Spooky Cemeteries in the world

What is it about cemeteries that gets us curious, or for some of us, scared ?. Could it be their history or maybe the long lost soul's who inhabit them either way, we all find them fascinating and maybe even a little weird. 

    Here you'll find America's top spooky cemeteries along with some weird and interesting photo's. Hope you enjoy. 

St. Louis Cemetery No. 1, New Orleans, Louisiana:      

    Established in 1789, St. Louis No. 1 is the oldest extant cemetery in New Orleans. It is located on Basin street one block from the border of the French Quarter. It was built when New Orleans was under Spanish control, so the wall vault system that was popular in Spain at that time was used. This method was also practical since New Orleans is under sea level and below ground burials caused caskets to float. The city was in serious need of burial space because of the fire in 1788 that destroyed more than 80% of the city in one night. There was also a flood as well as the infamous yellow fever epedimic that crowded the city's first cemetery on St. Peter street. The rise of dead bodies was so high that the cemetery workers were constantly intoxicated with liquor to tolerate the stench of the deceased.

    There are many notable figures buried here, one of the most notable is the famous Voodoo queen Marie Laveau who died in 1881. When visiting this tomb it s common practice to leave offerings and mark the Gris Gris XXX's on the tomb. Marie's daughter is also buried here she has the same name as her mother so be careful not to confuse them.

     St. Louis Cemetery #1 is said to be one of the most haunted cemeteries in Louisiana.

    It is said to be haunted by the spirits of Marie Laveau and her daughter.

                                                                                                                                                                                     This picture is of Marie Laveau's tomb this shadow was not here when the picture was taken, could this be her spirit?. 

Resurrection Cemetery, Chicago Illinois:   Resurrection Cemetery is a large Catholic cemetery in the southwest suburbs, adjacent to Bethania on Archer Avenue. The older sections have stones dating back to the 1890s, but most burials there are more recent. The cemetery is very modern, dominated by a huge mausoleum, an outdoor garden mausoleum, and numerous "shrine sections" where a central figure of a religious theme is surrounded by flat markers.

    This cemetery is mostly know for the female spirit that inhabits it, her name Resurrection Mary. The story goes that Mary was either 17 or 22 when she was walking back from the O'Henry Ballroom when she was struck and killed by a passing automobile. The driver fled the scene and left Mary to die. 

     Her grieving parents buried her in Resurrection cemetery, wearing a white dress and her dancing shoes. Since that time, her spirit has been seen along Archer Avenue, and the old Ballroom.

    Most people claim to see her walking along the road, some have even claimed to dance with her and give her a ride but as they pass by the cemetery she tell's them to stop and she gets out only to disappear at the gates of the cemetery. Others claim that while they were driving past the cemetery Mary would run out in front of their car, some claim to also feel the impact, but when they get out of the car to check on her she is gone with no trace left of what happened.  

                      

Anna 'Marija' Norkus, aka Resurrection Mary   

   

     

                                               

Bachelor's Grove Cemetery Chicago Illinois:

Bachelor's Grove Cemetery was chosen to be a burial ground in 1844, however the earliest death date noticed on a tombstone is that of William Nobles who died in 1838.
    The last known burial there was in 1989, the cemetery is now inactive.
    Due to the Isolated location of the cemetery along on old road it now face's vandalism and satanic rituals.

    In the early 1970s, vandalism developed from a scattered littering to full on destruction of tombstones and trees. Of the estimated 200 tombstones that once were in the cemetery, only 20 remain: the ones that are too heavy to be moved. In addition to that, several graves were dug up, forcing those in charge to set the tombs in concrete for protection. Today the small patch of land sits quiet, and for the most part unused.

    It is also said that this cemetery is one of the most haunted. Witnesses report seeing multipile figures emerging throughout the cemetery dressed in monks robes, also reported is that of a black dog at the entrance which disappears when approached.

    Other reports are of people seeing glowing orbs or balls, apparitions, squeaks, moans, groans and unexplained noises. Its adjacent pond is also known for unsubstantiated mafia affiliation with Al Capone.

