It was a dark and stormy night

Above, volunteers lit the way through the cemetary with the use of candle powered lamps as they led tour goers along the ghost walk
-Photos By Carol Niswonger

“It was a dark and stormy night.” No, scratch that–it was not stormy. But it was dark–it was really dark. Pitch black dark, except for about a dozen gas lanterns spread over the hills overlooking Princeton.
But, then again, there’s not much need for lighting in a cemetery, unless of course, you are one of two women who probably should not be allowed to roam around at night — loose. One — slowly recovering from well-documented surgery, and the other — now sporting an ace bandage around her ankle.
Even “dead people” came to our rescue. While I realize I have already pretty much used the “sympathy card” in Lyon County, as people are pretty tired of me limping around, I never expected to disturb “dead folks” in Cedar Hill Cemetery.
Billed as a fund-raiser for the Glenn E. Martin Genealogy Library, the Ghost Walk seemed an interesting idea, and Charlotte Atchison and I thought we might get some ideas for a similar project.
Having never been on the cemetery grounds, I had no clue as to where I was going, but then again, neither did the driver ahead of me, as we wound through the graveled lanes, looking for a place that would not disturb a grave, a headstone, or property.
The middle of a distant path, with no way to pass, seemed to be (of necessity) the last parking spot, and that is when we discovered our first mistake. No flashlights. A lady near us was a little better prepared, and when she saw my cane, she kindly held her light in my path, until we finally reached more than 200 people waiting for the tour.
The crowd was larger than expected, and although the organizers were apologetic that we had to wait so long, everyone was in good spirits (spirits?). Leaving Charlotte to hold our place in line, while I went to identify myself as “Press” and arrange for wheels, I truly discovered how dark it was, as I could not see her when I returned and just had to call her name. There were only five people behind us — luckily, as it turned out. Not so many people to witness our hysteria.
With a momentary flashback to the ice storm, I found that my transportation was an ATV, with no room for Charlotte, and it was finally decided that the small group with us would walk ahead and Richard P’Pool, local historian, would serve as my driver. I was mesmerized by the “ghosts” who appeared at the gravesites, with their knowledge of Caldwell County history and character portrayals. Their vintage costumes were illuminated by the eerie gas lanterns that marked each stop, and shadows flickered as gas torches illuminated the headstones.
I was momentarily taken aback at our first stop, when “Dr. McGoodwin” appeared from the shadows, looked right at Richard and me with a sneer and asked “What is all that racket comin’ out of that infernal contraption?” I have never been personally chastised by a “ghost” before.
From site to site, we met all sorts of Caldwell County departed souls, whose knowledge of their personal time period indicated how much research had gone into this production. P’Pool indicated that the he first proposed the idea 14 years ago, and they had “knocked it around” from “year to year,” until they had finally decided to produce it.
But then — the night turned darker. Our small group, which was the last of the evening, had just made a hard left turn to go up another hill. Charlotte had been walking beside the ATV, which started to go a little faster, and Charlotte (I thought) had finished what she was going to say, and we left her behind as we chugged up the incline. I was glad she had quit walking alongside, because I had noted the deep crevice near the lane.
What I didn’t know, at the time, was that Charlotte knew about the crevice, too. Up close and personal. She also knew that it had water in it — and that nobody had even seen her fall in — until she hollered. It is a wonder they didn’t think it was part of the tour.
At the next stop, I could hear her panting up the lane, limping worse than I have in months, with a soaking wet behind. As in all theater, “The show must go on,” and we finished our last two visitations with Charlotte hanging onto the back of the ATV, rubbing her ankle, and trying to explain herself. At some point, a “ghost walk” version of an ambulance arrived, which was a wagon full of hay bales, and we all piled in — ghosts included — to return to the entrance. Because they needed the ATV for “ghost apparatus transport”, I was helped into the hay wagon, but only with a nudge (which was a little personal). With very little dignity salvageable from either of us, as we were both lifted from the wagon upon arrival at the iron gates, one of the “ghosts” asked, “You two are together? Nobody came with you? How did you get here?” And then, a little more worried, “How are you two going to find your way home?”
Depositing Charlotte at the iron gates, I peered into the darkness to see if there was any way I could determine what direction would lead to my car. Several of the “ghosts” offered to retrieve my vehicle, but I could not even tell them where to begin to look, so I just started retracing my steps, until in my darkest moment, I finally remembered that I had a laser penlight on my keychain.
It made all the difference. And there was Charlotte, as I returned to the gates, sitting there with her own little eerie lantern. We didn’t get hysterical until we cleared the Princeton city limits.