Who’s afraid of the dark?

By Marie Foley

I ran carefully, one step after the other, trying to avoid falling over unseen obstacles. Dark clouds that looked like monsters with creepy long fingers crept silently across the darkened sky with only a quarter moon occasionally showing between the menacing tendrils.

There was no sign of light from my bedroom window and the kitchen lamp facing the opposite direction could not be seen from where I stood. The shadowy outline of our large box-shaped house, which was almost a kilometre from the main road, appeared to be far in the distance. There was no other way home but to pass by this spooky graveyard in order to reach my back door.

I turned around for a quick second to notice Mom’s white sheets blowing wraithlike in the breeze.

“There is no such thing as ghosts,” I repeated to myself. “And I will not let my fear rule my thoughts.”

As rough as it was trying to get home walking backwards, nothing could compare to having my blind side to the creepy cemetery. My imagination was going wild! Well I wasn’t the only one; all of my siblings and friends could count every stump, slope, garden drill and various objects they fell over while walking backward on the scary dark path simply because they were afraid of the unknown.

A large white wooden cross proudly stood at the front of the cemetery and tonight like all windy nights it waved and whined as though it wanted to fly. I shivered as I thought of all the spirits that I might see if I stared at it too long. Numerous horror stories were overheard by children like me about ghosts that were seen in and around this capricious burial site. Why shouldn’t I be afraid?

Going to visit friends was great fun, but having to return home after dark by myself took all the joy out of the sport. .

Another step and I felt the splatter of something warm and soft beneath my toes. It was, indeed, fresh cow dung that Brownie our only cow had probably just left there. Cattle and sheep roamed freely through the fields and stepping into their patties was certainly nothing to cry over. I tried to focus my eyes over the cemetery and directly toward the open sea. The rushing sound of the salt water washing on granite pebbles could be heard in the distance.

Although I appreciated this relaxing sound in the daytime while playing on the shore, it was not something I wanted to hear right now.

Smelling like no apple blossom but feeling somewhat fortunate to be almost home without seeing a ghost, I stumbled over a huge creature, which left me weak and nauseated with fright.

“Baaaaaaaaaaaaa,” it said as I quickly picked myself up.

The bewildered sheep was as terrified as I was. I ran into the house still looking at the cemetery to make sure no ghost touched me while the poor frightened sheep ran in the opposite direction.

“I hope sheep are not afraid of spirits,” I murmured as I slammed the squeaky porch door and breathed a sigh of relief at having survived yet another daring escapade.