When I was Springville’s cemetery sexton, most days were calm, but there were times when things got a little spooky. The most tangible ghostly experience I had happened after we buried a man named Eddie, who had been known in town as a petty thief. His burial spot wasn’t far from my office, and almost immediately after his graveside service strange incidents started occurring.
For example, the morning after Eddie’s burial I arrived at work and noticed the gate to the enclosure where we parked the backhoe and dump truck was swung open. This was unusual, because I always made sure the gate was locked as I departed each evening. I possibly left the gate open on accident the first time, but after the same thing happened the next two days, I strongly suspected Eddie was still picking locks and causing mischief despite being dead.
When I left for work after the third incident, I tucked a piece of plastic around the lock in a certain way so I could tell if someone touched it. I even drove back to check the lock that night after dark, and it was still fastened securely with the plastic in place. However, when I checked the gate early the next morning, it had been pushed open a few inches! The lock was undone, even though the plastic looked untouched. I wasn’t amused by this ghostly prankster.
The biggest surprise came moments later when I checked the shed next to my office. The shed had a padlock that required a key I kept on my keychain. But not only was the shed unlocked, but the padlock itself was hooked on a peg above the door! By this point I wasn’t scared, I was irritated. I figured Eddie was nearby, probably pleased I had noticed his handiwork. So I turned around and said, “Hey Eddie, listen to me! I’m impressed with your skills, but you’re going to get me in trouble. What if someone sees the open gate and steals the backhoe? I’d get fired.”
I paused for a few seconds, then added, “Eddie, you don’t belong here. There’s a better place for you. Look around, go toward the light, and don’t come back!” He must have listened, because any problems with the locks stopped that very day.
The Springville Evergreen Cemetery has a good, positive vibe, but there were a couple of areas where negative feelings were very strong. One section caused me anxiety, although there was no logical reason for it. I sensed I was treading on someone’s territory, and they were bothered I was there. I’d never shared these feelings with anyone, though, until our cemetery secretary brought me a burial order. She pointed out the location, then said, “I hate that part of the cemetery. It gives me the creeps!”
I explained to her that I felt the same way in that area. She grimaced and actually shivered from head to toe. She said, “It feels like someone is playing with my hair when I’m over there!”
But my most frightening cemetery experience happened in another area. One woman’s grave was well-known for being supposedly haunted, and I avoided it. But it so happened someone died who would be buried in the plot next to the haunted grave. In order to put the new burial in the right spot, I would have to use one of our metal probing rods to push down through the soil and locate the concrete vault of the haunted grave.
I’ve analyzed what happened in the next few seconds a thousand times in my mind, but there is no denying that when the probing rod hit the vault, an electrical shock jolted my body. I dropped the rod and shook my arms until they stopped tingling. I wondered if I’d struck an underground power line, but it was impossible.
I grabbed the probing rod once again, and this time when I touched the vault it felt like somebody shoved me viciously in the chest. I took off running as fast as I could. I sensed an angry demon-like spirit right on my heels, and it chased me all the way to my office. I could feel the demon clawing at me. Every inch of my body was covered in goosebumps, and I was praying out loud the entire way. My office was several hundred yards from the grave, but I covered the distance in record time. I was completely terrified.
When I dug the grave with the backhoe the next day, I stayed as far from the haunted vault as I possibly could. I wasn’t going to risk the chance of another violent supernatural encounter, and thankfully nothing happened.
I later read the autobiography of Heber C. Kimball, a very prominent LDS Church leader in the 1800s. He endured a demonic attack while on a church mission in England that reminded me of my own experience. He was struck with great force by some invisible power and fell senseless to the floor. Two other missionaries helped him sit on the bed, then all three of them could distinctly see evil spirits, who gnashed their teeth at them.
Heber said, “We saw the devils in legions, with their leaders, who came within a few feet of us. They came toward us like armies rushing to battle. They appeared to be men of full stature possessing every form and feature of men in the flesh, who were angry and desperate.”
