And we’re back! 31 Stories from the South is not dead and buried. At least not yet! While it may not be a story a day for 31 days, it will end up being 31 stories…. one of these days. I thought I would at least finish off these last four days of October with some fun and spooky stories from the south!
The above epitaph is written on a grave in Monticello’s “largest” cemetery. It’s actually not too far from my Ranny’s grave. I spent much of my childhood playing in this cemetery. As a result cemeteries aren’t that scary to me, at least not during the day. We would often visit with my grandfather when he would go to cleanup the graves of our relatives. He would wander about the cemetery with us, pointing out this grave or that and telling us stories about the long passed residences of Roselawn cemetery. He was a funny old man who would even address the people 6 foot under as if they were still around. As he would get to work cleaning up the graves my sister and I would wander around playing and exploring. This grave in particular always drew our attention. Apparently this is a common epitaph from the 19th century that has many different versions, but we memorized this one at a very early age. The tombstone itself was unique with Victorian accents which made it extra creepy.
When my mother and stepfather were dating I joined them for dinner one evening. I had only met Chuck a few times and had told him about the creepy tombstone even able to recite it at the age of eight. He was enjoying the tale and decided to challenge me to visit the cemetery once we finished eating and show him the grave so he could see it for himself. I agreed and he grabbed the matches on the table and proposed we use them to read the inscription. I’m sure my mom was enjoying this and maybe even somewhat surprised that I agreed.
Of course once we pulled up in the cemetery and it was pitch black outside I refused to get out of the car. They both got quite a laugh.
Years before, my mother and father were in cahoots with my grandfather to scare my Aunt Linda and cousin Rusty and their friends. They were either still in high school or had just graduated and Grandaddy and his cousin Patsy who was visiting from Georgia took a bunch of kids down to the cemetery one night to see the grave. Unbeknownst to the kids, my mother and father were hidden up in the nearby tree with a contraption my father had built. Apparently if you drill a hole in the bottom of a 5 gallon bucket and thread a piece of wax twine through it, it makes the most godawful sound. I remember it being a mixture between a growl and a moan. The sound just reverberates inside the plastic bucket. I’m not sure who read the epitaph, but as they got to the end reading, “prepare for death and come with me” Daddy pulled that string and those teenagers were screaming and running for the wrought iron entrance. As the story goes, in their stampede they managed to knock poor cousin Pasty clear to the ground.