Yohos That Mock and Terrify Lonely Clam-Diggers; Sandwalkers and Dune Haunters Who Were Never Properly Buried

The graveyard was supposed to be south of the little outpost with the seafood and beer. A maze of dirt trails, many of them so faint you weren't sure they were trails at all, branched out in all directions. I kept the sun in the passenger window most of the way and scoured the darkening terrain for any sign of the graveyard. After about twenty minutes we came to a high sand dune. I gunned the engine and we got about half way up the dune before we started sliding back down. "Don't get trapped," the old man's words echoed in my ears.
"Hey, Zurn," said the Insanity Pepper. "Did you hear what that old man was saying about 'yohos' or something like that?"
"Yeah. What's a yoho?"
"I don't kow. I didn't really understand him. I'm not sure how to translate some of his Spanish. It sounded like yohos were people, but..." he trailed off.
"Maybe that's the name of the Indian tribe around here."
"I don't know. He said something like they mock people or something, but he kind of seemed like he was talking about ghosts, or I don't know."
I popped open a Tecate. "I'm going to walk to the top of that dune and see if I can spot the graveyard from there."
"I'm going to stay here," said Carlos.
Miguel said, "Me, too."
I trudged up the sand. At the top, the horizon was glowing stripes of red and pink turning lilac the higher you looked. I felt a rare contentment to be seeing the world from so far off the beaten path. I began a slow three sixty to see if I could spot the graveyard---What the?
There was a--well, like a white sheet floating above the desert floor a few hundred yards below, like--like a ghost. Like an old fashioned movie ghost. No human form. A white sheet. Huh. I walked down the ridge toward it, slightly spooked.