C ramping from the pain, we rested in the starlit, open area, and struggling to regain composure despite the unnerving event, collapsed into side-splitt ing laughter again. As I looked around from my site of collapse , I noticed the moon. The full circle, eery-white, illuminated the open area almost like day in stark contrast to the dark, wooded, overgrown area we had just fled. I felt fine, here, laughing especially after that! About six of us, five of the nicest men I know and I, had come out here to experience the new-found Harding adventure. In a scattered rural area, about six miles out of Searcy, stands a peaceful cemetery . The front part is clear, well cared for, and peaceful. But, just past the open area's single, tall oak tree, towers a dark, menacing legion of twisted trees. Our destination was just Fur ball of fear beyond the bare front line. We slowly approached the small winding path that led beyond the treesentinels to the tombstones which, jutting out of the ground at all angles, dated back as far as 1857. Walking past the now-green, weather-beaten markers which rested against the sides of trees which they had watched grow up from saplings, our group grew tighter and tighter. Just ahead waited the fenced plot which marked the end of our adventure. So far, so good. In the middle of the plot, guarding all the smaller stones, loomed a tall spire-like marker. Huddled in the midst of five upperclass males, I felt safe enough to suggest we read that marker in particular. One of the braver men of the group opened the rusty old gate; it squeaked in protest and, I thought, warning. We continued on. Just as we approached the old, guardian stone, lined with age, a twig broke - behind the stone! We froze . The night fell strangely silent. We stood motionless. We listened. Just as we were about to relax, the flashlight dimmed. It brightened. It dimmed. It went dark. Another twig broke. The organism of which I was the nucleus began to move backwards. There was a bump against the side of the group. A frightened gasp broke the silence. Suddenly the organism divided and scattered. I grabbed a hand at random. I ran. Branches slapped my face. Roots grabbed my feet. The hand drug me toward the opening in the dark maze. As we burst through the edge of the dark terror, I glanced back. Scampering after us came a tonguelolling, furry, little puppy. Jlt - Karen Roseberry Pamela Michelle Dwyer - Corpus Christi , TX Amber L. Dykes - Oakley , CA Cheryl Lynn Easley - Little Rock , AR Jennifer Mae Eckhart -Vienna , WV Mark Anton Eckman- Colonial Heights , VA Timothy Claude Eddings - Ferndale , Ml Laurie Ann Ellis - Lafe , AR Kimberly Sue Elmore -Annandale , VA Kathleen Evelyn Eppick - Newberg , OR Jane Dottery Evans - N. Little Rock , A.R Brett Anthony Ferguson - Dexter , MO David Keith Finley - Lowell , OH Amy Carol Fisher - Nashville, TN Allen Lee Fitzgerald - Cedar Rapids , lA Andrea Ann Flatt - Clawson , Ml Billy Bronson Fore - Houston, TX Kenneth Wayne Forte- Sweet Home , AR Lynda Gay Foster - Ft. Smith , AR Kimberly Ann Fox - Hubertus, WI Molly Colette Frank - McCrory , AR Richard Allen Frazier -Lathrop , MO Margaret Louise Fry - Hope , AR Sandra Lynn Garner - Greenville , IL Kevin Douglas Getter - Douglas, AZ Michael Dean Gist - Racine , WI Rita Marie Glenn - Strafford , MO Kesha Glisson - Rantoul , IL Dorothy Kay Glover - Cheyenne , WY Juniors 213
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