Incident on All Hallows' Eve

When we were in high school, we would sneak into the cemetery behind St. Rita’s church we would bring snacks and drink beer among the gravestones. However, there was a night that we took care to avoid and that was All Hallows' Eve, the night before All Saints’ Day for Catholics and for pagans and all others, the night called Halloween.

There were six of us on this evening and just to have the satisfaction of dispelling the rumor of ghosts at midnight, we decided to have a midnight picnic on October 31st to put to rest the rumors about ghosts in the cemetery on Halloween night. Tommy and Tammy, the Johnson twins, brought a case of beer. The other two girls, Lorie, my girlfriend, and Annie, Jimmy’s girlfriend, packed a midnight supper for us to enjoy by the light of a full, silvery moon that was to rise during the evening.

We drove our cars into the church parking lot. I shoved open the back gate to the cemetery, which yielded with a low, creaking groan. Our favorite place for a picnic was under a big old oak tree near a small chapel that was used to assemble mourners before going to a gravesite. The girls laid out blankets and food, and Jimmy popped open a beer for each of us.

On our cemetery picnics, it was our tradition for each of the guys to share a ghost story, which we faithfully upheld on this occasion. After storytelling, the girls passed out fried chicken and bowls of coleslaw, potato salad, along with corn chips. Tommy made sure we all had another beer. As we were enjoying our repast, I looked over at Jim and said, “Hey, it’s almost midnight, and not a damn ghost in sight.”

 I took a bite of my chicken leg and just as I was bringing my beer to my lips, Lorie grabbed my arm, knocking the can onto our blanket.

“What the hell, Lor?” I hollered.

She pulled my arm. “C’mon, by the chapel, they’re calling us.”

“What?”

 “They’re calling us.”

“Who?”

She kept pulling me toward the chapel.

As I gave into her prodding, I glanced over at the chapel. Sifting out from two graves just to the right of the chapel were two vaporous figures with an iridescent glow. They swept toward us and took our hands and began dancing with us.  

I heard Jimmy yell, “Hey, what the heck are you guys doing?”

Lorie and I were whirling about with our arms extended. An eerie lyric sounded in our heads, “No matter how cold our tombstones may grow. No matter the sun, driving rain or fallen snow. We’ll rise every hallowed eve and dance on graves in ghostly delight.” The song kept repeating as we whirled about.

And then, in an instant, they were gone. A serene silence enveloped the cemetery. Lorie and I found ourselves sitting between two graves. The graves were well-known because they were of two young people who committed suicide because both sets of parents forbade them to marry.

The others came running up and Annie said, “What were you guys doing?”

Lorie said, “Didn’t you guys see them? He was so handsome.”

“Yeah,” I said, and the girl was pretty with long blonde hair.”

“Didn’t you hear the music?” Lorie asked.

Our four friends glanced back and forth, sharing quirky expressions.  

Annie said, “No, we didn’t hear anything. All we saw were you guys, dancing about by yourselves.”

“No, no,” Lorie protested. “A young man and young woman were dancing with us.”

“Hey, I think it’s time we blow this pop shack. The place is giving me the willies. I think it’s time we vamoose,” Jimmy said.

Last thing I remember from that night was a frosty breeze rattling the autumn leaves of the large oak tree. We packed up, Tommy banged open the back gate, and we headed for our cars. Lorie and I headed home with an amazing story to tell.