Girl in the cemetery

When I was seventeen, I visited a cemetery at night with a small group of friends. We were just going to look at the graves, give a little love to the graves that looked like maybe no one visited them anymore because they were from so long ago. We were not going there to hurt anything or mess around with the graves because we were, most of us still are, very spiritual (ie, not religious). I had always liked cemeteries and feel a kind of peace when I'm in one so I was very comfortable there and relaxed. I think that may be why what happened happened at all.

I was following near the back of the group, lingering on some graves to read what was written when everything, for me, goes blank. The rest of what happens is what my friends told me about hours later.

"Heh heh...Hey, this'un's mine," I called to the next nearest person in my group. He turned around to laugh and tell me to quit playing around when he stopped. "I shouldna died, really. It wasn't my fault."

"What...what do you mean?" he asked, getting my other friends to stop and walk back to me.

"Well, ya see, I was playin' in the barn with the kittens and the man came in with a gun and- Bang!" I don't think they would have believed I wasn't the one speaking if the voice coming out of me hadn't been so much higher-pitched and had a very, very, *very* country accent. "I don' know why he did it. He was my daddy's best friend."

For the next two hours, I led them around the cemetery pointing out graves and telling them about the people buried there like I knew them. One of my friends had had her phone out to use as a flashlight and recorded everything I was saying so they could face check when we went back to the house we were staying at. Eventually I stopped again, frowning at a headstone.

"This is my brother. He got to live a long, long time. It's not fair...I wanted to live, too!" I said, stomping my foot before just collapsing on the ground.

I didn't wake up until we got home that night and I remember I had the worst headache of my whole life. My friends showed me the video, then we all looked up as much as we could on the internet to see if I had been right. I was right about everything except one thing. The grave I had collapsed on top of hadn't been the brother of the girl who had supposedly possessed me. He had been the son of her father's best friend. The same best friend who she said shot her...

I've never been back to that cemetery since. I'm afraid a little girl won't be the one to possess me this time.