Night time hangs over a cemetary

like black-out curtains.

A slight breeze rattles branches

and gravel crunches beneath a 

  dirty pair of tennis shoes.

Someone young, someone curious, walks along the rocky path.

  The 14 year old's backpack is equipped with a flashlight, a notebook,

  and a wooden cross, among other things.

A friend from school meets up with her eventually;

they've come to talk to the dead.

 

She starts her night by doing a grave-rubbing

  in a raggedy journal.

He sat, carefully, making sure not to be on someone's body,

 in awe of her boldness.

He blushed, covered by the darkness.

 He thanked God silently.

He zips up his sweatshirt

she rolls down the sleeves of her hoodie.

 

The kids venture to the biggest mausoleum they see.

They whisper questions into the night-

the boy records audio on his cellphone.

They hope to capture a ghost's answer.

They get scared by the wind

  and later laugh about it together.

They happily performed their spirit finding mission.

 

The friends slowly followed a road out-

convinced they'd gathered enough evidence.

She saw it first, in the corner of her eye;

he caught up with her after a moment.

  A dark shadow.

  Bearing the shape of a man.

It seemed to advance

and the teenagers sprinted homeward.

Running, running, running,

and not stopping until they go to her house.

 

They saw each other in the road

under the street lamps.

Breaking out into laughter, hugging.

Innocently loving each other.