Two months after our first visit to the ancient and forgotten graveyard, we decided to go back with a friend. She’d heard us talk about the first incident repeatedly, and kept pushing us to take here there. By then, that night of terror seemed like a story that had happened to someone else, so we finally gave in and decided to drive out there. I was also a bit excited to explore that graveyard more, as it had an amazing scary atmosphere.
We also went prepared with flashlights and a newer cellphone whose coverage for that area we verified. I was jaded when it came to fear, but I wasn’t stupid. We also made sure to hide our car perfectly, and to be observant on our walk down the old country road. It started raining on us, and the whole thing felt like a terrible idea… but we soon realized that the chances of seeing that same mysterious truck again were probably zero. When the chilly drizzle stopped, we started to feel much better, and the rest of the walk went quickly.
As the three of us stepped onto the dirt ridge that led toward the old graveyard, our good cheer faded in favor of quiet apprehension. The place truly was terrifying, now that we could see more of it. The stars were out by then, and the trees were half-bare with oncoming autumn. A slight chill in the air made me shiver as we walked up the long leaf-covered path, approaching the first hill. That hill’s crest directly melded into the second and bigger hill, whose grassy paths ran up into darkness. The entire double-hill was surrounded by huge skeletal trees whose leaves were almost entirely gone, and everything sat in stark and unmoving silence.
Although we’d been drinking on the walk over, my girlfriend and I were quiet. Though that night seemed distant, we both vividly remembered the danger we’d been in last time we were here... but our friend had no such qualms. She stumbled around excitedly, looking at gravestones and shouting out her discoveries.
The stones themselves were cracked and weathered, and most were impossible to read. We did locate one of the dates – the name had been scoured away, but the person had died in 1764. That surprised me, as I knew that meant the graveyard literally pre-dated Ohio itself. I had expected the headstones to be from the Civil War era, for some reason.
Our friend picked up a broken piece of headstone and carried it over to us, joking about souvenirs. I shared a glance of discomfort with my girlfriend at this, but we all continued our exploration. We hiked up the larger hill, entering the dark shadows that the crown of trees hung over the older and seemingly sadder section of the graveyard. A distinct feeling of privacy and sorrow seemed built into the worn stone nubs and monoliths that represented long forgotten loved ones.
It was then that the three of us stopped simultaneously at the sight of something strikingly out of place. The graveyard stopped at the crest of the hill, where we were nearly at level with the tops of the more distant trees… but we could see, down the slope and almost hidden by the undergrowth, a small headstone set far apart from all of the others. Immediately our friend ran toward it, and we hurriedly followed her in apprehension.
The lonely spot felt decidedly cut off from the graveyard and even more alone, if that was possible. The barely readable inscription had one letter remaining, M, and two dates: 1752 - 1759. The grave was for a young child… I began to feel strange… but I knew for certain that something was wrong when our friend laughed and looked down. She shone her flashlight on her discovery for us to see: a teddy bear, clean and in perfect condition… so much so that someone had to have placed it there recently.
My thoughts immediately grew fearful. Why was this grave set so far apart? Who was this child that had died so tragically young? And, most of all… who the hell was visiting this forgotten graveyard in the middle of nowhere to leave a toy at the headstone of a child that had died three hundred years ago? I had no time to guess before our friend reached down. My girlfriend and I both shouted, but it was too late: she picked up the teddy bear.
Immediately, a sharp blast of wind hit the surrounding trees all at once. Against the stark silence that we had grown accustomed to, it sounded like an angry explosion. Our friend screamed, dropped the teddy bear, and ran. My girlfriend followed. The blasting wind in the skeletal trees grew in intensity as I turned to bolt with them – but I turned back for just a moment to replace the teddy bear in its spot.
Our fearful flight turned to nervous laughter as we pelted back down the hill. As the wind continued to rise, we decided it was time to get back to the car before the oncoming storm clouds – sharp black against the stars – decided to drench us. I couldn’t resist taking one look back up the hill as we traveled across the dirt ridge…
…and my eyes focused on something… a darker patch in the shaded sorrows we had come from, as if someone was standing there watching us leave. At first, I actually smiled. I was a hardcore skeptic, but the thought that the unknown child’s spirit might be watching us go and appreciating our visit was genuinely enticing. Still, I couldn’t quite make it out, and I figured it was just a trick of the shadows. As we finally exited onto the country road, I looked back, and a darker patch between the gravestones on the first hill - much closer than before - seemed to catch my eye. My smile faded, and I hurried the girls out of there.
It was on the drive home that the fear really hit us, prompted by something our friend told us. As it began to drizzle again, she suddenly insisted we pull over, and immediately threw up out the opened car door. We asked her what was wrong, and it took a few moments for her to tell us the horrible thing that had occurred to her… we’d been rained on only a few minutes before we got to the graveyard on foot… but the bear… the bear she’d picked up had been dry.