How about a ghost story?
You like spooky ghost stories, right?
Especially when they're true?
Yeah. I thought so...
Kerry Frieben and I enjoyed riding our bikes at night. I can't actually remember what the reason for it was, other than heading the mile from his house to the once-called Stop N Go for candy and pop. I'm assuming that was probably it... I mean it wasn't like we were hooligans or anything. Well, for the most part...
You see, on Milham Road, just off Oakland right outside of both of our neighborhoods was the Stop N Go party store, and directly across the street was a cemetery and a church. Both the hallowed grounds still stand, but the Stop N Go has gone through several changes to become what it is today: a Circle K. And let me tell you, strange things were afoot at the would-be Circle K that night... if I may paraphrase Bill and Ted.
For some reason Kerry got the idea to go into the cemetery. Fortunately for me, the back of the grave yard butted up to a dead end street that literally ran right into my street, so rather than leave from his house on this fateful night, we'd leave from mine. As far as my parents were concerned, I was going to Kerry's house. So we gathered our wits about us (or should I say I gathered them, because as far as I was concerned, Kerry was just about the bravest guy I knew), and pedaled to a destination neither of us had ever been.
As we arrived through the back entrance -which really was nothing more than where the gate ended, since there really was no need to block the back side from harm, apparently- we left our bikes at the edge of the woods (a small strip of wooded land separated the church grounds from where the dead-end met the foliage) and walked the rest of the way. By this point it was pushing ten, and in mid-summer that meant that the sun was just snatching away the remainder of the day's light. But we hesitated. Before we went in it was decided that it would be best if it were dark. So we hung back and discussed not only our strategy, but what exactly we were doing there in the first place. As it turned out, Kerry had a plan.
For some odd reason, Kerry wanted to push over a tomb stone. I didn't ask (I didn't really want to know) and as an easily persuaded kid, I just went along with it. In fact, some part of me -deep down that had never been tapped into before- really thought it was just about the coolest idea of all time. So we twiddled our thumbs in pregnant anticipation until the final bits of light faded away and night draped the sky. It was time to do a little damage. Minor as it might have been.
As we slowly crept into the grave yard, it occurred to just how tantalizingly frightening it was being in a place I knew damn well housed corpses and, likely, roaming spirits. It sent a flurry of shuddering chills down my spine and I fought the battle between wanting to run back to the woods like a baby, and wanting nothing more than to explore this land of the dead. Curiosity won, and we moved deeper into the Cemetery. Fortunately, it wasn't very big and we spotted our target almost immediately: a tall grave marker in the shape of a person with a head on a flowing cloak of some kind. I'd seen it from the road a hundred times. This was to be the target of our mischief, and I began shivering with a mix of excitement and outright fear.
Smartly, before we did the dirty deed, we looked out across Milham just to ensure that no one was watching or driving by. As far as we could tell it was clear. So we stood like two stolid strong men, positioned our hands on the stone, and gave a great shove. Even with what we thought was all of our might, the statue barely budged. We felt it give, but it just settled right back into the ground like nothing happened. We'd have to push even harder. But something was amiss...
A car had parked on our side of the road directly across from the Stop N Go, and it's lights were on and the engine was running.
Uh Oh...
Kerry told me to stay hidden behind the stone and he's go check out what was up with the car. I was in no position to argue, especially considering I was now scared almost to the piss-pants point, and Kerry was older and, therefor (presumably) wiser. I crouched down and watched him sprint back to the fence line and around the outside. I lost sight of him in the shadows and just kept my eyes stuck to the running car just to make sure no one got out and came after us. It wasn't a cop, that much was obvious, but you never know; it might have been someone who worked at the church, ya know? I sat there hugging my knees to my chest fighting off the nearly overwhelming urge to just leave Kerry and hightail it back to my bike. But then I sighted him rounding the gate on his return run. He made it back to me, and between breaths explained that yes, there was someone in the car (UH OH), but the dude was asleep or passed out or something... even with his car running and the headlights on! What? Well, I felt a bit better, but that was still weird. Did we still want to risk the reason we came here in the first place?
Kerry said he did, since there was no reason to believe the guy even had any idea anyone was in the cemetery and was likely drunk. I supposed I saw the logic, but I still questioned our actions. Regardless, we set ourselves against the head stone and prepared for a huge push. With every ounce of strength I could muster -based a lot on the ever rising scale of fear I was measuring the event against- we leaned into it and with a surprisingly soundless fall, the statue hit the ground with a muffled thud. My ears were prepared for a much more resounding smack, but since none actually came, the instant quiet was painfully deafening. We exhaled deeply, and shared a high-5 as we surveyed our little bit of deviousness.
And then we saw the real extent of the damage.
