Campfire Ghost Stories
by Jo-Anne Christensen
Stories Told by Firelight
A Grave Mistake
There is a nearby town where a secret sorority of young women exists. To become a member is a great honor and provides a girl with many benefits and advantages. But, of course, becomign a member is not easy. First, the candidate must be nominated by one of the senior members. Second, and more difficult, th proposed member must pass an initiation proving she is courageous beyond doubt.
That initiatoin is always the same. The girl who wishes to join is told to present herself to the sorority leaders on the night of a full moon. She is given a hooded cloak to wear, a sturdy leather belt to cinch it, and a sheathed dagger that hangs form the belt. The girl is then driven to a field several miles from the town. She is directed to a dense copse of trees in the corner of that field. Everyone for miles around knows that field and those trees. They surround a small family burial ground that is known to be haunted. To pass the initiation, the girl must spend one hour in the cemetery, and then, before she leaves, plunge the dagger deeply into the soil of the oldest grave there.
Many girls, upon learning the details of their proposed initiation, have walked away from the sorority and never looked back. Others nervously agreed to spend their hour among the tombstones and oftend end up with terrifying tales to tell. But once, there was a girl named Rebecca who accepted teh challenge with confidence so great that it bordered on arrogance. Later, everyone whised that she had been one of those who walked away.
Rebecca wanted very much to belong to the prestigious sorority and, perhaps, she wanted to impress the members with her bravado.
"Is that all I have to do?" she asked when the initiation was explained to her. "That's nothing! If I was superstitious, I might be worried, but anyone sensible knows that there's no such thing as a ghost!"
The older girls, who had each spent their frightening hour in the graveyard, disagreed. They had seen and heard things there that could not be explained. They all remained silent, however, knowing tha ton the night of the next full moon, Rebecca would form a different opinion.
When the night came, the sky was clear and the moon glowed like a polished silver dollar. The shadows of the trees stretched out like long dark fingers. As the sorority approached the cemetery, many of the girls were visibly anxious. Rebecca maintained her cool facade.
"You must spend one full hour within the cemetery fense,' instructed the leader. "No matter what happens, it is imperative that you stay."
"During that time," said another girl, "you should read the dates on each of the tombstones."
"Find the oldest grave there," spoke a third, "and then, when the alarm clock rings to signal the end of the hour, you must plunge the dagger into that grave!"
"Then you may leave," all of the girls spoke together, "if the angered spirits will let you."
They set the clock then and watched as Rebecca climbed over the fence and walked away.
Rebecca watched them until their dark shapes blended in with the trees at the edge of the field.
"Piece of cake," she muttered to herself as she turned to face the graves.
She had to admit that the little burial ground looked haunted. The aged tombstnoes leaned this way and that, and there were a few crude wooden markers that had been nearly worn away by the elements. Tall trees loomed over the graves like stern sentinels, and the fense that surrounded the entire scene was rotting and decrepit. Still, Rebecca reminded herself, looking haunted and being haunted were two entirely different things. She couldn't allow herself to give in to hysterical imaginings.
But the moonlight tended to play tricks on one's eyes. Rebecca jumped on several occasions when a shadow in the periphery of her vision moved stealthily. Once, a white shape, which was surely a cloud of vapor escaping from the marshy ground, floated over the graves and amonst the trees. And the normally benign sounds of night-hooting owls, swooping bats and scurrying rodents-were somehow frightening when a peson couldn't pinpoint their exact origin. Through it all, though, Rebecca kept a calm head and read the time-ravaged inscriptions on the grave markers.
By the end of the hour, she had found what she was looking for.
"Silas Cooke," she said aloud. "It looks like you've been here the longest. Try not to be offended, but in a couple of minutes I will have to treat you in a most disrespectful manner."
Perhaps it was a slight breeze, but Rebecca felt as though an icy hand touched her spine then. A mouse ran over her foot, making her flesh crawl, and some insect buzzed insolently into the loose hood of her dark robe. Frantically, she swept the hood off her head and swatted at her hair until her ears rang. No more than 10 seconds before the bug left, the alarm ran out, fracturing the silence and causing Rebecca to jump once more.