                              (by far the most famous picture taken at Bachelor's Grove, this girl was not sitting her when the picture was taken.)

Greenwood Cemetery, Decatur Illinois:

It was officially established in 1857, but no one really knows when it was started, burials took place there as far as the 1820's. After nearly a century, the graveyard was in poor condition. The grounds were overgrown and grave robbery was common.

    One of Greenwood's haunted and lost locations is the old mausoleum, which was torn down in 1967. The building had been in terrible condition at the time and rumors circulated of strange screams and lights that could not be explained. The mausoleum was emptied prior to being torn down and unclaimed bodies were placed in a common grave across the road. Recent paranormal investigations have detected strange activity is still emanating from this location.

    Greenwood's most notorious haunted spot is in the Civil War section. During the war, Decatur was frequently visited by prison trains carrying Confederate prisoners to camps. One of these trains contained a number of men who had died from Yellow Fever while en route. The railroad tracks passed close to the cemetery so a wagon was used to carry away the dead. The prisoners were buried in an unmarked grave on the side of a hill near where the War Memorial section is today. The grave was quickly dug, but in the haste, it is believed that some of those soldiers may not have actually been dead.

    Another of Greenwood's legends are the ghost lights that have appeared for several generations on the southern edge of the graveyard. The lights are said to be the spirits of lost souls whose bodies were washed away by a flood many years ago. The spirits are said to be searching for the places where their bodies are now buried.

El Campo Santo Cemetery, San Diego California:
This cemetery was established in 1849 and it is San Diego's second oldest cemetery.
    In all 477 bodies were buried here, but not all of them stayed within the walls of the cemetery, some of them were paved over by San Diego Avenue.
  People who leave their cars parked in front of the cemetery (on top of the many graves) ofetn find them hard to start afterwards. Car alarms can often be heard from the cars parked here. 
    People visiting the cemetery report feeling an icy chill when they walk through some spots. Some describe the chill as if walking through a freezer. 
    In the evenings, what looks like an Hispanic or Native American can be seen floating just above the ground. Also a misty, glowing figure can sometimes be seen drifting along the sidewalk, just outside the cemetery wall. 
    Some report seeing a woman in a white victorian costume along the south wall. 

Hollywood Forever Cemetery, Los Angeles California:

This is one of the oldest cemeteries in Los Angeles, it was founded in 1899.

    Not only is this cemetery the resting place for hundreds of Hollywood's stars and other famous persons, but it remains a fully operating cemetery to this day still performing new burials and cremations every week.

    Some of the famous stars buried here include Douglas Fairbanks, Tyrone Power, Peter Lorre, Marion Davies, Carl "Alfalfa" Switzer, Charlie Chaplin Jr, and Rudolph Valentino. Recent additions, in the past few years, include Fay Wray of King Kong and guitarist Johnny Ramone.

    The cemetery is said to be haunted not only by the spirits of the people buried here but by others as well, some of the spirits include

    The Lady in Black she visits the grave of Rudolph Valentino bringing him flowers and dusting off the name tag on his tomb. Even in life a woman dressed from head to toe in black visited his grave every year with a single red rose.

Many women came forward claiming to be the real lady in black most of these women said that Valentino proposed marriage to them, one such woman Marian Watson claimed that Valentino proposed marriage to her and that he was also the father of one of her children. Other women also came forward with other outlandish claims. Finally a woman  

named Ditra Flame came forward. Supposedly when Ditra was very young, she became seriously ill and was in the hospital. Valentino was friends with Ditra's mother and came to visit the sick girl, bringing her a single red rose. He told her "You're not going to die at all. You are going to outlive me by many years. But one thing for sure - if I die before you do, you please come and stay by me because I don't want to be alone, either. You come and talk to me." Ditra recovered shortly after Valentino's visit, and after he passed away, remembered what he said, visiting him yearly, but never publicizing her story. By 1954, she sadly became one of many Ladies in Black visiting his grave, causing an annual memorial service. Frustrated at the large production that was being made out of her annual trip; she stopped visiting for many years before resuming, wearing street clothing in 1977. In 1984 she passed away, and was buried in San Jacinto, CA, her tombstone identifying her as the Lady in Black.