What we assumed was just a fairly innocent tomb stone tipping had instantly turned into something far worse. As we looked toward the end with the head, the dull glow of the fluorescent flood lights from the church itself illuminated the real issue: the head had broken off. This was definitely not in the cards.
We scrambled in a flurry of panic. I grabbed for the head as Kerry took off in a run to check the car again. We knew right then that someone had to have seen us, if not heard us. As quiet as it was, a breaking piece of stone is still pretty audible when you were as close to us as that car was. Immediately I picked up the head -it was about the size, shape, and weight of a standard bowling ball- and cradled it under my arm. We had to fix this somehow, and we had to do it fast. But then Kerry called to me from the other side of the gate and told me to meet him by the car. Was he kidding? What could possibly be that important? I set the head down by the little mound of sod the tipped statue had pulled up, and ran to meet him.
I arrived panting at the car and looked at Kerry as he stood there with his hands cupped to the closed, slightly-tinted windows. He motioned for me to look, and I did. The car was empty. The engine still ran, the seat was reclined just as Kerry had described it when he saw the guy sleeping, and the lights were still on. We exchanged a glance that was both quizzical and terrified, and we took off back the grave. The few seconds it took to return, Kerry had a wide-eyed look and he swore that there was a person in that car, and neither one of us had heard a door open or shut. This was just plain nuts.
We arrived at the tipped stone, and it was immediately obvious what we had to do. With a heave, we righted it and walked it up as straightly as we could. We stamped the ground back to true, grabbed the head, and ran like timid rabbits back to our bikes. Once we got there, it became all too obvious that we had to do something with the stone head. And so we came to the decision to bury it, right there in the woods, using two sticks. And there it stayed. We biked back to his house, cutting through or neighborhood just so we could have that feeling of being back in some kind of sane civilization. It was only 11:15. The whole ordeal took less than an hour. Our adventure was over for that night.
Fast forward to the future: our current time. Yes, the statue is still there and you can see it even now, still at that skewed angle we left it some 28 years ago. Maybe folks just figured it fell on its own and no one bothered to worry about it. However, the woods that were the separation point have since been dug out and replaced with more houses. Can you imagine being the guy operating the machine that unearthed the head we buried? I bet that was a sight. As for the car with the ghost... well, a ghost to us, anyway... we never did figure that out. But it remains as a really interesting tale I like to regale every now and again. And yes, it is all true... save for a few... shall we say 'Writer's Embelishments' just to hold the audience. But the facts are all facts. I just wish I knew what was up with that car...
You like spooky ghost stories, right?
Especially when they're true?
Yeah. I thought so...
Kerry Frieben and I enjoyed riding our bikes at night. I can't actually remember what the reason for it was, other than heading the mile from his house to the once-called Stop N Go for candy and pop. I'm assuming that was probably it... I mean it wasn't like we were hooligans or anything. Well, for the most part...
You see, on Milham Road, just off Oakland right outside of both of our neighborhoods was the Stop N Go party store, and directly across the street was a cemetery and a church. Both the hallowed grounds still stand, but the Stop N Go has gone through several changes to become what it is today: a Circle K. And let me tell you, strange things were afoot at the would-be Circle K that night... if I may paraphrase Bill and Ted.
For some reason Kerry got the idea to go into the cemetery. Fortunately for me, the back of the grave yard butted up to a dead end street that literally ran right into my street, so rather than leave from his house on this fateful night, we'd leave from mine. As far as my parents were concerned, I was going to Kerry's house. So we gathered our wits about us (or should I say I gathered them, because as far as I was concerned, Kerry was just about the bravest guy I knew), and pedaled to a destination neither of us had ever been.
As we arrived through the back entrance -which really was nothing more than where the gate ended, since there really was no need to block the back side from harm, apparently- we left our bikes at the edge of the woods (a small strip of wooded land separated the church grounds from where the dead-end met the foliage) and walked the rest of the way. By this point it was pushing ten, and in mid-summer that meant that the sun was just snatching away the remainder of the day's light. But we hesitated. Before we went in it was decided that it would be best if it were dark. So we hung back and discussed not only our strategy, but what exactly we were doing there in the first place. As it turned out, Kerry had a plan.
For some odd reason, Kerry wanted to push over a tomb stone. I didn't ask (I didn't really want to know) and as an easily persuaded kid, I just went along with it. In fact, some part of me -deep down that had never been tapped into before- really thought it was just about the coolest idea of all time. So we twiddled our thumbs in pregnant anticipation until the final bits of light faded away and night draped the sky. It was time to do a little damage. Minor as it might have been.
As we slowly crept into the grave yard, it occurred to just how tantalizingly frightening it was being in a place I knew damn well housed corpses and, likely, roaming spirits. It sent a flurry of shuddering chills down my spine and I fought the battle between wanting to run back to the woods like a baby, and wanting nothing more than to explore this land of the dead. Curiosity won, and we moved deeper into the Cemetery. Fortunately, it wasn't very big and we spotted our target almost immediately: a tall grave marker in the shape of a person with a head on a flowing cloak of some kind. I'd seen it from the road a hundred times. This was to be the target of our mischief, and I began shivering with a mix of excitement and outright fear.
