Perhaps it is the psychic agony of one that might have been prematurely buried; at a time when such a thing was perfectly possible, and is suspected to have been routine.
Or, perhaps, it is the wail of an infant that refuses to go gently "into that good night," that resists being forgotten in death the way they were so unceremoniously discarded while yet walking this bleak, often tragic Earth.
In time, the phone line was disconnected from the caretaker's office. Martin Sheets was found dead, a horrified look on her face.
The phone, though, was still usable as far as calling out in general. Some claimed she simply had a heart attack, and that she picked up the phone to dial for help, doing so in the midst of her physical distress.
Show less Somewhere near you is a craggy, moldering cemetery, a forgotten boneyard whose sepulchral denizens have been sleeping the long, dark nights away beneath the earth; some for over a hundred years.Mourning the fate of her unfortunate boy, and knowing how he was afraid of the dark, she went to Stepp Cemetery, night after night, to mourn and "keep him company." Now, interlopers are wont to see her shade, terrifying hook hand at the ready, warning those who would defile the grave of her young son that they had better reconsider. The turn of the last century was a time when epidemics of cholera, flu and tuberculosis, as well as a poor understanding of the germ nature of disease (and hygiene in general), allowed contagion to spread rapidly, and mass death to ensue.No one locally knows who began Stepp Cemetery, but the legend is that an obscure religious cult, the "Crabbites," were the originators of the burial spot. The present writer has been in the first hospital in Muncie, Indiana (at the time I visited it was low-rent apartments, primarily for college students), a place reputedly haunted.One grave attracts the most ghostly attention--one presided over by a weeping "Woman in White." No one knows who she is, or why she is here, eternally mourning at the grave that some say belongs to her workman husband who was killed tragically long, long ago.The inscription is unreadable, the body beneath forgotten.
We suppose such grim ruminations should be followed with a little levity.