This last weekend I was in the town I grew up in and took time to take a few pictures of the cemetery that played a key presence in my childhood. It was at the far east end of the street I lived on (I was on the west end). When we were young we rode our bicycles up and down the lanes. (Note to my brother-in-law: We were always respectful and never caused damage or rode on the grass.)
*My apologies for any repeat of these stories, but this time there are pictures.
One day I invited a friend to ride over there with me. She was not excited and barely let me take her inside the gate. I quickly chose a headstonee that had a picture on it much like these (sorry they’re a bit blurry). I knocked on the granite and told her to listen, because your could hear “Nothing, nothing at all.” I spoke in a menacing whisper and she was not amused. She barely let me do it twice before she rapidly rode away.
When we were older, it was inevitable that we would go there at night–at first leaving when the “street lights came on” and later, staying until it was much darker. Our “night games” we called “spies” and basically we divided into pairs then tried to find each other. Sometimes it took 10-20 minutes, but when we did, we followed the others around and eventually bombarding them with pinecones. This next picture shows how big the pinecones were–check out the ground. Once my sister and I got caught in the cross fire of two teams, and huddled in the dark, trying to remain hidden.
One time we gathered around the gothic chapel and my brother and his friend perched on the end-caps of the stone banisters. The church is close enough to the road that headlights swept across the face. They sat there like dark gargoyles in the shadows until a car would pass, then they rose up like they had wings. A couple of headlights swerved, so we figured they saw the effect.
A few times groups would show up, trying to frighten themselves. They clung together and would walk down the central lane running north to south. One time, when we became aware of 4-5 teens walking into the depths of the tree-lined, narrow road, we divided into two groups and flanked the newcomers. I was in the group in front of them as they walked south. When they were close enough, we sprang from the shadows and shouted. They all screamed and turned about and began to run north. That was when the rest of us sprang out and shouted. It totally freaked the newbies. We did apologize and talked to them for a moment, but they didn’t stick around and we never saw them again.
So one of the endings of Cold Pursuit takes place in the cemetery–and now you know why. Here is a picture of a crypt such as Kennady hides behind:
And here is a section of Asian stones. The tall ones in the back also play a part in the story.
So once, when I was in college, a date took me to the cemetery at night around Halloween. We were supposed to scare a group that was coming before we all met up at a party. I think he probably had something else in mind than just scaring them. Unfortunately for him, I didn’t even consider that I should be afraid and clinging to him. oops.