"Let's get this over with," she whispered as she unsheathed the dagger and knelt down on Silas Cooke's grave. Then she called out the name of te sorority, raised her arms high above her head and plunged the dagger deep into the cold earth.
All of the fear that Rebecca had been unwilling to acknowledge rose up to greet her at that moment. The very instant the blade was imbedded, she felt electric panic take hold of her senses. Suddenly, she needed to run, escape, leap over the fractured fence and flee the horrible little cemetery with its overgrown graves and moss-covered stones. But when she tried to do that, when she tried to jump up from teh grave that she had just desecrated, something clutched at her, pulling her back down.
In Rebecca's terrified mind, it could only have been the furious wraith of Silas Cooke. Motivated by pure horror, she tried, once more, to flee. But before she even made it to her feet, she was seized from behind and yanked back down. Rebecca, the sensible girl who had assumed that spirits did not exist, suddenly knew without a doubt that a cold, skeletal hand had reached up through the soil to exact revenge for her act of defilement.
***
The other girls were walking back across the field when they heard the scream. It was ear-splitting and dreadful, enough to schock them into forgetting about their solemn ritual. They let loose screams of their own and ran back to the road and the safety of their vehicle. It was more than an hour before they mustered the courage to once again approach the cemetery and search for their new friend.
When they found Rebecca, she was as dead as the corpses that had kept her company in the last hour of her life. Her eyes were wide and staring, and her face was twisted into an expression of absolute horror. Her lips remained parted in their final scream. She wa sprawled over the grave of Silas Cooke.
That she had died of fright was obvious. Exactly why was a mystery. At least it was until the girls tried to move Rebecca's lifeless body from the grave.
"Wait," said one of them. "Something's caught."
And, indeed, something was. The flowing black fabric of the robe Rebecca had been wearing was firmly pinned to the ground... pinned by the dagger that the girl had used to violate Silas Cooke's grave...
by Jo-Anne Christensen
Stories Told by Firelight
A Grave Mistake
There is a nearby town where a secret sorority of young women exists. To become a member is a great honor and provides a girl with many benefits and advantages. But, of course, becomign a member is not easy. First, the candidate must be nominated by one of the senior members. Second, and more difficult, th proposed member must pass an initiation proving she is courageous beyond doubt.
That initiatoin is always the same. The girl who wishes to join is told to present herself to the sorority leaders on the night of a full moon. She is given a hooded cloak to wear, a sturdy leather belt to cinch it, and a sheathed dagger that hangs form the belt. The girl is then driven to a field several miles from the town. She is directed to a dense copse of trees in the corner of that field. Everyone for miles around knows that field and those trees. They surround a small family burial ground that is known to be haunted. To pass the initiation, the girl must spend one hour in the cemetery, and then, before she leaves, plunge the dagger deeply into the soil of the oldest grave there.
Many girls, upon learning the details of their proposed initiation, have walked away from the sorority and never looked back. Others nervously agreed to spend their hour among the tombstones and oftend end up with terrifying tales to tell. But once, there was a girl named Rebecca who accepted teh challenge with confidence so great that it bordered on arrogance. Later, everyone whised that she had been one of those who walked away.
Rebecca wanted very much to belong to the prestigious sorority and, perhaps, she wanted to impress the members with her bravado.
"Is that all I have to do?" she asked when the initiation was explained to her. "That's nothing! If I was superstitious, I might be worried, but anyone sensible knows that there's no such thing as a ghost!"
The older girls, who had each spent their frightening hour in the graveyard, disagreed. They had seen and heard things there that could not be explained. They all remained silent, however, knowing tha ton the night of the next full moon, Rebecca would form a different opinion.
When the night came, the sky was clear and the moon glowed like a polished silver dollar. The shadows of the trees stretched out like long dark fingers. As the sorority approached the cemetery, many of the girls were visibly anxious. Rebecca maintained her cool facade.
