Spring Break
Cemetery Motel
The Western Courier news editor spends a night in a graveyard...that was the idea, anyway
Andrew Thomason
Issue date: 10/31/07 Section: News
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During that time, my family and I lived in a parsonage that was located no more than 50 yards from the church's cemetery. Being the responsible parents they are, my mom and dad assigned me chores, which included dragging trash bags from the house to the rusted-out burn barrel 15 yards from the cemetery.
On that fateful holiday I had put off my responsibilities in favor of cruising on my red Schwinn. As a result, two hours after the sun had set I was lugging trash bags out back. I made it to the burnt-out drum by the light of a full moon, paranoia running high.
Whether a twig snapped or a shadow moved is still up for debate. Either way, I turned tail and sprinted for the house. Monday night that same fear struck me again and I thought, how did I get in this situation?
It all began a month ago. The Western Courier decided to put out a special Halloween edition focusing on everything paranormal, and I wanted to do an article for it. The adviser suggested a first-person account of a night in a graveyard, and I decided that would be perfect for me.
So, Monday afternoon, I scouted out a location along the edge of the Old Macomb Cemetery - where it looked like no spirits would be - and decided to come back after the sun had disappeared behind the treeline to set up shop.
Around 7 p.m., the sun was replaced by the stars, and I headed to the cemetery. As soon as I arrived, every noise jerked my head in its direction. After searching for my spot and avoiding gravesites so as not to disturb the dead, I found the clearing and unpacked.
I tried to take a few pictures, then all of a sudden I heard footsteps. Probably just some local students, I thought. A few minutes later I heard the same thing, only it seemed louder and closer. I turned around and jumped back in horror when I saw the shadow of some demonic creature with pointed ears and a long snout moving right for me.
Much to my relief, when I looked toward the light source I saw the silhouette of a deer, though my nerves were still flustered. I tried to settle down, remove my camera from its case and take some pictures. Despite this, the level of my anxiety was at its maximum, and I could not seem to rein it in.
Even though I knew in my mind there were cars and other people no more than 20 yards from me, my gut just didn't understand. Instead of facing reality, I lay down, closed my eyes and tried to sleep away the rest of the night.
About an hour later, I awoke in a cold sweat from a vampire nightmare. I sat up and did not see any ghosts. No spirits talked to me, but something deep down inside of me said to get out now. It is hard to describe the panic I felt Monday night, but it was intense. Hastily, I stuffed half of my sleeping bag in my backpack, grabbed the camera and jumped on my bike, never looking back.
I stopped when I could no longer see the graveyard, gathered my breath and repacked everything so the rest of the way home I wouldn't look like a homeless bum. Once in the safety of my own home and still riled from the experience, I could not sleep. Instead I began to write this article and I noticed something: I'm an idiot.
If an experience that happened 13 years ago is crystallized into my memory of frightful events in my life, why would I want to do something very similar? It must have been some sort of machismo that pushed me or perhaps the naiveté in believing I had changed a great deal since then. But I have learned my lesson, and this was the last time I was willing to enter a graveyard at night this close to All Hallows Eve.
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