On the high plains are numerous small communities that sprang up to serve the early settlers, a general store, post office, blacksmith and eventually the gas station. Nearby would be the cemetery. These communities were close knit, families grew up together, married and raised their families. Unlike today there were no radio or weather services. When the tornadoes roared across the prairie, little warning was given.
Gravestone dates reveal when the destruction of Mother Nature would wreck havoc on the early settlers. Numerous stones would have the same dates on them. Families would perish in these storms.
On warm summer nights one can find these cemeteries. The apparitions come out to visit and moan over the tragedy. They float from grave to grave, pausing, talking and moving on.
Traveling the back roads of the plains, lights flicker on the horizon, images appear for a brief moment. Family members walk out and sit in the cemetery t o visit. Listen to the wailing floating over the fields, the Yucca stands on end at the sound, coyotes cower and other critters stay in their dens on those nights.
Legends grow on those full moon nights of late fall when All Saints day arrives. Walk among the stones, listen to the stories, hear the lament, these communities await you on all hallowed night. There is no trick or treating here. Only the fearless venture forth to visit.