“Mom, can I sleep out with Dave at our house?”
“Is it all right with his mom?”
Dave nodded. “We asked her first, Mrs. Thompson.”
Mom picked up the newspaper and glanced at the forecast. “Okay.”
Dave and I ran outside to set up the mosquito netting and shove our sleeping bags inside. Just in time for night. At full dark, we crawled into our sleeping bags, but it was far too early for sleep. We started with jokes, then switched to ghost stories.
Dave looked around the yard. “Kirby’s grandmother said all this was owned by the Osage Nation. Settlers moved in and pushed them out except for one woman.”
I ignored the night sounds and concentrated on the story.
“Miss Mona refused to move until the man she loved came back. He never returned. Even after she got old and died, people saw her walk the creek. When young men disappeared, Miss Mona, took them away, not the railroads. Last week, Mark came in from the creek and said that he’d seen Miss Mona. She wanted him to follow her, but he ran.”
Even though the hairs stood up on my hands and neck, I couldn’t let this pass. “Really? You expect me to believe this?”
My friend was sincere. “Ask Mark.”
I tried to sleep but heard a noise before dropping off. I looked at Dave, but he sawed logs. I scrambled out of my sleeping bag, ready to bolt for the house.
Miss Mona appeared nearby and beckoned for me to follow. Instead, I sprinted toward my front door and screamed. Miss Mona came closer.
Dave shook me “You all right?”
I stared at my friend. “I was dreaming, I guess.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Good night.” I rolled over in my bag. “It was so real.”
William R. Bartlett lives in Belton with his family.