Sunday Scribblings #120~ Ghosts

Sunday Scribblings

When I was in High School, I hung out with some interesting people.  One of my favorites and probably one that I was closest to was 'J'.  J was a fun, hippie chick that wore 'vintage' clothes, listened to the oldies and drove a volvo named Bob.  She lived in the center of our small town, about two streets off of Main St.  Sophomore to Senior year I spent a lot of time at her house.  Sleep overs, after school hanging out and at one time, before prom, a 'work out' session every Tuesday and Thursday.

One night, we and a few other friends decided to go to the old graveyard and hang out, trying to scare each other.  These are the types of graves that are long forgotten.  Leaves covering all the burial plots, all the headstones cracked.  It's at the very end of a road, secluded from every thing, surrounded by trees.  The place ghost stories begin.  At one point, someone started telling scary stores.  Nothing really major, just the 'bump in the night' stories older kids tell to their younger siblings to creep them out before a big sleep over.  We all giggled nervously but enjoyed the thrill of the scare.  After a while, we realized it was getting late and it was time to go home.

Walking to the car, one of our friends screamed and fell to the ground.  We all turned to look but when we saw her face and the expression of horror followed by 'Something grabbed my foot', we ran for the car.  Leaving our poor friend near tears on the ground.  There were about 5 of us, besides the fallen, and you could probably hear our screams clear across town, the guys included.  There was a hip high fence surrounding the graveyard.  A few of us slowed only to climb it.  I vividly remember one of the girls jumping it like she was an Olympic huddler, never slowing.  We get to the car, throw open the driver's side doors, which are closest to the graveyard.  It's a bottleneck as we all try to get in at the same time, nearly crying as we are trying to get away.  'J', the driver, gets in and starts the car.  Without waiting for the rest of us, she pulls off.  One of the guys slides across the roof, landing beside the car, wrenching open the passenger door and jumps in on the move.  This is the stuff of movies.  

Somehow, we all (well, except for the one we left behind in the graveyard) manage to get in the car.  We go about half a block before our fear subsides and we realize 'screaming chick' isn't in the car with us.  We go back to get her and find her standing on the side of the road, furious at us.  The trees in the graveyard were as unkempt as the headstones and some of the roots had pushed up.  Once she calmed down enough to look, she realized her foot was twisted up in some roots, not the skeletal hand of death pulling her to hell.

I know now there was no ghost. No boogie man waiting to grab us, but back then it was the closest thing to a ghost we had come to.  When we retold the story, we'd leave out the roots.  We'd go to other grave yards and supposed haunted spots around time late at night, trying to find a real ghost, trying to get the crap scared out of us.  Nothing marginally as close to as scary as that ever happened to us again.