It was October 31st (Halloween) when the 4 of us Trent, Paul, James and myself passed along the edge
of the Oxford Cemetery just after dark on our way to a Halloween party. As we passed it, we saw many people walking toward the center of the graveyard. An elegantly dressed man was leaning on a headstone and waved at us to stop and I felt compelled to pull over. I rolled the window down and he said “You're just in time to join the party. Come on!” Without thinking we all got out of the car and started across the cemetery with our new friend. He was 60ish with gray hair, a mustache and carrying a pipe in his hand. He looked vaguely familiar but I could not place him.
Less than 50 yards away, in a small fold of land, 8 or 10 men were gathered around a big headstone they were using as a bar and we bellied up to it as they served us a stiff drink. After a few minutes I looked down and read the name on the grave,it said William Faulkner.
A nice fire was burning in front of the grave and many people were already gathered around drinking and talking as a skeletalWestern Band started tuning up, and then the party really started. A real Grave Yard Hoedown! As the people danced, I began to notice their attire seemed from every era. They whirled and danced as the fire grew brighter was amazed to see that I could see through most of them. I, like my brothers realized we were in the middle of a real Ghost Party in the Cemetery but there was a calmness over me so that everything felt normal and I had no reason to be afraid. Several people slapped me my brothers and me on the back that I felt we should know or had known. It was a real ghostly Halloween Party and we were in the middle of it. Our host, whom I now knew was William Faulkner, thanked us for coming and kept the liquor flowing. James and Paul were dancing with a couple of Antebellum beauties, while Trent and I laughed, drank and discussed everything from how the War Between the States was going to what was Hoover going to do about this damned depression. We just toasted everyone and said “Don't worry it's all under control and there's going to be a chicken in every pot.”
We danced, we drank, we partied, I think we howled at the moon and then things started to blur.
All I know is that later, we woke in the car and everyone was gone. The cemetery was dark and there was no sign of our friend, Mr. Faulkner. No one spoke as I cranked the car and started off.
Not far down the road, we passed a young couple walking along the edge of the cemetery with their arms around each other. The man casually waved. It took a minute for it to register on us and for me to slam on the brakes. We all turned around to look again, but they were gone. We had seen many, many pictures of the young couple before. It was my Mom and Dad.