I love old cemeteries–anyone who’s followed me here or on Twitter for a decent amount of time should know that. They’re steeped with history and hundreds of human lives; they’re places that make me think. I have one local cemetery that I tend to frequent, and, while I’m quite fond of it, I decided it was time to move on from the same headstones, paths, and trees. The second nearest cemetery to my house is about a half hour’s walk, but it’s well worth it, even in this accursed summer heat.
Unfortunately, I didn’t take any photos of this trip, but for visualization purposes, imagine a much larger, more secluded version of this cemetery, plus an actual mausoleum and multiple crypts. I arrived at the cemetery somewhat unsure of what I was looking for–and therefore automatically getting a lot more than I bargained for. I was fairly certain that the mausoleum would be locked or rusted shut from age, but I still had a glimmer of hope buried deep down that said, Maybe you’ll be able to go inside. Truth be told, I don’t really know what to expect from such a place and had hoped to learn something. The idea of pushing boundaries for the greater benefit of my writing was still weighing heavily on my mind.
I did rush straight to the mausoleum and found that the door, while movable, was most definitely locked. It was a small letdown, but I tried not to let it dampen my overall attitude for a chipper day spent reading about dead people on location. I attempted to peek through the mausoleum’s windows but was too short (and still am too short, unless I’ve grown several feet in the past few days, which is highly improbable and something I would have noticed).
After admiring the impregnable mausoleum for a few minutes more, I moved on the general burial areas. I took some field notes that will likely be of little interest to the reader, but I’ll include them just in case. Pardon the grammar of these selections.
Tempe is a beautiful name.
Oliver and Bennie, no surname or dates provided. Likely died young.
Crypt with door rusted thoroughly shut, name above door questionable. Carving weathered.
Keep getting the “watched” feeling. Shudder. This is fun.
Will definitely be returning later–Halloween?
Poor Willber (sic). What a terrible time to have your name misspelled.
Definitely feeling watched. All I can see are crows.
Just saw a white shape out of the corner of my eye. Disappeared when looked at directly. Must be getting paranoid?
What is that sound. Sounds like the TARDIS crossed with horror flick ghost noises.
K. I’m getting freaked out now.
I think I was indeed getting paranoid and misinterpreting perfectly normal local cemetery occurrences as events with a somewhat supernatural bent to them. I probably should have just left at that point, but my incessant taphophilia pushed me onward to continue my exploration. I was taking notes on the varied headstone iconography when the strange noise described above persisted. I decided that the spooky atmosphere was either messing with my mind or something really was going on, so I exited the cemetery with all due haste and and briskly walked home.
Sorry, folks. I have no real ghostly encounters to describe. A true adventurer would have stayed in the cemetery, but I’m no lion-heart. I’ll still think about going back on Halloween.