by L. L. Reynolds
I grew up beside a cemetery, which isn’t nearly as tragic as people think it sounds—unless you’re afraid of moonlight, crickets, and the kind of quiet that hums you to sleep like a lullaby. To me, it was just the backyard—lovely, peaceful, and shady. While other kids had swing sets and fences, I had marble headstones and four long dirt roads to wander, along with two mounded receiving vaults to ponder over endlessly.
I never feared ghosts. I assumed they had far better things to do than spook an eleven-year-old with grass-stained knees, spelling homework, and a flute case. (Yes, I used to practice out there among the stones. The ghosts were my first audience, and unlike my other family members, they never once complained about the high notes.)
Over the years, I developed a few rules—what I like to call Ghost Etiquette—for sharing space with the dearly departed:
Always say hello.
If you’re going to walk through someone’s resting place, the least you can do is acknowledge your hosts. A cheerful “Good afternoon!” never hurt anyone.
Don’t whisper about ghosts—whisper to them.
Bring flowers if you’re visiting; stories if you’re staying. Ghosts, it seems, adore good gossip. After all, eternity is long, and Wi-Fi service is spotty beyond the veil.
Although many living humans will care, the deceased don’t mind if you walk over their graves.
Really, they don’t. They remember what it’s like to have legs and enjoy seeing them put to good use. The dead have no bones to bruise and no pride to trample. If anything, they’re grateful for the company. Just don’t do it in the ancient part of the cemetery, where the ground looks as though it may be buckling.
Run, jump, and play if you must.
Ghosts don’t object to laughter. They’ve heard plenty of crying, and laughter is a nice change of pace. You can even dash between the stones if wild neighborhood boys are disturbing a girl’s peace and quiet and chasing her with garter snakes or snapping turtles. Trust me, I tested this thoroughly. If any spirits were watching, I’m sure they applauded the speed with which I ran from those hooligans.
Respect the night watch.
Crickets, owls, and the occasional bat handle security. No flashlights directly in their eyes.
If you feel a chill, don’t scream—say “Bless you.”
Sometimes it’s just someone sneezing through dimensions.
Remember: ghosts are people without the paperwork.
They’ve done the hard part already. A little kindness costs nothing. Clear the debris from around a headstone that no longer looks cared for by anyone else. Don’t remove small stones sitting on the markers; certain people do this to show respect and affection for the deceased after visiting the gravesite.
Do not touch or tip over the gravestones or markers.
Believe me, you will be haunted for doing something as heinous as that—and karma will catch up with you.
Living beside a cemetery taught me that death isn’t something to fear; it’s just the quieter neighborhood next door. The people resting there once told stories, chased butterflies, and yes, ran from garter snakes and snapping turtles too.
I’ve spent my life believing that the world is bigger, brighter, and far more mysterious than we can see at first glance. Living beside a cemetery taught me that death isn’t the opposite of life—it’s just the quieter neighborhood next door.
So if you ever find yourself walking among the stones on a misty evening and the air feels like someone just leaned close to listen—don’t be afraid. There is absolutely nothing to fear.