Any that know me, understand that I am a complicated individual...my teenage daughter has one word to describe her eclectic mother...."WEIRD".
Okay, okay, so that does seem to be an accurate description at times. One of those times would be when I go on one of my many nighttime excursions to the cemetery.
To prevent this post from being the size of War and Peace, I will refrain from going into the past paranormal experiences that I have had, but let me just say they are many and varied.
That being said, I will start with one of my last trips to a cemetery. It was of course, after dark, on a clear warm night in the summer. My sister, who constantly thinks a ghost may be stalking her around each corner, wanted to visit a new cemetery.
Now, I do have my own set of personal ghost hunting rules, and one of them is to NEVER visit a location at night, before first checking it out in the gloriously bright Oklahoma sunshine. Needless to say, I had driven by this location on occasion, but had never had the strong urge to pull in and peruse the headstones before.
I lost the battle about visiting the local cemetery that I knew the layout of, seeing as how I could see the darn place from my bedroom window all through my childhood and I had walked there as a child/teen/and then wanna-be-ghost chaser (Geez, no wonder I am a warped individual). Instead, we started the long, lonely drive out into BFE.
Driving down the darkened country road toward the cemetery, I had many misgivings. Now, I am a firm believer in listening to that little voice in my head, and it was screaming, "Turn around, SATAN LIVES THERE, there is a group of cannibalistic cult members that prey on idiotic women who traipse around dark cemeteries". Alas, my sister couldn't hear the constant warnings that were being shouted over a bullhorn. Go figure.
Heedless of the impending danger, I bravely turned into the cemetery. The front was lit by an old wooden street lamp. There was a lone flag pole, minus the flag, the rope blowing in the slight breeze. I rolled the window down on my very own Mystery Machine named Betsy (teal green mini-van, but Mystery Machine (MM) sounded so much cooler, and the previous owner still to this day refers to the MM as Betsy....I would call it the BM, however, you'd have to eat Booberry cereal for a week to crap out the color of this van....don't even ask me how I know this, just TRUST ME).
I turned the headlights off, so as not to draw attention from passing cars or the cannibalistic cult members. Driving slowly past the entrance, the dirt road curved to the right and then toward the back. The farther we went, the darker it became. I turned my headlights on as we reached the back of the cemetery. The first thing I noticed were the trees crowding in on the small lane. It seemed there was a rather thick patch of trees and bushes that were threatening to take over the small dirt road that was barely wide enough for a bicycle, much less the BM Machine.
As we were passing by the forest of doom, my headlights reflected off of a quarter sized piece of chrome hidden amongst the trees. Upon further inspection, I saw the battered, rusted out skeleton of a 1970's model dinosaur. Looked like it could have been an old Ford LTD II....one of those HUGE long tank cars that I learned to drive in (my Mom is a VERY short woman, and I think she tried to compensate by driving the freakin biggest car on the road.....so NOT cool, my daughter is sooooo lucky that I cart her around in the BM Machine).
There was a bright blue tarp thrown haphazardly over half of the car, leading me to believe that it was the headquarters for one of two things....SATAN, or the cannibalistic cult....possibly BOTH.
I do remember looking at my sister as the car made the turn that would eventually take us back to the entrance/exit (it was an oval shaped road) and telling her that I didn't think it would be a good place to stop. I calmly explained that I wasn't concerned about meeting any ghosts, just some crazed ax murderer pissed that we had invaded his space.
I think my sister might have been agreeing, I'm not quite certain, because as I was making this comment, I was quickly approaching a VERY large tree on the passenger side of the van. I could just picture this crazed leather-face dude popping out, ax in one hand, chainsaw in the other.
I was so intent on that big tree, that I almost went too far over on the bike trail before I saw the rather large hulking bush on MY side of the car. Thank God I realized it was hanging a bit over into the road, or I might have scraped the BM Machine.
Just as I got right up to that over-grown shrub, the damn thing moved and all I could see were two glowing eyes, reflecting my headlights....
OMG did we both scream like banshees. I think I may have wet myself, but only a bit.
Who would have thought that amongst the final resting place of all those souls, leather-face's private domain, and the Satanic, cannibalistic cult, there dwelt a big ass black BULL.
After almost hyperventilating from laughter (where I again almost wet myself), I informed my sister that we would NOT be getting out, considering the darn bull might not want to share his domain with yet another interloper (that, and I had a barely noticable pee stain on my pants). I have not been back to that cemetery again, nor do I have any desire.