During a night of partying on the fourth of July, a bunch of guys decided they were going to drive to a local cemetery to pay their respects to the fallen servicemen. My dad decided to go with them because he’s a vet.
When they got there, the tombstones of the vets all had little American flags on them. And then one of the drunken, drugged up idiots that initiated the cemetery run decided they should steal all of the flags. My dad tried to stop them but they outnumbered him and didn’t listen.
After they had their fill, they decided to take a headstone. They broke it off and tossed it into the back of the pickup and went back to Chris’s house and put the headstone in her garage.
Later that night, my dad went outside to take a leak. While he was standing alongside the house, his shadow was cast onto the house by the only street light near the house. And then another shadow joined my dads. He said something to the person about the party and got no response, so he turned around and saw the man standing there. He was wearing an army uniform and had scars all over his face.
My dad ran back into the house, pants down, and began telling everyone about the man, who they dubbed as Scar Face. A little while later, more people started seeing him around the house, outside. Finally, Chris had gone into the garage for whatever reason and found the headstone. She went inside, chewed the men out and told them to get it out of her garage. Instead of taking it back to the cemetery, they carried it to a nearby creek and threw it in. The creek runs right alongside the house, so they really didn’t take it too far away, but Scar Face never came back.