He added, “I learned the power of the adversary, his enmity against the servants of God, and got some understanding of the spirit world.” (Source: “Life of Heber C. Kimball” by Orson F. Whitney, pages 144-145.)
Thankfully the positive cemetery experiences outnumbered the negative ones. Most graveside services carried a good feeling, and it was easy to sense that loved ones of the deceased were in attendance. These spirits were eager to welcome their friend or relative back home, and to congratulate them on a life well lived.
One tender moment for me was at the conclusion of an older woman’s graveside service. She and I had been neighbors for several years, and I had sometimes assisted her with yardwork and other mundane tasks. As her family members returned to their vehicles, it felt like she came to my side. I could sense how happy she was to “graduate” and continue on with her eternal journey. A warm sensation filled my heart, and I sensed she was thanking me for the help I had given her over the years. I was filled with an assurance that we’d see each other again in a future day.
It was also at the cemetery that I got the message to begin my career as an author. Writing books was another phase of my life I had seen in the video snippets shown to me during my near-death experience at La Jolla Cove, but I hadn’t been given any context of when or how this would happen. I figured it would be later in life, not while I was still in my 20s.
A big snowstorm had hit Springville overnight, so I got up early to plow the snow from the cemetery roadways. There was also a funeral coming that day, so I began shoveling a wide path across the lawn to the gravesite. Then from out of nowhere I heard Grandpa Keith’s familiar voice. He simply said, “It’s time to write your books.”
I leaned on the snow shovel and said aloud, “That’s great, but I have no idea what to write about.” Almost immediately the entire plot of my first novel filled my mind. I quickly finished shoveling the path to the gravesite, then I took my lunch break and spent a few minutes jotting down a summary of the storyline. I worked on the book each night at home for the next few weeks.
When I felt satisfied the book was ready, I submitted the manuscript to Cedar Fort Publishing. I was soon offered a publishing contract. To my surprise, the novel became a regional bestseller, and I ended up publishing my first twelve books with Cedar Fort.
I was confident that my books were inspired from a heavenly source, and I knew writing them was helping fulfill my promise to Grandpa Keith. But it always helps when the adversary reinforces that you are on the right track. One night as I was falling asleep, I heard a rustling noise outside our bedroom window. As I lay there, a dozen voices suddenly shouted in unison, “We hate your books!” It was fairly loud, and I looked over at Tammy, but she hadn’t awakened.
Then they repeated the phrase. I jumped out of bed and looked out the window, but no one was there. The voices were high- pitched and certainly not mortal. I knew I’d been visited by evil spirits. Even though I couldn’t see them, I sensed they were milling around my yard, and I could feel their anger at me.
The LDS Church teaches that families can pray and dedicate their homes to protect against evil spirits, and we had done that when we moved in. But now I rededicated our home and expanded it to include all of our property. I asked Heavenly Father and his angels to remove these demons and stop them from returning. It was a relief to feel them depart, and we didn’t have any more trouble with them after that.
Although the encounter was frightening, it actually strengthened me to know the adversary and his demons weren’t pleased with the books I was writing.
Bookshelf
I was employed as Springville’s cemetery sexton for several years before moving into the book publishing world on a full- time basis. As I mentioned in an earlier letter, our book company started off with great success. Then in 2008 the entire publishing industry began feeling the effects of the Great Recession. At our annual booksellers convention I met with other publishers, and we tried to reassure each other that our companies would survive. After all, during the Great Depression in the 1930s the citizens had turned to books as their main form of entertainment during hard times.
Well, history didn’t repeat itself in this age of the internet. We were barely able to keep Spring Creek Books afloat. We did bounce back a few years later, but in the meantime it was clear I needed to find a different full-time job. In a strange twist of fate, it meant a return for me to the cemetery business. Spanish Fork’s cemetery sexton was retiring, and I applied and got the job. In some ways it was surreal, because when you grow up in Springville, your main rival is Spanish Fork. But I felt welcome and I had great co-workers.
