Tales from Edwardsburg - The Case of the Missing Keys

My parents were good friends with Del Shannon’s sister Blanche.  In fact, there is a rumor that he actually babysat us kids once or twice.  I remember visiting Blanche and family at their home near Muskegon and gazing in awe at the Del Shannon albums on the wall, a tribute to her famous brother.

One summer, Blanche and her family came to visit us in Edwardsburg.  I am sure the menfolk were off working on snowmobile engines or some such thing.  The moms were trying to think of something to do with the kids.  “I have an idea!” I exclaimed.  “Let’s all go down to the cemetery and look at the gravestones”. “In the dark” I added.  After some discussion, all agreed that would be a fun thing to do.

Oh I feel sick just looking at this.

Why we didn’t walk down there I will never know, after all it was less than a quarter mile.   After a supper of goulash and tater tots, we piled in the white Chrysler station wagon with the fake wood panels on the side, Mom driving and Blanche in the passenger seat.   All six of us kids crammed in the back, half of us behind them and the rest in that weird seat that faced backwards in the very rear of the car.   This, by the way, always made you carsick if you were the unfortunate soul sentenced to sit there.

We backed out of the driveway and headed off a quarter mile east to the old cemetery road.  A left turn placed us on the soft, sandy dirt drive that had a stripe of green grass growing down the middle.  We passed by the entrance sign and pulled up to a stop at the top of the hill.  It was dark, real dark.  I had filled Mom and Blanche’s heads full of stories about unusual headstones in the cemetery, the crypt, and added a few local tales of terror such as the glowing tombstone, gravity hill, and the Mullen Road Monsters for good measure earlier that day.  I wanted to be sure they had a quality experience.

Car doors popped open and out we spilled into the cemetery’s darkness.  Everyone except me that is.  I couldn’t help but notice Mom had left the keys in the ignition.  Poor Mom.  I took my time getting out of the car, and as stealthily as a ninja, snatched the keys and put them in my pocket.  The stage was set.

I led the nighttime tour of the cemetery, visiting the unusual headstones and peering over the edge of the embankment to get a glimpse of the crypt (they were too scared to go near it).  Then the discussion turned to ghosts and goblins.  I told them of the cemetery on the way to Dowagiac where you could see a glowing tombstone as you entered, but which would mysteriously disappear when you tried to find it.  The tension began to rise, the fear was so thick in the air you could taste it.   Soon, it was no longer bearable.  Mom and Blanche and all the kids ran screaming back to the car and jumped in, half-laughing and half-crying, literally in hysterics.  They wanted out of there NOW. When the last car door shut, Mom reached for the keys.  Gone!  “Where are the keys, where are the keys!” she screamed frantically.  Poor Blanche was so shaken she peed her pants. Honest. Thank god for vinyl seats.

As you might imagine, I could contain myself no longer.  My giggles erupted into laughter, which became contagious once the rest of the kids caught on.  I handed the keys to Mom and I believe she burned rubber on that dirt driveway, throwing stones and dirt 100 yards behind her.  She never did go back to that cemetery.

I believe I shared the doghouse with FiFi that night.