It was a moonshine evening, night shadows creeping over the cemetery walls, creeping over the cooling gravestones. It had become our gang's traditional ritual to climb the North wall of St. Augustine cemetery and enjoy an evening of beer and story-tellin' under an old maple tree. There was a rumor of lover-ghosts inhabiting the graveyard. Tawny leaves crackle as we spread our blankets and settle with our girls for an evening of fun.


We gather in a large circle, pop our beers, and talk about movies and the coming Fall Fling. Then I declare, "Story time!"

Jason says, "I'll go first. My story is a warning for you guys who like to park in secluded spots." The guys smirk and the girls giggle. "Hook Man is my offering. Two amorous teens parked on a lonely stretch of road. Bill, the guy, tells Sarah his new spot is very private. He pulls the car to the side of the road and turns off the headlights.

'It's very dark,' Sarah whispers. 'I'm nervous. Maybe we should go to our old place.' "Bill put his arm around Sarah, but she pulls away. 'No! Please let's go. I don't like this place. It's too quiet.'

Bill angrily shoves her away. Puts the car into gear and peels out. Not a word said on the ride. Bill glares at Sarah as he whips into her driveway. Sarah opens the car door and slips out. She cries out a blood-curdling scream.

'What the hell?' Bill runs to the passenger side. Sarah, sobbing, points to a pirate-like hook hanging on the passenger's door handle."'

Gina, my cousin, punches her boyfriend, Johnny and says, "See, we need to park where there are other people."

"Okay, you win. Next time we'll go to the lake for the submarine races."

"If there's a next time," Gina said, pursing her lips and flipping her raven hair.

"Okay." I break the tension and tell my favorite horror story, "The Monkey's Paw." The story is about the White family. The father wishes three times upon a shriveled monkey's paw, which is said to come from India. First, the Whites wish for money, which they receive sadly after their son's fatal accident. Second, they wish for his return. Last, they wish for his disappearance. The group awed, discuss, and conclude that we must be careful what we wish for.

Just as I sip my beer, Lorie grabs my arm. I dropped the can, splashing the beer onto my lap.

"What?"

Lorie arm shaking points toward near the old chapel. I look over at her. Her eyes are frozen, appearing like eight-balls.

"What is it?"

"Look!" she whispers.

Our other friends begin to rise. Two of the girls scream. Above the gravestones, we watch two vaporous figures. The night is alight with iridescent dust.

"Spirits!" Jason gushes. "They're entwined and are dancing over their graves."

An eerie lyric wafts on the wind. "No matter how cold our tombstones may grow. No matter the sun, driving rain or fallen snow. We'll rise every hallowed night and dance on graves in ethereal delight."

A black cloud obscures the moon, and a cold north wind sweeps over us. We hurry, gather our blankets and beer, scramble over the wall, and run for our cars. Not sure it would be a good idea to return next year.