Never go to the cemetery; I've been there. Mark my word, it's creepy. It all started out when I was in fourth grade. Our parents always told us not to go to the cemetery at night. Most kids didn't listen... But we never saw those kids again.
It was 1997 and I was in fourth grade. It was the first day of school. The bell just rang. I do what I normally do, hang out by the library with my friends, Sam and David. We had been talking about politics until David changed the subject.
"I dare you to go to the cemetery at night for 50 bucks," he said.
Now, I'm not trying to make Sam sound like a chicken, but this is what he said. "Are you insane?! No way!" He looked at me, "How about you Justin?" he asked.
I swallowed, but I was not going to turn chicken in front of my best friends. "What do I have to do?" I asked.
"Just get a blade of grass from there," he answered.
I decided to do it on a Sunday, when the moon was full. The school days passed more and more quickly and I got more and more terrified. Finally, it was Sunday. My mom and dad were throwing an anniversary party—their 15th, to be exact. Finally it turned 10:00. That was the time I had to leave. The grown-ups were talking, and the kids were drinking soft drinks.
I hopped on my bike and rode. I pedaled and pedaled. Finally, I got to the cemetery. It's about a mile out of town. I climbed off my bike and checked my watch. 11:30. I walked into the cemetery. It was quiet.
I smiled. I knew all those stories were fake. I picked up a blade of grass. I was about to get on my bike when I heard a scuffling noise. I turned and froze. What I saw was too gruesome to describe. It was a man whose flesh was rotting.
"Come with us," he said. "Come..."
Suddenly I saw lots of other dead people -- old ones and young ones. Some who were just buried and some that had just rotted. I was too terrified to move. They moaned and groaned. "Come with us," they cried. "Come. . ." I clutched the handlebars of my bike.
I don't know what happened next. All I remember was finding myself in my driveway, sweating. I swore I would never do anything daring again.
The next morning, I got into school early. David was waiting for me. "Did you...?" he asked softly.
"Yes," I answered. I put the blade of grass in his palm.
"How do I know you didn't get this out of your garden?" he asked. I shrugged. Suddenly, the grass shriveled up and fell to the floor. Hastily, he reached into his pockets, then brought out a $50 bill. Now that was my story.
But go to the cemetery at night at your own risk.
