We had just gotten back from a Halloween party when John, being the
only non-believer in ghosts, asked Karen and me if the stories about
the many sightings of ghosts in the old ghost town were true. Of
course we said they were all true, and of course his response was,
"These stories are just a bunch of made up stuff to keep nosy people
from vandalizing the old town."

"Well, if it's not true, then why don't all of us camp out tonight at the
ghost town and put these old stories to rest once and for all?" I replied.
I told John that I would get my tent and some blankets. Karen
volunteered to bring some food and flashlights, and John said he
would bring some firewood, beer, and his guitar. I decided we would
all ride together in my car. Everyone was excited about telling our
friends at school all about our spooky tales when we got back, but little
did we know that there would be no tales to tell because we would
never be heard from again.

As we were driving down the dusty, country road John was strumming
on his guitar as we all sang along joyfully. We were having the time of
our lives just being together because we were such great friends. Just
up ahead of us was a man in the middle of the road on a horse.
"Slow down!" Karen exclaimed. I immediately slammed on my
brakes. John doesn't scare easily, but this man on the horse in the
middle of this dark, deserted road gave John the willies. The closer we
got to the mounted figure the more frightened we all became, but we
just kept driving. We blamed it on the beer we were drinking and
proceeded to the old ghost town. We just couldn't face all of our
friends the next day and say we were too scared to camp out there. We
would be the laughing stock of the school, so we continued onward.