantly, someone is the crowd asked a question that no one was prepared to hear,

“. . . has anyone seen Susan?”