Smartly, before we did the dirty deed, we looked out across Milham just to ensure that no one was watching or driving by. As far as we could tell it was clear. So we stood like two stolid strong men, positioned our hands on the stone, and gave a great shove. Even with what we thought was all of our might, the statue barely budged. We felt it give, but it just settled right back into the ground like nothing happened. We'd have to push even harder. But something was amiss...
A car had parked on our side of the road directly across from the Stop N Go, and it's lights were on and the engine was running.
Uh Oh...
Kerry told me to stay hidden behind the stone and he's go check out what was up with the car. I was in no position to argue, especially considering I was now scared almost to the piss-pants point, and Kerry was older and, therefor (presumably) wiser. I crouched down and watched him sprint back to the fence line and around the outside. I lost sight of him in the shadows and just kept my eyes stuck to the running car just to make sure no one got out and came after us. It wasn't a cop, that much was obvious, but you never know; it might have been someone who worked at the church, ya know? I sat there hugging my knees to my chest fighting off the nearly overwhelming urge to just leave Kerry and hightail it back to my bike. But then I sighted him rounding the gate on his return run. He made it back to me, and between breaths explained that yes, there was someone in the car (UH OH), but the dude was asleep or passed out or something... even with his car running and the headlights on! What? Well, I felt a bit better, but that was still weird. Did we still want to risk the reason we came here in the first place?
Kerry said he did, since there was no reason to believe the guy even had any idea anyone was in the cemetery and was likely drunk. I supposed I saw the logic, but I still questioned our actions. Regardless, we set ourselves against the head stone and prepared for a huge push. With every ounce of strength I could muster -based a lot on the ever rising scale of fear I was measuring the event against- we leaned into it and with a surprisingly soundless fall, the statue hit the ground with a muffled thud. My ears were prepared for a much more resounding smack, but since none actually came, the instant quiet was painfully deafening. We exhaled deeply, and shared a high-5 as we surveyed our little bit of deviousness.
And then we saw the real extent of the damage.
What we assumed was just a fairly innocent tomb stone tipping had instantly turned into something far worse. As we looked toward the end with the head, the dull glow of the fluorescent flood lights from the church itself illuminated the real issue: the head had broken off. This was definitely not in the cards.
We scrambled in a flurry of panic. I grabbed for the head as Kerry took off in a run to check the car again. We knew right then that someone had to have seen us, if not heard us. As quiet as it was, a breaking piece of stone is still pretty audible when you were as close to us as that car was. Immediately I picked up the head -it was about the size, shape, and weight of a standard bowling ball- and cradled it under my arm. We had to fix this somehow, and we had to do it fast. But then Kerry called to me from the other side of the gate and told me to meet him by the car. Was he kidding? What could possibly be that important? I set the head down by the little mound of sod the tipped statue had pulled up, and ran to meet him.
I arrived panting at the car and looked at Kerry as he stood there with his hands cupped to the closed, slightly-tinted windows. He motioned for me to look, and I did. The car was empty. The engine still ran, the seat was reclined just as Kerry had described it when he saw the guy sleeping, and the lights were still on. We exchanged a glance that was both quizzical and terrified, and we took off back the grave. The few seconds it took to return, Kerry had a wide-eyed look and he swore that there was a person in that car, and neither one of us had heard a door open or shut. This was just plain nuts.
We arrived at the tipped stone, and it was immediately obvious what we had to do. With a heave, we righted it and walked it up as straightly as we could. We stamped the ground back to true, grabbed the head, and ran like timid rabbits back to our bikes. Once we got there, it became all too obvious that we had to do something with the stone head. And so we came to the decision to bury it, right there in the woods, using two sticks. And there it stayed. We biked back to his house, cutting through or neighborhood just so we could have that feeling of being back in some kind of sane civilization. It was only 11:15. The whole ordeal took less than an hour. Our adventure was over for that night.
Fast forward to the future: our current time. Yes, the statue is still there and you can see it even now, still at that skewed angle we left it some 28 years ago. Maybe folks just figured it fell on its own and no one bothered to worry about it. However, the woods that were the separation point have since been dug out and replaced with more houses. Can you imagine being the guy operating the machine that unearthed the head we buried? I bet that was a sight. As for the car with the ghost... well, a ghost to us, anyway... we never did figure that out. But it remains as a really interesting tale I like to regale every now and again. And yes, it is all true... save for a few... shall we say 'Writer's Embelishments' just to hold the audience. But the facts are all facts. I just wish I knew what was up with that car...
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