In Harrisonburg, Louisiana, there is a graveyard on a hill. One evening at the basketball game I overheard a conversation of the Pentecostal pastors son to his friend. It went like this:
I took my girlfriend to the cemetery to make out. It was a full moon. Right in the middle of all that we heard footsteps. They were very loud, but they were footsteps for sure. They were getting closer, too. The light was bright as day. There was no one there. I got the "__ out of there and I'm not going back there either. I said to myself "yeah right", especially since he was the local drug head.
About a year later my best friends ex-boyfriend called and I went out with him. I wanted to restore their relationship if I could. Instead of taking me to get a coke like he said he took me to that graveyard. He proceeded to act in a very ungentlemanly manner. A thing he had never done toward me before. I remember as he threw me to the ground to ravish me that there was an angel grave stone nearby. In a panic I realized that I was going to be raped. It was a full moon bright as day.
Suddenly, heavy and loud footsteps began approaching us. As I fought him off, he raised his head to look for the approaching person. No one was there. A person of light skin and bright red cheeks... he turned white with fear when he realized there was no one there. He picked me up (he was twice my size) and threw me into the truck. He didn't say anything to me at all, but he took me safely home. This event scared the jehosifat out of me, but it saved my virtue. I like to think it was one of my ancestors buried there.
By mkl, Copyright 2010
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