Weekly Scribblings at Poets and Storytellers
and Magaly asked us to consider “seeing
things” in our Wednesday scribblings.
Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United
July 15. 2020
It was a bleak and cold November night and, far from the city lights, I’d taken a wrong turn and found myself on a moonless country road that appeared to be uninhabited. The dark was so dense and pervasive it seemed, if I dared, I could reach out and take a handful. I made my way for some distance, the soft slapping of my windshield wipers clearing the icy mist the only sound, when suddenly a light appeared beside me. I strained to discern the source, but to no avail. It seemed suspended in the darkness, but accompanying me on my way. This went on for three or four miles, when suddenly the light veered to the right some distance and simply disappeared. In my headlights, I saw a rusty iron fence and a sign that read “Elm Hill Cemetery”. I hastened on and soon, gratefully, came to my familiar highway and made my way home. Locals tell me the road is called Cemetery Road, and legend has it a young girl named Mary was struck and killed on that road long ago. Those who have seen the light say it’s Mary looking for her way home. Others, however, say I was simply seeing things ……………….