A couple of years ago my friend told me that she used to see our teacher Ms. Smith wander through the local graveyard at midnight. I didn't beleive her at first, but soon realised by the look on her face that she wasn't joking. We decided to investigate.
Early one evening we spied on the graveyard and waited for several hours before it turned midnight. In the dead of night, Ms Smith arrived in full glory with a large russet handbag and green stilettos. She didn't seem to be doing anything supspicious, so me and my friend made our way out of our hiding place and headed home. Just at that exact moment, Ms Smith heard something.
"Who's there?" She called. We didn't answer, from shock. We decided not to leave after all in case we missed something.
"What are we looking for exactly?" My friend asked cautiously.
"I'm not sure, let's just wait and see."
So that's what we did. We waited, and waited, and waited, and waited until we couldn't wait any longer.
Then all of a sudden we noticed Ms Smith doing something particularly strange. She was mumbling a sort of rhyme as she passed the old and weary headstones.
"What's she doing now?" I asked my friend.
"Don't you see? She conjouring up dead spirits," she whispered back. I knew it sounded ridiculous, but what other explanation was there? I didn't know what to think.
"You watch them young'ns Benjamin. Take care o' yourself ole' boy," Ms Smith said to one of the old headstones. I felt for her. Maybe she had lost loved ones and was just paying her respects to them. And us two mischeif makers were spying on her. I felt rotten. I felt really guilty.
That was until I saw a ghostly figure climb swiftly out of every headstone in the graveyard.
"She didn't conjour those. She's freed them...look, they're happy." The ghostly characters jumped and chortled with delight.
My entire mouth gaped open as Ms Smith suddenly danced and laughed with them. And she began to fade...her face pale in the wind, her wisps of hair turning a brilliant shining silver.
"She's one of them!" I smiled.
"You mean Ms Smith's bloomin' dead then?" My friend giggled.
"That's not very nice is it now? We'll have to be quiet. She going to hear us if we don't," I tittered.
I smiled radiantly as I watched Ms Smith float over the hills and get smaller until she was finally out of sight.
We got up out of the shrub that we'd been in and looked around the graveyard. I went up to one of the headstones and looked at it closely.
"That's odd," I observed. "The names ingraved on these stones have all...disappeared. I looked at a wobbly grave in the far corner of the yard. I walked over to it.
"Apart from this one. Look at it closely," I was mystified. "It says: Abigail Smith, Beloved wife of Henry Smith and much loved mother of James and Lily Smith. Born 1289, Died 1355," A tear rolled down my cheek.
My friend looked at me.
"That means she died around 650 years ago," my friend added abruptly. I picked a rose from one of the bushes and placed it on the grave.
"If I'd have known," I cried tearfully. "I wish I hadn't cheated on all her tests. And I wish I'd never called her a snooty old bag behind her back," I sobbed. "That's probably why she never liked me. I bet she knew what I said...you know, being a ghost and all that." I hugged my friend. I put my hands together and prayed. I prayed for Ms Smith and prayed that wherever she was, she'd forgive me for being a wretched little girl, and for being so horrible to her.
"Let's go," I sobbed.
Every night I pray for Ms Smith and pray that she will lead a happy after-life...
