Some people love scary stories. Other people tend to stay away from them. Some, a rare few, hate them to the point of madness. Let's just focus on the first two, because any mind we pay the other one will surely be lost.
Kayla Brock, an eighth-grader from our own school, says "Scary stories are only good sometimes, because sometimes they're not scary at all and your just thinking "wow... that was dumb". They are only good when they have super creepy or gross things in them to make them scarier. I love scary stories." Miss Brock is saying, basically, that she loves scary stories but only when they are actually scary. This opinion is shared by many people, including Rebecca Davis. She says "If it's not scary, I don't want to see it. If it's creepy, maybe."
Some people don't like scary stories. Mary Gentner says "I don't like scary stories. When I was littler, they scared me and gave me nightmares." Some people don't like anything scary. Some people prefer scary stories over scary movies. Others like scary movies, but not scary stories. Even still, there are those people that love to be scared. They live on scary things. If you are not one of the people who enjoy scary stories, I suggest you do not read ahead. If you are hard to scare, I suggest picturing the scary story, perhaps as if you are the victim.
This isn't one of the scarier ones, in fact, some might argue that it's not scary at all, sort-of dumb! But picture, if you will, that you are the laundress in the story. Picture the rotting-corpse look of the people in the army, picture the ghostly green-grey foggy glow of the army. Picture not being able to move your arm, to have something attached to you that you used to be able to feel and move and control, a part of you, and no longer be able to feel, let alone move it!
A laundress, newly moved to Charleston following the Civil War, found herself awakened at the stroke of twelve each night by the rumble of heavy wheels passing in the street. But she lived on a dead end street, and had no explanation for the noise. Her husband would not allow her to look out the window when she heard the sounds, telling her to leave well enough alone. Finally, she asked the woman who washed at the tub next to hers. The woman said: "What you are hearing is the Army of the Dead. They are Confederate soldiers who died in hospital without knowing that the war was over. Each night, they rise from their graves and go to reinforce Lee in Virginia to strengthen the weakened Southern forces."
The next night, the laundress slipped out of bed to watch the Army of the Dead pass. She stood spell-bound by the window as a gray fog rolled passed. Within the fog, she could see the shapes of horses, and could hear gruff human voices and the rumble of canons being dragged through the street, followed by the sound of marching feet. Foot soldiers, horsemen, ambulances, wagons and canons passed before her eyes, all shrouded in gray. After what seemed like hours, she heard a far off bugle blast, and then silence.
When the laundress came out of her daze, she found one of her arms was paralyzed. She has never done a full days washing since.
