On the outskirts of a small town stood a big, old pecan tree, just inside the fence of the local cemetery. It was the kind of place kids were warned to stay away from, especially after dark. One afternoon, two boys climbed the fence, shook the tree, filled a bucket with pecans, and sat down beneath its branches, hidden from the road, to divide their treasure.
“One for you, one for me. One for you, one for me,” one boy said as they sorted the nuts into piles. A few pecans slipped from their hands and rolled down the small hill toward the fence. Neither boy noticed.
At that moment, another boy rode past on his bicycle. As he slowed near the cemetery, he heard voices coming from inside. He froze when he caught the words drifting through the air: “One for you, one for me.” His imagination exploded. Two voices. Inside a cemetery. His heart started pounding. He quietly dropped his bike and sprinted down the road as fast as his legs could carry him.
He burst into the house of an old man who lived nearby. “Mister,” he gasped, “you won’t believe this… God and the Devil are in the cemetery, dividing up souls!” The old man raised an eyebrow, skeptical but curious. He grabbed his cane. “Show me,” he said.
They crept back to the fence and listened. Sure enough, the voices continued. “One for you, one for me.” The old man leaned closer, eyes narrowed. Then he heard one boy say, “That’s all. Let’s go get the ones by the fence.”
The old man turned pale. “Son,” he whispered urgently, “run home. Get your parents. Tell everyone. The Devil got all the ones inside… now he’s going after the ones outside.”
The boy didn’t wait to hear another word. He pedaled home screaming, the old man hobbling behind him. By the time they returned with a crowd, the cemetery was empty. The two boys were gone. The bucket of pecans sat abandoned under the tree.
And from that day on, no one in that town ever picked pecans from that cemetery again.
