---STOREH TIHME!----
NO STEALING. SERIOUSLY.
anyway..
It's All About The Obituaries
We take you to the graveyard, where a realm of being and not being exists at the same time. Here in this realm are ghosts who, despite having nothing to settle or apologize for (except, maybe, to each other...) still have not gone through the light.
This is merely one of their experiences. There are many more events that have occured throughout their wait for eternity, but this one stands out:
"BLADENBORO," One of the ghosts read. "Mrs. Alda Muse Davids, 70, of 3098 old Abittsburg Road, died Saturday, January 28, 2009 in Liberty Commons Nursing Center in Whiteville. Hey, think she'll come up here?"
"Nah," another ghost replied. "She's gettin' buried in Biggs Funeral Home chapel. If ya' didn't notice, we're buried in Rogers and Breece Funeral Home of Fayetteville. She's in Lumberton."
"Hey! Look!" another ghost excitedly said,pointing at the newspaper. "Royfreid, the famous tiger tamer, finally died!"
"How'd he die?" one ghastly figure asked.
"Ya' get five guesses," another replied. "Think you'll need them?"
"Hey guys!" yelled a shallow voice. A thin spirit dressed in spangles, his outfit slightly torn up, walked amid the tombstones.
"Well, speak of the devil, it's Royfreid!" Someone exclaimed.
"So..uh...who are you guys?" Royfreid asked.
"I'm Roger Eugene Wiggins, of the Amerigas Company of Fayetteville. I retired with over thirteen years of service under my belt."
"I'm Barry Graves of the Fayetteville Observer," another said. "I used to write obituaries."
"And me, my name's Bigs Spade," a phantom said with pride. "I died with military honors."
"Hey!" said Barry. "I don't consider stumbling in front of a tank and getting run over very honorable. Besides, you don't have a medal."
"Yes I do. See? It's right here!" Bigs held up a golden badge.
"That a Boy Scout merit badge," Roger bluntly stated. "That ain't no mil'tary honor."
"So...what do you do around here?" Royfreid mused curiously. "I was told by some odd woman with long, black hair to go to the light, but I don't see it. Where is it?"
"Odd woman?" mused Barry. "Oh! You mean the Ghost Whisperer? Dang, you were famous, weren't you? She doesn't mess with nobodies like us."
"A light? Heck as I know," said Barry. "The last official 'light' I saw was some idiot lighting a cigar near an Amerigas truck."
"I SAID I was SORRY!" Roger growled.
"Well, My light is somewhere in the middle of the ocean," another ghost said. "But I'm not in the mood to go swimming. Some ghosts go a long time looking for their light. Except poor old Chris P. Bacon over there. He's always seeing lights. This one time on Halloween, some kids were walking past the graveyard. One of them had those shoes that light up when you walk, ya know? Chris thought her shoes were 'the Light.'
"That poor girl. Chris chased her all the way to the police station," another being added sympathetically.
"Look around, you'll see it," one of the ghosts suggested. "Just make sure it's not a firefly or something. Chris seems to think that..."
"SO MANY LIGHTS!" Chris exclaimed as he chased the blinking bugs. "Which do I choose?"
"So, I just look around?" Royfreid mused. He spun in circles, squinting into the darkness.
"THERE IT IS!" He cried, sprinting through the trees into the darkness.
A stiffled laugh came from the group of phantoms.
"Good luck," Roger yelled in Royfreid's direction.
Soon Royfreid was out of sight, dashing like a madman to the "crossing point." As soon as he left, the small crowd of phantoms exploded with laughter.
As quickly as he took off, however, Royfield trudged back to the graveyard with a dissapointed scowl.
"So how was the light?" A ghost asked between giggles.
"It was a bug zapper," Royfreid said in dismay.
Checkered Zebra Community Member 
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