Martin County is burrowed in the hills of southern Indiana. I grew up in Loogootee. We were known for basketball and … well, that’s pretty much it. As teenagers, we spent most of our weekends cruising. By that, I mean that we drove from the Dairy Master to the one intersection with a stoplight, through town, up around the school, and back – all night long. There wasn’t much else to do, and a lot was left to our imagination.

In the fall, when the chill arrived, there were always whispers and hints in the air of things terrifying and unaccounted for – as only teenagers could imagine – in the remote hill places that surrounded us. Hindostan Falls, an entire village wiped out in the 1800s by yellow fever or maybe cholera, was said to have restless spirits that roamed the area. And though I never encountered ghosts out there, I was never comfortable, and – call it my imagination – I always had the sense that someone was watching me.

Some of my friends swore that the Dover Hill cemetery had a gravestone with an engraved chain that mysteriously grew a link every year. Legend said that a man had beat his slave to death with a chain, so the slave’s wife cursed the man. When he died, a chain appeared on his tombstone so that the murder would be remembered on his grave forever.

We couldn’t get enough of the stories, and one night, my friend Traci convinced me, my sister Jean, and my friend Ron to drive over to an old cemetery in Trinity Springs. There, she told us, was an old statue of an angel in the center of the graveyard, and if you shined a flashlight on it, the angel’s eyes would glow. She had seen it for herself.

So, we loaded up in her AMC Javelin and headed out. Traci liked to show off behind the wheel. She drove fast along the county roads, took turns a bit fast, and liked to hit the gas on gravel roads just to spit up the rocks. But as she drove into the back hills, the road narrowed to a lightly-traveled, worn-out road that wound its way under a canopy of trees. Eventually, we turned on a dirt road that was barely more than a path and slowly bumped our way along until we came to a stop in front of an old cemetery guarded by wrought-iron fencing with an opening under a stone arch. She turned off the engine, and we sat in the silence of the night. I was terrified. So much so that I couldn’t bring myself to get out of the car.

”

Eventually, we turned on a dirt road that was barely more than a path and slowly bumped our way along until we came to a stop in front of an old cemetery guarded by wrought-iron fencing with an opening under a stone arch.

“Oh, come on,” Traci said. “We’ve come all this way.” Looking around, I couldn’t speak. “Fine. Jean’s coming. How about you, Ron?”

“I’ll stay with Jane,” he said and looked over at me. And with that, Jean and Traci got out of the car, softly slammed their doors, and walked through the arch as their flashlights zig-zagged the way. Soon, they were out of sight. I tried to adjust my eyes, but dark was still dark.

We knew how this would go, of course. They’d come running back, screaming that they saw something, or worse, they’d sneak up to the car and try to scare us. Ron and I vigilantly scanned the area, trying to calm ourselves as we talked about which way they’d try to scare us. Staying alert for where they’d come from, we moved toward the center of the back seat. After about 10 minutes, as predicted, they came tearing through the arch, jumped in the car, turned the ignition, and tore out down the path.

“Just drive!” Jean said with an edge to her voice.

“Take it easy, Traci!” Ron said. “You’re gonna wreck the frame.”

Traci said nothing, but drove as fast as she could manage along the path.

Sarcastically, I joined in. “So, did the angel’s eyes glow or did something reach up through the grave and try to get you?” Still, they said nothing.

Jean began to co-pilot. Occasionally, she looked over her shoulder. We made it onto the worn-out road, and Traci picked up speed. As she rounded a corner, she hit a hole and blew a tire. Traci cursed and navigated to the side of the road. “Ron, get out here and help me!” We all jumped out. As they changed the tire, Jean held the flashlight but kept glancing back. The wind blew dried leaves that scratched and swirled across the road.

”

After some time, I broke the silence. “So, what did you see?” I insisted. They looked at each other. “So, what, the eyes glowed? You know I don’t believe you.”

In record time, they changed the tire. Traci punched the gas and drove quickly to the county highway and sped her way back to town. With relief, the streetlights came into view. We could hear the driving beat from radios as we joined the familiar trek of teenagers cruising. The tension began to calm.

After some time, I broke the silence. “So, what did you see?” I insisted. They looked at each other. “So, what, the eyes glowed? You know I don’t believe you.”

“What did you see, Traci? This isn’t funny anymore,” Ron said. Traci parked at the Dairy Master. In the light of the parking lot, she looked pale. “Fine. You scared me, but if you’re not gonna tell me what happened, then I’m getting out.” And with that, he left.

“Can you just take me home?” I said. So, Traci drove to our house. I got out then looked back as Jean lingered in the car, talking in low tones to Traci. Then she got out and followed me. We sat on the porch in the dark.

“So, you’re really not going to tell me what you saw?” I finally said.

Jean paused awhile then simply said, “We saw men in white robes and hoods, gathered around a burning cross in the field.”

Silence enveloped us in the dark. Until then, I hadn’t known that there are things more terrifying than even what we can imagine.

---

Jane Jeffries is a playwright and freelance writer living in Eau Claire. She also works as a creative strategist for DickersonBakker Associates in Asheville, North Carolina.