   Also haunting the cemetery is supposedly the ghost of Clifton Webb who died in 1966. Webb, the original "Mr. Belvedere" in three different movies released between 1948 and 1951, haunts the Abbey of the Psalms mausoleum. Strange lights, drafts of cold air, smells of cologne, and whispered voices have also been reported coming from or in the mausoleum.  

    The last spirit said to reside with Hollywood Forever's walls is the ghost of Virginia Rappe. Virginia Rappe attended a party on Labor Day in 1921 in San Francisco at the Saint Francis Hotel. The party was in celebration of a recent contract that Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle, a famous comedian and actor at the time, had recently acquired. During the party, Rappe became ill; an ambulance was required to come get her, and a few days later she died at the age of 26. A scandal immediately ensued with claims that Arbuckle had raped the young Virginia. After three amazing trials (the first two ended up with hung juries), Arbuckle was eventually found not guilty, but his career never recovered. Now, in Hollywood Forever Cemetery an icy coldness seems to surround the site of her grave. Additionally the sound of sobbing has been heard in the area as well.

Peck Cemetery, Decatur Illinois:
It was started by the family of Daniel Peck, who came to the area from Ohio in 1850. The cemetery is located in the northeast corner of Macon County and is very isolated. It cannot be seen from the road and is surrounded by an iron fence and heavy woods.
    Peck cemetery has a sinister and dreadful feel about it. Since the 1970's, it has been a popular hangout spot for teenagers, many of whom foolishly damage and destroy the grave markers. There have also been reports of Cultists practicing in the cemetery as well.   

    There have been many reports of strange lights, apparitions and events coming out of Peck cemetery for more then two decades.  



(This picture was taken at the cemetery, there were only two people there at the time and they both claim that they were not standing in the picture.)

Boot Hill Cemetery, Tombstone Arizona:
Formerly called The Tombstone Cemetery, the plot features the graves of Billy Clanton, Frank McLaury and Tom McLaury; the three men were killed during the famed gunfight at the O.K Corral.
    Located on the northwest corner of the town, the graveyard is believed to hold over 300 persons, 205 of which are recorded. This is due to some people (especially Chinese and Jewish immigrants) being buried without record. However, most of the loss was due to neglect of grave markers and theft of these wooden relics as souvenirs. The Tombstone "boothill" cemetery was closed in late 1884, as the new "City Cemetery" on Allen Street opened. Thereafter, Boothill was referred to as the "old city cemetery" and neglected. It was used after that only to bury a few later outlaws (some legally hanged and one shot in a robbery), as well as a few colorful Western characters and one man (Emmett Crook Nunnally) who had spent many volunteer hours restoring it. 

    Another thing to note here is the humorous headstones placed here such as these two:

                                                         
People report seeing full figures of cowboys of olden times and other people report moans, screams, and pleas for help. Other people report orbs of light bouncing around the cemetery and leaving the cemetery and coming back.

Union Cemetery, Easton Connecticut:

Union contains graves and fieldstones dating back to the 1600's and up to and including present day burials. 
   The Easton Baptist Church stands to the right of the cemetery and was built in the 1840's. 

    There are many stories about this cemetery, people who have visited there have claimed to see full body apparitions and orbs to strange odors. The most famous story is that of The White Lady of Easton. She has been reportedly seen in and around the graveyard for over 60 years now. She usually appears in a white nightgown or wedding dress. There are many different stories of why she is there and what caused her death. One story states she had died giving birth. Another states that it was a murder, but no one really knows for sure. 

    Red Eyes have also been seen in the cemetery, one man walking past the cemetery claimed he seen red eyes staring at him through the bushes, when he took off running he said he heard footsteps following him.     

