IOWA: The Black Angel

**Title: Iowa: The Black Angel**

It was a chilly autumn evening when I first heard about the legend of the Black Angel. I was visiting my cousin in Iowa for the holidays, and the locals couldn't stop talking about it. The Black Angel statue stood solemnly in the Oakland Cemetery in Iowa City, its dark and eerie presence captivating the imaginations of all who gazed upon it. I was curious but skeptical about the tales surrounding the monument, dismissing them as mere urban legends. Little did I know that my skepticism would soon be shattered, and I would find myself entangled in a thrilling and terrifying journey.

One moonlit night, my cousin and I, along with a few adventurous friends, decided to visit the Black Angel. We were armed with flashlights and the excitement of exploring the unknown. As we entered the cemetery, an eerie feeling washed over us. The rustling of leaves and the hoots of distant owls intensified the sense of dread. Our footsteps echoed through the silent graveyard, and the imposing figure of the Black Angel loomed closer with each step.

As we approached the statue, I couldn't help but shiver. The angel was crafted from dark black bronze, her wings spread wide and her face etched with a sorrowful expression. It was said that the statue turned black due to the sorrow and pain of the woman it represented, Teresa Feldevert. Legend had it that Teresa's husband, Edward, had disappeared mysteriously during the late 19th century, leaving her heartbroken and grief-stricken. The sorrow of her loss and her anguished cries were said to have turned the angel's bronze black.

My cousin whispered to me, "They say that if you touch the Black Angel after midnight, you'll be cursed, and your fate will be sealed."

I laughed nervously, dismissing it as more superstition. "Come on, it's just a statue," I replied, trying to hide my unease.

But as the clock struck midnight, an eerie fog began to engulf the cemetery, obscuring the graves and tombstones. The wind picked up, and the atmosphere felt charged with an otherworldly energy. My heart pounded in my chest as I hesitated, not sure if I should proceed any further. The curiosity in me, however, pushed me forward.

With trembling hands, I reached out and touched the cold, black bronze of the Black Angel. Suddenly, a chill ran down my spine, and a deep sense of foreboding overwhelmed me. I pulled my hand away, but it was too late. The legend had taken hold, and the curse was set in motion.

That night, I started experiencing strange occurrences. Shadows flickered in the corners of my vision, and eerie whispers echoed in my ears when no one was around. I found myself waking up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, with nightmares of the Black Angel coming to life and pursuing me through the cemetery.

Desperate to break the curse, I turned to the local lore and discovered a way to lift the curse. The legend spoke of an ancient ritual that could appease the restless spirit of Teresa Feldevert and bring peace to the Black Angel. The ritual involved gathering rare ingredients and performing it at the stroke of midnight under the full moon.

Determined to find a solution, my cousin and I embarked on a treacherous journey to uncover the rare ingredients. We traversed haunted forests and ancient ruins, encountering unsettling spirits and overcoming nightmarish obstacles along the way. Time was of the essence as the curse grew stronger with each passing day.

The night of the ritual arrived, and we returned to the Oakland Cemetery. The fog enveloped us once more as we followed the instructions from the ancient book we had found. As the clock struck midnight, we chanted the incantations and performed the ritual with trembling hands. A pale moon illuminated the Black Angel as the ritual unfolded.

At first, nothing seemed to happen. The eerie silence was broken only by the soft whistling of the wind. Just as we were about to lose hope, the statue began to glow faintly. The darkness that had engulfed the Black Angel started to recede, revealing a shimmering hue of bronze beneath.

As we continued the ritual, the statue's face seemed to change. The sorrowful expression that had haunted the angel's features for centuries now softened, and her eyes sparkled with a glimmer of peace. It was as though Teresa's spirit had finally found solace, and her pain was being alleviated.

A powerful gust of wind rushed through the cemetery, and the fog dispersed, revealing a clear sky studded with stars. The curse was lifted, and the Black Angel seemed to come alive. She spread her wings wider, and a faint smile graced her lips.

In that moment, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders, and the nightmares ceased. The haunting whispers faded away, replaced by a sense of calm and tranquility. The legend of the Black Angel was no longer a curse but a tale of redemption and closure.

From that day on, I never forgot the chilling experience of the Black Angel. I realized that urban legends, though often dismissed as mere stories, could hold kernels of truth and power beyond our comprehension. The lesson I learned that night was to respect the ancient tales and the spirits that might linger in the shadows, waiting to be heard and understood.

As I returned home, I couldn't help but think about the mysteries that lie hidden in the heart of urban legends. Iowa, with its quaint towns and vast farmlands, held secrets and stories that stretched far beyond the imagination. The Black Angel would forever remain a haunting memory, a reminder of the thin veil that separates our world from the unknown and the unexplainable.