Leaving Lexington, Kentucky toward the capitol in Frankfort, you can take the old U.S route 421. Before you are out of the city you will see the vast expanse of the Lexington Cemetery on your right.
The grounds are well kept and some of the monuments date back into the 1700's. On your right, just across the road, is a somewhat smaller Catholic cemetery. Our story, as related to me by my father and one of his brothers, occurred in the mid 1930's when they were still randy teens who would go to the big city on Saturday nights from their home in the small burg of Midway. Midway was aptly named for being "midway" between the two larger towns.
They had borrowed their fathers old Model "A" and had made a good night of it, but nearing 12:00 o'clock they had to be getting back as work on the farm started before daybreak and they would only be getting a nap anyway. It was spring and the day's earlier rain had left its cloying moisture in the air as a swirling fog that made it necessary to drive more slowly than their usual youthful spirits maintained.
My father was driving and it was well within his nature, when he saw a young woman on the right side of the road just where the entrance to the cemetery was, to stop and offer her a ride. She responded that she was not going far but our young gallants did not mind. My uncle graciously got in the back so she could ride up front. My father threw the car back into gear and started off. They had only traveled about a tenth of a mile and were nearing the
end of the stretch that passes through the two graveyards when she reached over and put her hand on his arm and told him to stop as that was as far as she was going.
My father said it put a cold stab of fear through him, for the hand and arm was withered and boney. He gasped as he looked over at the woman, who moments ago had looked as though she too had been dressed up nice for a night out, was now a desiccated looking figure with wrinkled skin and a tattered gown. He hit the brakes hard enough to
stall the engine and tried not to scream as the figure faded from the seat and a thick billow of fog swept over the front of the vehicle and blew off to the left towards the high iron fence of the old Catholic cemetery to the left.
He looked into the back seat towards his brother who was now pushed back as far as he could go and was wide eyed and as "white as a sheet"."J-just start the d**m car" was all he said.
I heard this story about thirty-five years after the fact when the two of them were sitting around our place getting well lubricated with Kentucky's finest. Though the spirits had loosed their tongues about the spirit they saw that night, I never could get them to repeat the story after that and was usually told to shut the h**l up.
On a final note; a few years later I grew up and moved to the city and lived for a while on the west side. Several times while talking to my neighbors, I would hear tales and reports of people having to swerve to keep from running over a woman who was darting across the road between the cemeteries on foggy nights. Was she merely a "ghostly" visitor to friends buried in the other cemetery?