I want to share a Spanish Fork ghost story, because it was a situation where I didn’t see anything, but my two co-workers did! I’ll call them Derik and Sam to protect their privacy. The story begins as we were filling a grave in the part of the cemetery where original settlers were buried.
As Derik and Sam waited by the grave, I drove the backhoe to our dirt pile a few hundred yards away and returned with a scoop of dirt. As I got closer, I saw Derik and Sam both backing away from the grave. Sam was nervously pointing at something, and then Derik actually hid behind Sam. Something had clearly spooked them.
I dumped the load of dirt in the grave, then turned off the backhoe and hopped out. Derik and Sam started shoveling the dirt as if nothing had happened, but then Sam asked me, “Did you see him too?”
“What do you mean?” I asked. They looked at each other in surprise. Sam stammered for a moment before walking to a spot about ten feet from the grave. He said, “There was a boy standing right here. He was watching us.”
Derik added that the boy was wearing old- style clothes, and that he vanished into thin air when I got closer with the backhoe. I asked them if they could see through him, and they both shook their heads. Derik said, “I thought he was a real kid at first. He stood there for at least thirty seconds.” We discussed that experience many times during the rest of the summer, and we marveled that both Derik and Sam saw the boy.
I would always write down memorable cemetery stories such as this one, and I eventually published a non-fiction book titled “One Foot in the Grave.” The first version was published after I finished working for Springville City. I later updated the book with a new cover and added several of my Spanish Fork experiences. There are numerous funny stories included, along with a good description of what it is like to work in a cemetery.
Despite these occasional humorous incidents, I always took my duties as sexton very seriously. I regarded it as a sacred honor to care for the cemetery grounds, and to perform burials properly with professionalism. Most importantly, I always made sure the deceased were shown complete dignity and respect. I knew better than anyone that my employees and I were on holy ground, with friends and relatives watching us from the Other Side. I’m grateful for that unique opportunity, and for the experiences I had that made me a better person.
You can find “One Foot in the Grave” here (paid link)
Musical Notes
In these letters I have shared a few of my encounters with spirits. However, I realize there are people who truly don’t sense spirits around them. I know a man who worked in a cemetery for three decades, and he claimed he never felt any spiritual phenomenon during that time. I believe him, because we are all “wired” differently with various abilities.
I used that word “wired” because I perceive spirits as human-shaped electrical fields. When they are near me, the hair on my arms and legs stand on end. I rarely see or hear spirits. I also don’t smell or taste their presence, although some people do!
The sense of touch best describes what I experience. A visit from a good spirit feels like a warm summer breeze that creates a soothing, energetic effect. Meanwhile, the presence of an evil spirit generates an icy vibration similar to a frigid winter gust that temporarily takes your breath away.
We have all been given spiritual gifts from heaven, including a sense of intuition or a “gut feeling” to help us. I think most people can recall situations when they have felt guided or warned by an unseen source. The great thing about these gifts is that they aren’t “one size fits all.” We each receive them in ways we can best understand them, based on our own talents. Hopefully we will use these gifts to make the world a better place.
Throughout my life I have sought to bring positive energy and healing light to the hearts of those around me. The source of this light is Jesus Christ. The Savior’s atoning sacrifice has made it possible for each of us to overcome death by being resurrected someday and returning to live with our eternal family.
LDS Church President Russell M. Nelson has recently shared several messages about the Savior’s Second Coming. Jesus will soon return in glory to bring peace to this troubled world. I know this event will happen and flood the earth with happiness.
This leads me to mention another song that helped strengthen me during those very rough final months in the Fremont County Jail before my court trial began. The song is “I Believe It (The Life of Jesus)” by Jon Reddick. It sums up the marvelous mission of our Savior. Please put on some headphones, sit back, and listen to this wonderful, heartfelt tribute to Jesus.