Silver Cliff Cemetery, Colorado:
It was established in the early 1880's outside of Silver Cliff, Colorado about one-half mile south of Colorado State Highway 96 on Mill Street.
    The cemetery is split into two sections, one half for Catholic burials and the other half, known as the cross of the Assumption cemetery, for Protestant burials. The cemetery is still in use today and is owned and operated by the town of Silver Cliff.
    The cemetery is best known for it's mysterious dancing blue lights. The lights, which according to reports look like blue lantern lights or white spheres, are said to float through the cemetery and bounce on the headstones.

Bonaventure cemetery, Savannah Georgia:
The cemetery is located on a scenic bluff of the Wilmington River, east of Savannah Georgia. The cemetery became famous when it was featured in the 1994 novel Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil by John Berendt, and in the movie, directed by Clint Eastwood.
    It is he largest of the city's municipal cemeteries, containing nearly 160 acres.
    The cemetery is located on the site of a plantation originally owned by John Mullryne. March 10, 1846, Commodore Josiah Tattnall III, sold the 600 acre Bonaventure Plantation and its privet cemetery to Peter Wiltberger. Major William H. Wiltberger, the son of Peter, formed the Evergreen Cemetery Company on June 12, 1868. Evergreen Cemetery Company was purchased by the city of Savannah on July 7, 1907, making the cemetery public and changing it to Bonaventure Cemetery.










   

Scary Halloween Stories

 

 

Axe Murder Hollow:

A Pennsylvania Ghost Story 

Susan and Ned were driving through a wooded empty section of highway. Lightning flashed, thunder roared, the sky went dark in the torrential downpour.      “We’d better stop,”  said Susan.       Ned nodded his head in agreement. He stepped on the brake, and suddenly the car started to slide on the slick pavement. They plunged off the road and slid to a halt at the bottom of an incline.     Pale and shaking, Ned quickly turned to check if Susan was all right.  When she nodded, Ned relaxed and looked through the rain soaked windows.
     “I’m going to see how bad it is,” he told Susan, and when out into the storm. She saw his blurry figure in the headlight, walking around the front of the car. A moment later, he jumped in beside her, soaking wet.       “The car’s not badly damaged, but we’re wheel-deep in mud,” he said. “I’m going to have to go for help.”      Susan swallowed nervously. There would be no quick rescue here. He told her to turn off the headlights and lock the doors until he returned.      Axe Murder Hollow. Although Ned hadn’t said the name aloud, they both knew what he had been thinking when he told her to lock the car.  This was the place where a man had once taken an axe and hacked his wife to death in a jealous rage over an alleged affair. Supposedly, the axe-wielding spirit of the husband continued to haunt this section of the road.      Outside the car, Susan heard a shriek, a loud thump, and a strange gurgling noise. But she couldn’t see anything in the darkness.      Frightened, she shrank down into her seat. She sat in silence for a while, and then she noticed another sound.  Bump. Bump. Bump.  It was a soft sound, like something being blown by the wind.       Suddenly, the car was illuminated by a bright light.  An official sounding voice told her to get out of the car. Ned must have found a police officer.  Susan unlocked the door and stepped out of the car.  As her eyes adjusted to the bright light, she saw it.      Hanging by his feet from the tree next to the car was the dead body of Ned.  His bloody throat had been cut so deeply that he was nearly decapitated. The wind swung his corpse back and forth so that it thumped against the tree. Bump. Bump. Bump.     Susan screamed and ran toward the voice and the light. As she drew close, she realized the light was not coming from a flashlight. Standing there was the glowing figure of a man with a smile on his face and a large, solid, and definitely real axe in his hands. She backed away from the glowing figure until she bumped into the car.        “Playing around when my back was turned,” the ghost whispered, stroking the sharp blade of the axe with his fingers. “You’ve been very naughty.”      The last thing she saw was the glint of the axe blade in the eerie, incandescent light.

Black Aggie:

A Maryland Ghost Story

When Felix Agnus put up the life-sized shrouded bronze statue of a grieving angel, seated on a pedestal, in the Agnus family plot in the Druid Ridge Cemetery, he had no idea what he had started. The statue was a rather eerie figure by day, frozen in a moment of grief and terrible pain. At night, the figure was almost unbelievably creepy; the shroud over its head obscuring the face until you were up close to it. There was a living air about the grieving angel, as if its arms could really reach out and grab you if you weren't careful.

