I have always visited them when we moved to a new area. Mainly to find if any of my family names are there. But one evening at dusk, my husband's younger cousin and I went to the old cemetery in Moab. He asked if I was scared, I told him I wasn't because most of the people there were my relatives.

Someone had vandalized some of the headstones, tilting them or knocking them over. We'd gone up there to fix them back. About the time he asked me if I was scared, I heard a loud Whoosh behind us.

We looked at each other and decided to go home and come the next day. We started down the gentle slope toward the car and we could hear footsteps on the gravel behind us. We whipped around, but nothing was there. Jimmy said, "If we walk only on the grass, we won't hear anything." So we did, for a few more steps, then turned around and looked at the grass behind us. We could see foot prints!

He was my height, but not as 'sturdy' as I was, but he gripped my wrist and flew me to the car. We left for home.

When we got to my house, we talked about what happened. Suddenly my coffeepot started making noises. I hadn't gone near it nor had he, but I went and checked, and it had began heating!

Bill got home from work about then, and he laughed at us for scaring ourselves...but we both had seen and heard what happened.