Last night a warm wind was rustling the hundred-year-old oaks in the graveyards, a few scattered clouds scudded across the bright half moon, and dark shadows danced on marble tombstones. It was the perfect night for a ghost walk.
Danielle from Raleigh and a handful of her family and friends joined me for a special Sunday night tour. They listened intently to tales of the walking dead, of strange footsteps in empty bedrooms, of dozens of drowned seamen buried in unmarked graves on the beach, of phantom freighters, and wandering ghosts of long-dead sailors and mad old women.
It was the perfect night for a ghost walk. I believe they stayed close together as they made their way down the sandy lane back to their car.
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