That Night at Grandpa's (And Other Scary Stories)

Black-eyed Ghost in the Graveyard.

Over twenty of us finished a great supper at our neighbor's house. It was too crowded inside to do anything, so, since it was a cool, moonlit evening, we decided to play a couple rounds of Ghost in the Graveyard.

The older kids went outside, and at the picnic table, the boundaries were set. The wooden fence that ran all the way from the house to the barn would be the southern boundary. The creek on the backside of the barn would be the second. Everyone knows the road is a boundary, so that meant the cornfield to the north was the last one. That is how you set up the great game of Ghosts in the Graveyard.

Except I had never played before.

Everyone knew the rules. Not time to have them explained to me. I would learn them as I played. After all, being the youngest had its advantages. I always hid with someone else. I always made it to base. Someone usually picked me up and carried me even while being chased. This was extra fun! Unless being dropped happened ... then being tagged, which eventually happened.

Being the youngest did have its disadvantages.

Each game ended with stories of who, where, when, whys and how they hid and what helped them to make their glorious escapes. I could not listen to these epic scenes this time. I had to focus on being "it."

Being the youngest stunk.

Do you know the rules to Ghost in the Graveyard? Part of the game you hide. The other part of the game you run to base trying not to be tagged. Those were the simple rules. I had never been the Ghost before, which is what happened when you get tagged. I had to sit on the picnic table, count backwards from fifty, go looking for everyone and try to tag them before they got back to base--the picnic table.

Something happened to me when I was the Ghost I had never experienced before. Counting backwards from fifty was no problem. Neither was saying those magical words, "Ready or not, here I come!" It was that moment right after, standing there alone, hearing nothing but crickets, thinking about all I needed to do next. The stress morphed me from being a fun-loving, fast running, little kid, into a ... well, I hate saying it, a big, ugly, fat, scaredy-cat! I was huge. Mammoth. The longer I stood there the more gigantic I became.

Smile gone and with fear and panic taking control, I felt deathly sick. My blood must have turned into urine because I had to go. Bad! No way was I going into the dark bushes in the front yard, nor under the corral fence toward the horse trailer and cornfield. Even though it was huge, the barn seemed miles away. With my eyes as big as saucers, base would always be close by.

I twinkle-toed around the house on the back porch to the edge opposite of the garage. I was out of my mind. Every sound magnified, whispers were yells and I knew each one by name, and they were all going to get me!

I could contain it no longer. I yelled, "I hear you all! I'm heading for base!" The youngest needed the rules changed sometimes. Across the wooden porch planks, I ran as fast as my little feet could carry me. To the picnic table! The wind cooled the sweat on my forehead and chest. I must have been running Mach 1. Someone jumped on the picnic table behind me and other footsteps were coming quickly from the dark to my right. I could see the picnic table. Almost there!

Then it happened.

"YAH!"

A body jumped around the corner of the garage and scared the living pants off me. I jumped and screamed ... or was that screamed and jumped? My forehead hit something very hard. As I got up, I saw everyone leaving the picnic table to rush toward me. They never made it to me. They stopped at someone holding his face.

It was Danny. Someone blew past me. "I'll get some ice." When our eyes met he pointed at me and busted up laughing, holding his eye. He patted me on the back and asked if I was okay. I looked way up and his eye was getting bigger and blacker by the moment. Did I do that?

What a shiner! I tried to jump as high again, but could never reach his eye with my forehead. It might be wrong to say, but I felt a little proud.

I think everyone learned something that night:

Don't ever scare a ghost.

Black-eyes are its specialty.