"You must spend one full hour within the cemetery fense,' instructed the leader. "No matter what happens, it is imperative that you stay."
"During that time," said another girl, "you should read the dates on each of the tombstones."
"Find the oldest grave there," spoke a third, "and then, when the alarm clock rings to signal the end of the hour, you must plunge the dagger into that grave!"
"Then you may leave," all of the girls spoke together, "if the angered spirits will let you."
They set the clock then and watched as Rebecca climbed over the fence and walked away.
Rebecca watched them until their dark shapes blended in with the trees at the edge of the field.
"Piece of cake," she muttered to herself as she turned to face the graves.
She had to admit that the little burial ground looked haunted. The aged tombstnoes leaned this way and that, and there were a few crude wooden markers that had been nearly worn away by the elements. Tall trees loomed over the graves like stern sentinels, and the fense that surrounded the entire scene was rotting and decrepit. Still, Rebecca reminded herself, looking haunted and being haunted were two entirely different things. She couldn't allow herself to give in to hysterical imaginings.
But the moonlight tended to play tricks on one's eyes. Rebecca jumped on several occasions when a shadow in the periphery of her vision moved stealthily. Once, a white shape, which was surely a cloud of vapor escaping from the marshy ground, floated over the graves and amonst the trees. And the normally benign sounds of night-hooting owls, swooping bats and scurrying rodents-were somehow frightening when a peson couldn't pinpoint their exact origin. Through it all, though, Rebecca kept a calm head and read the time-ravaged inscriptions on the grave markers.
By the end of the hour, she had found what she was looking for.
"Silas Cooke," she said aloud. "It looks like you've been here the longest. Try not to be offended, but in a couple of minutes I will have to treat you in a most disrespectful manner."
Perhaps it was a slight breeze, but Rebecca felt as though an icy hand touched her spine then. A mouse ran over her foot, making her flesh crawl, and some insect buzzed insolently into the loose hood of her dark robe. Frantically, she swept the hood off her head and swatted at her hair until her ears rang. No more than 10 seconds before the bug left, the alarm ran out, fracturing the silence and causing Rebecca to jump once more.
"Let's get this over with," she whispered as she unsheathed the dagger and knelt down on Silas Cooke's grave. Then she called out the name of te sorority, raised her arms high above her head and plunged the dagger deep into the cold earth.
All of the fear that Rebecca had been unwilling to acknowledge rose up to greet her at that moment. The very instant the blade was imbedded, she felt electric panic take hold of her senses. Suddenly, she needed to run, escape, leap over the fractured fence and flee the horrible little cemetery with its overgrown graves and moss-covered stones. But when she tried to do that, when she tried to jump up from teh grave that she had just desecrated, something clutched at her, pulling her back down.
In Rebecca's terrified mind, it could only have been the furious wraith of Silas Cooke. Motivated by pure horror, she tried, once more, to flee. But before she even made it to her feet, she was seized from behind and yanked back down. Rebecca, the sensible girl who had assumed that spirits did not exist, suddenly knew without a doubt that a cold, skeletal hand had reached up through the soil to exact revenge for her act of defilement.
***
The other girls were walking back across the field when they heard the scream. It was ear-splitting and dreadful, enough to schock them into forgetting about their solemn ritual. They let loose screams of their own and ran back to the road and the safety of their vehicle. It was more than an hour before they mustered the courage to once again approach the cemetery and search for their new friend.
When they found Rebecca, she was as dead as the corpses that had kept her company in the last hour of her life. Her eyes were wide and staring, and her face was twisted into an expression of absolute horror. Her lips remained parted in their final scream. She wa sprawled over the grave of Silas Cooke.
That she had died of fright was obvious. Exactly why was a mystery. At least it was until the girls tried to move Rebecca's lifeless body from the grave.
"Wait," said one of them. "Something's caught."
And, indeed, something was. The flowing black fabric of the robe Rebecca had been wearing was firmly pinned to the ground... pinned by the dagger that the girl had used to violate Silas Cooke's grave...
