Bethel Cemetery

They all call it the demon of Bethel Cemetery.

There are many who disagree on who it was, or where it came from, but they all agree on one thing - it's out for no good.

Some said it's the servant of the devil, bent on destroying those who do not please and revere the Lord. Others, they think it's the soul of a murdered tribal warrior, bent on destroying the white man that had stolen his land and killed his people. No matter the story, the ending is always the same - if you find yourself alone in the old Bethel Cemetery when the moon is high and the hours late, you're bound for trouble from beyond.

Bethel Cemetery is located in the s-bend of the over-travelled Tracy Road. It lies cradled in a patch of dense, temperate woodland, and is heavily shaded, even on the hottest of summer days, by dense clusters of ancient, ashy oak trees and ancient, mottled magnolias. Just to the left of the old cemetery sits a tiny, square, brick Presbyterian church, tucked neatly in its own cluster of dusty, old oaks and regal, towering magnolias.

While this little red, brick church only dates back no later than the late 30's or 40's, legend has it that the original church had been burnt down in Sherman's "March to the Sea" during the Civil War. An even grimmer version of the story claimed that not only had Sherman burnt down the original church - a tiny, white washed building made from knotted clapboard - but he had imprisoned all the residents of the surrounding town inside and burnt them all alive in a show of dominance and conquest.

There is no doubt that the church had figured into the violence of the Civil War. The area had been ravaged by the "March to the Sea", a fact that could be found in any journal, diary, history book or government record of the time. In his master plan to burn the South into submission, General Sherman had happened upon the tiny town, an important train depot with local access to the Mississippi River. Here, he had found a people that had not only backed the Southern Rebellion, but were determined to see its success or die in attempting to protect it. He ensured that many of them did die, whether by fire, massacre, or other means, and their bodies were buried in marked and unmarked graves throughout the little church's cemetery.

An even darker chapter of the tiny town's history revealed that the area had also greatly figured into the slaughtering of the local native tribe, the Atokas. In the late 1700's the area had been gifted to a several Revolutionary War heroes for their loyalty and bravery in the battle against Mother Britain. However, the land was already inhabited by a large tribe of Native Americans who had lived in the area for time untold. While initial efforts were made to live side by side peacefully, tensions soon boiled, and the tribe was wiped out through disease, famine and warfare with the newly planted white men that claimed the land all around them.

These gruesome facts seemed to explain it all when the attacks began.

The first recorded attack was reported in the early 70's. A man, whose identity had been protected at the time, claimed that he had been attacked by a demon creature as he had been wondering through the cemetery late one night in autumn.

Mr. John Doe claimed to have been out on a night hunt, when he decided to cut through the cemetery to get back to his car parked on Tracy Road. As he entered the center of the cemetery, he had suddenly felt very cold and said the air had gone still. He claimed that everything had inexplicably fallen silent, and the hair on the back of his neck had risen to points. Feeling uneasy, he had turned around, coming face to face with a pair of glowing, red eyes. He had turn and run at that point, but claimed that he could hear growling just behind him, and feel the hot, stinking breath of the creature that pursue him. As he had neared the other side of the cemetery, he tripped and fell, throwing his arms over his face as he hit the ground. He had then been set upon by the demon, who had shredded his clothes and the skin of his arms and chest.

They had taken pictures of the man, showing his ripped and bloody clothing, as well as the heavy bandaging of his arms. He claimed to have never seen more of the beast than the glowing red eyes, but claimed that he had smelled the sulfurous flames of hell reeking off of it. John Doe claimed that as the beast tore at his flesh, he could hear the savage laugh of the devil and feel his pitch fork stabbing down on his flesh over and over again.

Even those who did not fear the Lord were struck with fear at the tale. Suddenly, mothers no longer let their children walk home along Tracy Road, and the church decided to put up a fence to surround the cemetery, a tall, wrought-iron fence, with a heavy black gate that bore a great heavy chain and padlock.

But curiosity has a way with cats and men.

The next reported attack happened not even 6 months later. A young girl made the claim this time, and the facts were nearly identical to the first report. She had been out in the cemetery with her boyfriend, a star on the local football team, at an hour past midnight. It was a chill autumn month, and they decided it would be fun to find the demon of Bethel Cemetery. They had been wondering around in the cold, sharing a flask of whiskey between them, when they had heard growling in the underbrush that lined the new, heavy fence. Her boyfriend had grabbed her hand as the red eyes had appeared in the darkness. They had turned and run, but the handsome football quarterback had sustained grievous scratches, and his letterman jacket had been torn to bits before they could make it into the cab of his truck parked just yards away.

More and more stories began to circulate. Each one rang to a similar tune - red eyes, growls, scratches, dark shapes and exploding fireballs of light. Every few months, someone would step forward with a new tale, a new experience.

The demon of Bethel Cemetery was born.

Now, everyone in the town knows to avoid Bethel Cemetery, especially when the moon is high and the night is bright. It is said that if you enter the cemetery during the full moon, you are guaranteed to meet with the demon, and that the night you see him might very well be your last.

To us, the inheritors of this town, this is the place of shadow and death. It is a glance into the abyss of unknown - the gaping mouth of hell. To the people of the tiny town of Atoka, Bethel Cemetery is the haunt of the past and the future; the place where the seeds of yesterday's tragedy are sowed to yield a crop of hateful evil and discourse. This is where we stand, toe to toe with our past, and are forced to look into its bloody, glowing red eyes.