We worked on the tree for a bit, and drank a couple of PBRs. Our conversation turned to the odd, and we began talking about our own personal ghost stories, and stories of the strange and odd. The subject of the Black Angel came up.
The Black Angel is a statue that was made in Italy, or someplace beyond the ocean, and then shipped here to go on someone's grave. For some reason it changed color, from white to black. There are many tall tales outling the reasons for this manifestation, none of which we really cared about...we just wanted to see it.
So, we decided at 11:00 to drive out to the cemetary where it is located and take a look. The moon was casting some pretty wicked shadows throughout the cemetary that heightened the general spooky mood.
We had to walk pretty far back into the cemetary to get to the Black Angel. Oddly, there is a light shining down on the massive statue drawing shadows that further darkened her face. The statue stirred some emotions in me...mostly sad. I was thinking how tough being an Angel would be these days. Just no appreciation for angelic behaviour, not that there is much of it.
We saw a car coming down the path into the graveyard so he bolted off into the shadows. Neither one of use wanted to get busted for tresspassing. We had to run pretty far to get deep enough into the darkness to be hidden and my white and his bright yellow shirt weren't helping matters much.
We were able to run into a part of the cemetary that was far enough from the motor path, so we both took a moment to catch our breath. I only run when being chased...and that isn't very often, so it took me awhile to catch mine. Asthma doesn't help. Brandon was laughing hysterically, caught up in the adrenaline rush, that and he stepped in a big muddy hol that had ripped his shoe off. He had only stopped long enough to grab it, and now his sock was black with cemetary mud.
Just when we had caught our breaths there was this horrible sound of two dogs snarling and fighting. It sounded as if they were huge and coming our way. The running began again. I was trying to weave in and out of the headstones, but one of them missed my sight, and I ran full force into it. It was just high enough to strike my shin and send me flying down the wet grassy hill. Brandon's laughing erupted again...and mine followed despite the throbbing pain in my leg.
It was the curse of the black angel, I tell you.
I am taking the day off work today, because my leg is killing...I think I must have bruised the bone. I have a pretty big gash where the grave marker struck me, or rather where I stuck it.
It was worth it, though. Such a rush when you mix graveyards, mad dogs, and illegal tresspassing. Reminded me of my days of youth.
Well, I better take advantage of this free day...leg pain, or no.
Peace.
1 comment:
ok that one had me rolling the tears of laughter are rolling down my cheeks. I really do need to get a life. Your favorite stalcker!
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