On Folklore By Tracy Adkins Joseph was surprised to find the stones were cool as he leaned against them. The lichen-covered rocks of the ancient wall ringing the Oconee Hill Cemetery had baked in the noon-day sun. It seemed the rising full moon had sapped their heat to shine more brilliantly. “Come on, Andy. Always late shit ass loser,” Joseph whispered to himself as he shuffled his feet nervously and nervously scanned the road for the caretaker. Andy had been Joseph’s freshman year roommate and it had been his idea to break into the cemetery. Earlier in the day, Andy had pointed out an article in the Red and Black. “Bro! Check this out. It says if you stand under the cemetery bridge during a full moon, you hear a horse and wagon crossing the bridge.” “You’re high. Besides, they lock it up at night to keep out assholes like you.” “I know a way.” After Joseph had reluctantly agreed, Andy also invited that tool, Bernard. Joseph didn’t know Bernard well and didn’t want to. He was the kind of jerk that would pull wings off a fly and laugh. Joseph looked at his watch. “He has five more minutes…” Just then, a hand grabbed his wrist. “BOO!,” Andy yelled and guffawed. “Jesus!” Joseph hissed. “Shut up, you dumb shit or we’ll get caught. Where’s Bernard? Let’s get this over with,” Joseph spat. “Bernard chickened out. Let’s go.” Andy trotted down the trail. After one last check for the caretaker, Joseph followed. As they sat on the riverbank, the menacing full moon peered down through the bridge girders. Drought-browned leaves crunched under their feet and grasped from the bushes surrounding them. A nervous tingle crept up Joseph’s neck. “Let’s just go.” Before Andy could respond, the bushes parted and a large shape moved towards them. “Woooooo! Joseph, I’m the ghost of sad virgins! Wooooo!” The dopey blond waved his arms above his head. “Bernard you dumb shit, you’re late!” Andy said. “You were supposed to scare him on the trail.” Bernard shrugged. Joseph clambered up the bank, then looked back down. “This is dumb. I’m leaving.” “Look!” Bernard pointed at a black shape in the water. “A beaver!” He picked up a rock, aimed, and chucked it. Joseph couldn’t make out details, but saw the rock hit its mark. Bernard snorted. “Direct hit!” He jumped up and down celebrating. Bernard didn’t see the black shape in the water elongate and stretch towards the shore. The slithering arm was enormous and swift. Joseph’s mouth opened but dismay choked his words. It was too late. When the black tentacle ensnared both boys, Andy’s eyes widened. Bernard looked vaguely confused. Seconds after, one stifled scream disappeared with them below the river waters. Joseph was frozen, watching silent ripples recede on the surface. Stunned, he didn’t hear the horse hooves or wagon clattering across the moonlit bridge above.
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