The one thing that puzzled me the most was the origin of the ‘light’ each time it appeared. Why did it seem to come out of the grave of James Wallace Simpson or did it really come from another grave near by that no longer was marked by a tombstone? Both times I witnessed it I could have sworn it came from that area but as I was some distance away, I could never be sure. It would seem to appear from between the ‘hole’ in the boxwoods that surround the grave! After learning there had been no tombstones in the entire Lawnes Creek graveyard prior to 1848 this seemed to be a good starting point for me to find out why! If there had been graves there prior to 1848, had they had simply become illegible and removed after the new Lawnes Creek church had been built?

Had either of the Allens ever been buried there in the first place or had they been buried at one of the other two Lawnes Creek Churches out on the "Hog Island Main"? If I could just find something to prove this place had contained a graveyard prior to the church being built in 1754, then there could very possibly be unmarked graves all over the place. Later burials would have then been made on previous burial sites. I feel sure that this must have been the case due to the way my ‘ghost’ came into being.

There is no way feasible to prove this hypothesis. It sounds asinine as well as sacrilegious to even think about going to the extremes necessary to try to prove it and I shudder to think about the ramifications of such a venture. This whole episode is still stuck in my ‘craw’ and refuses to leave so it will always haunt me. If I could manage to stumble onto something else that would give credence to my beliefs it might help solve the mystery of the ‘light’. I will continue to exhaust all resources available and pursue the matter at a later date but for now I am tired of searching and will just give in and accept that which I already know!

Regardless of whose grave the ‘light’ comes from it always appears to follow the same ritual. I tried to tie its appearance to phases of the moon, specific times, dates, periods of solar flares, magnetic fluctuations in the earth, etc., but none prove reliable. The only predictable thing about its appearance was the way it could be counted on to perform. Otherwise, the possibility of viewing it would have to be just a ‘chance’ happening!

I seldom pass the graveyard as I drive along the highway that I do not smile at the tire skid marks on the asphalt that always seem to be there! I know right away that someone has been forced to ‘slam’ on his brakes when the ‘light’ dashed across the highway right in front of the car. Most of the area residents wet their fingers and make a cross on the windshield prior to passing the graveyard. Some even make sure they carry a crucifix when having to pass the area after dark. To those who have heard the legend of the ‘ghost light’ and the effect it can have on people, it is humorous to see the precautions they take before passing the area. For instance, imagine if you can an entire carload of people passing the area and everyone with their hats turned around backwards and staring dead ahead!

There are some families who still have family plots and bury loved ones there. I can just imagine the apprehension prevalent in the minds of the people who attend those funerals. With the slightest out of the way noise or happening a mass exodus could take place and the funeral would be over in an instant!

An incident took place in the graveyard one summer day that bears telling yet it did not involve the ‘light’. As I so often did when I had time on my hands, I would come to photograph and read the tombstones with all their interesting and profound inscriptions. Additionally, as the entire area is a very bucolic place it has the uncanny ability of soothing both the mind and body. Therefore it is a pleasure to visit anytime I found it necessary to get away from the rigors of a humdrum day. Such had been the case that particular day.

Regardless of whatever reason I might have had for being there, I always seemed to end up visiting the ‘ghost’ grave. The English boxwoods surrounding some of the graves are immense and beautiful and a real joy to behold as they ever so perfectly frame the tombstones. I stood there thinking how long it must have taken for them to grow so large and why something so beautiful had to grow so slowly. I often wished I had some of them in the gardens at my home to enjoy any time I wanted. Then, without having heard a single sound, I was suddenly aware that someone was standing beside me. I felt my body begin to chill. When I mustered enough bravado to turn and look, much to my relief it was not a ‘ghostly apparition’ or some other paranormal entity but a tiny old lady, perhaps no more than five feet tall. She appeared kind and gentle yet frail and old. She was clothed simply in a tattered pale blue dress with a design that appeared both faded and obscure! I think she must have sensed that I was startled and had reservations about speaking first, so she managed a disarming smile, took the initiative and began. "You must really like those boxwoods for you seem to be admiring them rather intently," she said smiling even more. She won me over and I suddenly felt at ease so we began to converse. I told her how much I loved plants and nature in general and just how beautiful all the plants, trees and especially the boxwoods, were in this place. "Would you like to have some cuttings of those boxwoods to root at your home so you can enjoy them anytime?" she continued. It was as though she had read my mind and it made me uneasy. I was emphatic when I told her that I had no intention of breaking off any of the branches of any boxwood in the graveyard no matter how much I loved them. To do so in such a place as this would be a vile act of disrespect for the dead. "Well maybe you won’t break some branches but I can for they belong to me and I take care of them," she said as she gave me another wry smile. Without any hesitation or waiting for me to object, she broke off seven branches and placed them in my hand. She was careful to close my hand around them along with some damp soil she scooped up. Then she instructed me, "Close your hand over them and don’t let them dry out until you get them back home". Although her hands only touched mine for an instant, they seemed as cold as ice and it unnerved me. "Once home, take your fingernail and scrape a long scar about two inches from the bottom of each main stem and they will soon take root. Before long you can enjoy them any time you want," she went on to say. I was impressed for she sounded as though she might have been a gardener at one time and knew quite a bit about plants. I ever so gently held them along with the small wad of dirt she had picked up and put in my clenched fist to make sure they didn’t dry out. As I turned to thank her, I suddenly found myself alone! She was nowhere to be seen! I have never experienced such a feeling and my legs almost gave away. Where did she go? There was no way she could have simply disappeared out of sight in such a short time period and besides, where would she have gone? I raced around the entire graveyard looking behind each tombstone as I went but there was no one there! It was a half-mile to the nearest residence across open fields so she could not have gone there without my seeing her. Where had she been while I was casually strolling around the graveyard? What a predicament! There I was, completely startled and with a handful of ‘stolen’ boxwood branches! What if someone happened by and saw me with those branches and then confronted me? I would feel like a felon and yet I was completely innocent of the whole affair. As soon as my legs would respond to signals from my numbed brain, I had to get out of there fast. Who would ever believe my explanation if I got caught?