Little May

I had a couple from Virginia on my last week-end and they had a great camping story. They had gone tent camping at Kerr Lake in Virginia. It is a simple gravel campground and on the site is an old church and a graveyard. The church, graveyard, and campground are all encircled by a short wrought iron fence. The graves are old and sunken, mostly from the beginning of the 19th century. One is for a 9 year old girl and all that is engraved on the stone is "Little May."

Well the man said that he was lying awake one night and heard the ice chest open and close, open and close then someone walking outside their tent on the gravel. Only the footfalls never went off into the woods, he would have heard the leaves and the rustling of the trees. None of that, just footfalls on gravel. Well he leaped out of bed with his flashlight, it is freezing, he can see his breath in the tent, even though it is July in Virginia. When he goes outside and searches the campground, of course there is no one there.

The next day his whole extended family laughs at him.

The following night his wife, who never wakes in the night, pulls on his arm in the middle of the night. There is someone outside our tent, she says. He insists, not this again. But the tent is freezing. They hear footsteps come right up to their tent and stop just outside. Then they hear a little girl's voice, like she is talking to her father, only it is very faint. He takes a deep breath, grabs his flashlight and in a great woosh opens the tent.


Outside there is nothing but dark night.