It didn't take long for rumors to sweep through the town and surrounding countryside. They said that the statue - nicknamed Black Aggie - was haunted by the spirit of a mistreated wife who lay beneath her feet. The statue's eyes would glow red at the stroke of midnight, and any living person who returned the statues gaze would instantly be struck blind. Any pregnant woman who passed through her shadow would miscarry. If you sat on her lap at night, the statue would come to life and crush you to death in her dark embrace. If you spoke Black Aggie's name three times at midnight in front of a dark mirror, the evil angel would appear and pull you down to hell. They also said that spirits of the dead would rise from their graves on dark nights to gather around the statue at night.
People began visiting the cemetery just to see the statue, and it was then that the local fraternity decided to make the statue of Grief part of their initiation rites. "Black Aggie" sitting, where candidates for membership had to spend the night crouched beneath the statue with their backs to the grave of General Agnus, became popular.
One dark night, two fraternity members accompanied new hopeful to the cemetery and watched while he took his place underneath the creepy statue. The clouds had obscured the moon that night, and the whole area surrounding the dark statue was filled with a sense of anger and malice. It felt as if a storm were brewing in that part of the cemetery, and to their chagrin, the two fraternity members noticed that gray shadows seemed to be clustering around the body of the frightened fraternity candidate crouching in front of the statue.
What had been a funny initiation rite suddenly took on an air of danger. One of the fraternity brothers stepped forward in alarm to call out to the initiate. As he did, the statue above the boy stirred ominously. The two fraternity brothers froze in shock as the shrouded head turned toward the new candidate. They saw the gleam of glowing red eyes beneath the concealing hood as the statue's arms reached out toward the cowering boy.
With shouts of alarm, the fraternity brothers leapt forward to rescue the new initiate. But it was too late. The initiate gave one horrified yell, and then his body disappeared into the embrace of the dark angel. The fraternity brothers skidded to a halt as the statue thoughtfully rested its glowing eyes upon them. With gasps of terror, the boys fled from the cemetery before the statue could grab them too.
Hearing the screams, a night watchman hurried to the Agnus plot. To his chagrin, he discovered the body of a young man lying at the foot of the statue. The young man had apparently died of fright.
The disruption caused by the statue grew so acute that the Agnus family finally donated it to the Smithsonian museum in Washington D.C.. The grieving angel sat for many years in storage there, never again to plague the citizens visiting the Druid Hill Park Cemetery.


