I've never told this story to anyone.
I know I shouldn't even do so anonymously at the risk of being connected to it,
but it's been eating at me for decades.
It happened when I was a kid, about 13 years old, on the night of Halloween.
I lived in a relatively new suburb at the time,
which had been built to increase the number of homes in the small town that was growing adjacent to the freeway.
It all looks very different now, but back then, the area wasn't nearly as developed.
Strangely, nowhere was this more obvious than the cemetery that was a few turns off the main road, in what used to be the outskirts.
At the time, the cemetery was mostly vacant.
Not enough people had died to fill it up yet.
That would change, however, as me and my two friends, who I'll refer to as Ethan and Jacob,
decided we wanted to go exploring the empty graveyard instead of trick-or-treating.
We knew it would get us in trouble, so we put in some effort to cover our tracks.
We wore costumes and started the night by immediately stealing a few bowls of candy that were set out,
mixing them together so it would look as though we actually went trick-or-treating, like our parents thought.
Then we walked about a mile off the beaten path so we could get to the cemetery without being seen from the main road.
This involved hopping a fence that surrounded a large drainage pond for the freeway a
nd cutting across the banks to hop the fence again into the cemetery grounds.
As we got off the residential streets, we were bathed in darkness, which meant there was almost no chance that we would be seen.
We thought we were safe, but what we didn't know was that we were being followed.
Once we had successfully snuck in, we stomped around and tried to scare each other for laughs.
Then we found a few blank gravestones lying around next to a crypt, and we smashed them together just because we could.
We took a few chunks as souvenirs.
There wasn't much else for us to do, though. The whole place was eerily empty.
We were used to seeing graveyards filled to the brim with gravestones, but the majority of this space, was just uninterrupted grass.
Eventually, we got bored, but we weren't ready to leave.
So, we sat down against the backs of a few gravestones to avoid sitting on top of dead people.
There was a view of the freeway that looked pretty cool since it was the only thing that was lit up for miles.
For a moment, we were just sitting there, being kids.
Then it all came crashing down as we heard what sounded like a person behind us.
We all jumped in fright and turned around, but we couldn't see anything, just gravestones.
The ghastly wailing continued, and then it started to say our names.
We shouted at it, trying to claim we weren't scared, but we were.
We thought we were totally alone, so maybe it was a ghost that was mad at us for being there when we weren't supposed to.
We started walking towards it with small, terrified steps,
hoping we would look behind one of the gravestones and see a person messing with us.
All three of us were clutching broken chunks of granite as if it would help defend us from the supernatural.
When we started getting closer, it seemed like we were localizing the source of the noise.
That's when it said something that I wished it wouldn't every single day.
For context, Ethan's mother was extremely ill with cancer at the time.
That's part of the reason why we were acting out by breaking into the cemetery in the first place.
He was in a funk and was mad at the world.
And he was our friend that we did stuff with.
Understandably, Ethan stopped in his tracks when the voice claimed that it was the ghost of his mother.
I can't imagine what was going on through his head.
A lot of powerful, mixed emotions that must have been a lot for a 13-year-old to handle.
He shouted back, trying to claim it wasn't true, but he was already choking up.
The supposed ghost of Ethan's mother dug deeper, saying that she had just died a few minutes ago.
Ethan said that was a lie, but the voice didn't care.
It started to cry and say that because he wasn't in the neighborhood like a good boy,
his father wasn't able to find him, and she died wondering where her son was and why he didn't love her enough to be there.
Ethan yelled again that it wasn't true, that it couldn't be,
but it struck him so badly he was failing to hold back his tears.
Jacob and I started trying our best to console him, not really knowing how.
But then the mood changed on a dime when the unknown voice stopped crying and started laughing.
Then it didn't sound like the usual voice of a woman anymore.
It transformed into a deep, sinister tone that sent chills down our spines.
The laughter echoed through the graveyard, making it impossible to pinpoint its origin.
Panic washed over us as we realized we were dealing with something far more sinister than we had imagined.
Without hesitation, we turned and ran as fast as our legs could carry us.
The adrenaline pushed us to our limits as we leaped over fences, disregarding any potential injuries.
We could feel a presence, a malevolent force, chasing us.
The laughter continued to taunt us, getting louder and closer with each passing moment.
It felt like an eternity before we finally reached the main road, gasping for breath and clutching onto each other for dear life.
We never looked back.
We didn't want to know if something was truly pursuing us or if it was all in our heads.
The fear was too overwhelming to bear.
We stumbled our way back home, sneaking into our respective houses, still trembling from the encounter.
We never spoke a word about what happened that night, not even amongst ourselves.
It was as if we had collectively agreed to bury the memory, hoping it would fade away with time.
Years passed, and our friendship gradually drifted apart.
Ethan moved away with his family, seeking a fresh start.
Jacob and I remained in the same town but took different paths.
We didn't keep in touch, but the events of that Halloween night were forever etched in our minds.
Now, here I am, years later, reflecting on that fateful night.
The memories have resurfaced, haunting me like whispers in the dark.
I can't help but wonder what truly happened that night.
Was it a cruel prank played by someone who knew us?
Or did we unwittingly stumble upon something supernatural,
something beyond our comprehension?
As I recount this story, the weight of guilt presses upon me.
Guilt for trespassing in the sacred grounds of the deceased,
guilt for not reaching out to Ethan when he needed us the most,
guilt for not uncovering the truth behind those whispers in the dark.
I can only hope that somewhere, somehow, Ethan found peace and closure.
But one thing is certain,
that Halloween night forever changed us.
It taught us the fragility of life, the power of fear, and the importance of cherishing those we hold dear.
And as the years go by, I've come to realize that some stories are meant to remain untold,
hidden away like secrets
in a forgotten graveyard.