The thing about Virginia is that it’s old. Very old. Old and with a history that is as much bloody and sad as it is inspiring and blessed.
With all that blood and sadness, it’s no wonder there are as many ghost stories around here as people. Stop here in town and ask for directions to anywhere within a fifteen mile radius, and chances are you’ll get something like, “Just head on out to the Johnson place and hang a right at the haunted graveyard.”
From what I can tell, I’m just about the only person in the county who has never caught a glimpse of one of the undead locals. Not that I go looking for them, mind you. I tend to keep my mouth shut about what I believe and don’t. The ensuing arguments wouldn’t be worth it. Besides, whether you believe them or not, the stories are pretty entertaining. And also plenty informative.
It was an off-hand comment from a local old-timer that got me thinking about what all these stories mean. It’s an important point, I think. One that deserved to be written about. To read it, hop on over to katdish’s blog. And just in case, check under your bed tonight before going to sleep.