Places of this kind, I think, should be treated quite carefully and respectfully, if only out of respect for the dead. However, we sometimes forget what these seemingly simple words mean. The case that vividly demonstrates this can be called funny if it were not so creepy.
It happened around 1985, when perestroika was almost on the threshold, and people themselves were slowly changing, not always for the better. In a small Siberian village, too, oddly enough, there were enough heroes. Such were Vitya and Gena, as the first guys in the village would say, guys in their twenties who love to drink, ride a drunk motorcycle, listen to loud music, and wreak havoc around them.
So after another drinking binge in a neighboring village, at someone's birthday party. The wonderful idea came to them, to continue the celebration at the local cemetery, where they got on a motorcycle. Facts such as night time, not the most pleasant road, an eerie place, they were not bothered by the word "absolutely". In general, I do not think it makes sense to describe all their drunken adventures, I will only note that it all ended with the fact that they damaged one of the old crosses.
Moreover, this was done on purpose, in a drunken swagger. Then they felt uncomfortable, not that scared. Although you probably know this feeling when you ruined some thing, and you think how to make it so that they don't notice. As a result, they did not think of anything better than to put a cross on the ground and quickly leave. This is where the creepiness begins.
The road to the village took about twenty minutes, meanwhile the fog suddenly came out and the view began to deteriorate. After a while Vitya noticed that they had been driving too long, but Gena, who was driving, continued to rush along the rural road. I don't know what these guys might think when they saw the following, but they were at the entrance to the unfortunate cemetery.
Perhaps the fact that the guys were not quite sober and decided that they just turned somewhere wrong helped them not to panic. And they repeated this route. This went on three times, when they were simply scared, and it was clear that they were not mistaken in choosing the route. Having reduced the speed to twenty kilometers per hour, they carefully entered the territory of the cemetery, which was recognizable only by some silhouettes.
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All of a sudden, the motorcycle stalled, and a dead silence reigned around. And the situation itself has become somehow unhealthy or something. Repeating well-known prayers to themselves, the guys literally pushed the old motorcycle forward at a run. And at that moment it seemed to them that in this place they were far from alone.
As a result, having somehow pushed their clunker to the exit, they nevertheless started it and, having reached the old stop, decided to wait in it for the morning. Fortunately in the morning they reached their village safely. Promising each other to quit alcohol.