Small Town Stories: Cemetery Surprise!

Years ago when I lived in Colchester, after work, I would walk around town—there isn’t much else to do in a town with a pop of 752.


One night, as I was enjoying my evening stroll, I realized that I'd seen the same big truck on each street, and had the creeping suspicion that it was following me.

To test my theory, I ducked behind a bush and waited for the truck to pass, instead it slowed down as though the driver were looking for something or rather someone. I then cut through someone’s yard, then another yard, and came out on another street. A few moments later the truck sped up to where I was--now I had no doubts that I was being stalked.


I employed my awesome stealth skills, weaving in and out of yards and behind buildings until I was sure that I’d lost him. I then decided that maybe I should stick with the place I typically did my walk, the safest place in the town, a place where no one ever goes at night-- the cemetery.

I had just made it along the path inside the gates when I heard a sound that made my stomach curl and every muscle in my body tense. It was a low growl, not the normal growl you’d expect from a dog,  but one that seemed to imply hell hounds twice the size of a human and perhaps with three heads, each of which that had agreed that teenage girls were what’s for dinner—it’s possible, I was in a cemetery after all, it could happen.

So I did the only thing I could to save my skin—I jumped up onto the highest tombstone I could find and perched there. Waiting silently for the hounds of hell and all things nasty to give me a sign they were gone. I searched the darkness and my eyes accustomed to the pitch of the night. Note that there is not the typical glow of lights like there is in the big city— the stars are the only source of light in a small town, and if it had been overcast that day and clouds still hovered above then not even the twilight twinkles could be seen, as was the case this night.

So, I’m sitting up there, feeling somewhat like a chicken, when I see the truck pull in! A few moments later it parks, and a guy gets out. He began to walk along the same path I had a few minutes, or an hour ago—who’s keeping track really? Well, it was obvious with how he kept falling off the trail that his eyes could not yet see what was around him, but he was definitely headed my way.


I sat perfectly still. I imagined that I was part of the tombstone. I imagined that he believed that I was part of the tombstone. Perhaps he thought I was just one of the few stone angels which topped the graves. I held my breath and watched him come closer and closer until he was right next to me; and I thought, “Well it won’t be long before he can see me.”

So, I decided I’d just get it over with. In the most sinister, wicked, and graveyard-creepy voice I could muster I said, “Looking for someone?”

Now, I can surmise from his reaction, that in his mind a stone effigy on a gravestone had just come to life and spoke to him at the midnight hour, because I’ve never seen anyone before or since bolt so fast in my life! In fact, I think for a moment he forgot how he got there, because he completely passed his truck before coming back round and speeding off like the devil was going to get him!

So there is my small town story. Note that ALL small town stories tend to be elaborated on and slightly embellished, it’s just good manners to be entertain’in.