Out of the Past, Synchronicity Resurrected

     I am starting to hear a bit of a story as I write my next book with my character Sebastian Stephens that comes from a memory that still chills me to think of it.
     While at college in Lincolnshire, I happened to visit an old cemetery with a classmate, okay, she was my girlfriend at the time, sort of. Anyway, we were strolling along reading the epitaphs on headstones, when we came upon a very special one: a headstone with my name on it!
     The last name was spelled differently, n-i-c-h-o-l-l, the first name was also a spelling variation of my own, but Daniel was the same middle name. As if this were not creepy enough, this man had died on my birthday 200 years before!
    I was standing on the grave in order to read the inscription on the stone, but I jumped off in a single backward leap. I nearly fell down. My imagination immediately conjured an image of a skeletal hand pushing up through the grass to grab me and pull me under; a true Twilight Zone moment.
     I never returned to that cemetery.
     This time around, I will be cremated and my ashes scattered somewhere. I don't want to risk giving my future self a shock like that one.