text: When I was a kid, I went to see my grandparents and cousins a lot in East Tennessee. My parents and I made the trip every third weekend to see them. It was about two hours North of where we lived. Some of my fondest memories are tied to visiting them in the extremely rural, deeply-religious community where they lived. Those early events are forever etched in my mind. In many ways, my cousins were more like brothers back then. We were incredibly close and spent countless hours exploring the woods and valleys of the close-knit, highly superstitious farm town. Later in my teen years, my cousins and I would drive up to Oak Ridge or Knoxville to explore the nightlife of ‘the big city’. After I grew up and got married, my visits ‘back home’ to see that side of the family were infrequent, at best. The reasons were complicated and unimportant here but I suppose it was mostly just a matter of ‘life getting in the way’. As time passed and the older members of my family passed away, I drifted apart from my cousins. Eventually my only reason to go back was to attend funerals. The deceased members of my family are all buried in the same ‘Primitive Baptist’ churchyard, just up the road from my grandparents modest home. Out of reverence, I walked through the church cemetery the last time I was there. I wanted to view all our family headstones, among the other ‘permanent occupants’. Besides the usual floral arrangements and memorial plaques, there were also some less traditional offerings. On top of one grave-marker near the side of the road was a small pink telephone. That struck me as being very odd. Then it dawned on me what a toy decoration like that implied. I was deeply saddened by the idea that a little girl had been laid to rest in the graveyard so early in her life. I didn’t stop by to read the name. It was too depressing. I just kept walking toward the section with my family members. I might not have given the matter another thought had it not been for a very peculiar event that occurred later that night. I drove into town to revisit my old teenage hangouts and bask in the past. As with many things, the luster of ‘memory lane’ had tarnished over time. Nostalgia inspired me to relive the good times of my youth but it wasn’t the same without my cousins there. I realized how futile it was chasing memories. Soon enough I decided to head back to my grandparents home. The drive back seemed inordinately long. Traveling down those country roads, I’d somehow gotten a bit ahead of myself. I imagined getting out of my car and walking inside before I’d even made it past the church and railroad crossing. About a mile from my grandparent’s house, my car began to sputter and rapidly lose power. Under the remaining inertial momentum alone, I made it to the church parking lot before it completely died. As far as ‘car trouble’ goes, there were far worse places to break down than a half mile from your destination, but it was still quite distressing. It was a moonless night and the sole church security light cast eerie shadows on the adjacent gravestones. I locked the door to my car and started briskly walking back home. With the exception of an occasional passing car or an owl screeching in the nearby woods, it was deathly quiet. Too quiet. I was almost past the unpleasantness of the cemetery when I heard a distinctive sound cut through the cool night air. I couldn’t believe my ears. It was that pink toy telephone on the child’s headstone. From out of nowhere it began to ‘ring’ incessantly. I assumed it was just an electronic gadget that rang on regular occasions but I don’t mind admitting that I picked up my pace considerably. It creeped me the hell out and I was almost at a full trot when I stopped myself. I have always considered myself rational and not given to superstition, and yet here I was virtually sprinting away from a child’s toy. I felt foolish and wanted to prove that I wasn’t really afraid. Perhaps I was trying too hard to convince myself but I deliberately turned and walked back toward the ringing toy. In the faint light of the church security bulb and the tall hardwoods dotting the landscape, it was just a faint outline on the top of the headstone. I hesitated for just a moment as it continued to ring. Slowly I reached for the tiny receiver. I could hardly believe what I was doing. It was equal parts silly and terrifying. Regardless of the paralyzing fear welling up inside me, I instinctually still said: “Hello?” After all, it’s just what you do whenever you answer a telephone. In my wildest dreams however, I didn’t expect for there to be an answer. Honestly, I’m not sure what I hoped would happen but as naive or downright stupid as it might sound, I was genuinely surprised by what came next. “Heyyyyy! It’s Carrie. Do you know where my Mommy is? I can’t seem to find her. She’s going to be very mad at me for staying out after dark. I’m kinda scared.” I stood there, speechless. Stunned. Trembling in fear and wondering if I was dreaming or hallucinating. As a self-dubbed ‘man of reason’ I never expected to have a supernatural experience and yet, the spirit of a young girl named Carrie was on the other side of the line. It was really happening. The tiny pink toy in my hand was somehow a spiritual conduit between two worlds. Perhaps even more bizarre than the surreal circumstances, I was being asked a question that I didn’t know how to answer. I didn’t possess any of the facts or know her mother. It was impossible for me to offer her an appropriate response. Realizing the dead child was still anxiously waiting, I opted to offer the sort of answer you’d give a person with dementia. Neither would be aware of their diminished awareness so it made sense to give her comforting answers instead. “Carrie, your mother isn’t mad at you. She loves you! She wanted me to tell you to lie down beside these stones and she will come for you as soon as she can. Just try to take a little nap, ok?” “Ok. Thank you! Ahhh Mister, you don’t have to walk anymore. I think your car will go now.” I told little Carrie goodbye and hung up the receiver. It was my first and possibly only supernatural ‘call’. I sincerely hope her family comes to visit her again soon at the gravesite. I’m not certain what she could and couldn’t understand about the real truth but hopefully she could at least recognize my sincerity. As she mysteriously alluded to, my car did start right up; as if it never had an issue at all. Once back at my grandparents home, I kept the whole experience to myself. It was just between Carrie and I.