Black Magic:
A Massachusetts ghost story


Mad Henry was a hermit who lived alone in a decrepit mansion at the edge of town.  Rumors were rife about the wild-eyed man.  Some folks said that he was a magician who called upon the powers of darkness to wreck havoc upon his neighbors.  Others called him a mad doctor who could restore life to foul corpses from the local cemetery.  No respectable citizen in town had anything to do with Mad Henry 
Then one year a new family moved to town with a lovely daughter, Rachel, who caught Mad Henry’s eye. He showered the maiden with gifts—goblets of pure gold, necklaces of pearl, and a pot of daisies that never dropped a single petal. Despite the gifts, Rachael fell in love with another, Geoffrey, a handsome young man just home from university. A week after meeting they eloped, leaving behind a stunned Mad Henry.  
When Rachael and Geoffrey returned from the elopement, they threw a big ball and invited everyone in town. While Rachel was waltzing with her father, she heard a  clap of thunder. Lightning flashed again and again. Suddenly, the double doors blew open and a breeze whirled in, bringing with it the smell of dead, decaying things. Mad Henry loomed in the doorway, pupils gleaming red with anger. He was followed by the grotesque figures of the dead, who came marching two by two into the room. Their eye sockets glowed with blue fire as they surrounded the room.Two of the corpses captured Geoffrey and threw him down at the feet of their lord. Red eyes gleaming, Mad Henry drew a silver-bladed knife and casually cut the bridegroom’s throat from ear to ear. Rachel screamed and ran forward, pushing through the foul, stinking corpses of the dead, and flung herself upon her dying husband.  
“Kill us both,” she cried desperately.  
But Mad Henry  plucked the lass out of the pool of blood surrounding her dead husband and carried her out into the thundering night. Behind him, the army of the dead turned from the grizzly scene and followed their master. The sounds of thunder and lightning faded away as the alchemist and his dead companions disappeared into the dark night.  
Geoffrey’s father and Rachael’s father gathered a small mob and followed the evil hermit, intent upon saving Rachel.  When they searched Mad Henry’s house, they found it completely empty save for a light, which shone from a series of mysterious globes that bobbed near the ceiling of each room. Mad Henry had vanished.  
Search parties scoured the countryside for days, but turned up nothing. Geoffrey was buried in the local cemetery, and the dance hall was torn down. No one in town spoke about what had happened, and no one dared imagine what had become of poor Rachel.  
A year to the day after the ball, a timid knock sounded upon the door of Rachael’s parents’ home. When her father opened it, he saw a gaunt, gray figure on the stoop. Her eyes were dull with exhaustion and pain. It was Rachel! Her tongue had been cut out so she couldn’t speak.  But when she produced a knife from her tattered garments—the knife with a silver blade that they had last seen in the hands of Mad Henry— the gleam of satisfaction in Rachel’s eyes told them that the streaks of blood that coated the knife were those of Mad Henry. That night, Rachel died in her sleep with a peaceful smile upon her ravaged face.



Bloody Mary Returns:
A Montana Ghost Story

My stepmother was vile.  I guess most kids think that when their father remarries.  But in this case, it was true.  She only married Father because he was rich, and she hated children.  There were three of us – me (Marie), my middle brother Richard and my youngest brother Charles.  We were the price my stepmother Gerta paid for being rich.  And we were all that stood between her and inheriting Father's money when he died.  So she took steps against us. 
     She sent my youngest brother Charles away to boarding school overseas.  It had a good, scholarly reputation, but it also had the reputation for being a hard school that was full of bullies and strict discipline.  Not a place where a delicate child like Charles, who had been sickly as a baby, would thrive.  He was miserable there.  Somehow, Gerta contrived to keep him there for all but the summer holidays, and when he came home the first year he was pale and thin with dark circles under his eyes that looked like bruises.  He cried – he actually cried! – when Father told him he had to go back to the school.  But Father didn’t listen to him.  Gerta thought it would be good for Charles to go there, and so Charles went.  
  I did everything I could – encouraging letters and daily phone calls – until Gerta said it was too expensive and restricted calls to five minutes once a month.   I even got Father to book me a ticket to Europe so I could visit Charles.  Gerta was enraged when she found out.  Her blue eyes went so cold it made chills run up my spine, and her pink mouth thinned into a bitter line that bade ill for me since I had dared to interfere.  Two days before my plane left for Europe, the school called and told us that Charles had climbed up to the tallest tower and flung himself off.  He was dead. 
     Father was shocked, of course, and Gerta was quietly triumphant.  For a few months, Father paid more attention to Richard and myself then he had since our mother died.  But Gerta was beautiful and had winning ways about her that soon drew my Father’s attention away.  And now that one of her hated step-children was dead, she focused on another.  Poor Richard was next. 
     Richard was a sturdy chap who was about to enter high school, and he was really into sports.  He would have thrived at the boarding school that had killed Charles.  So Gerta sent him to an arts school instead.  He hated it, but Gerta had told Father he had “talent”, so there he went.  (You’d think my Father would have learned his lesson with Charles!)  But Richard was a survivor, and he grimly practiced piano and violin when he would rather have played soccer and football.  But Gerta was clever.  She introduced Richard to a couple of high school boys who were everything Richard craved to be – rich, popular, on the football team.  And into drugs.  Gerta made sure Richard had a very large allowance, and kept increasing it as Richard was drawn deeper and deeper under the influence.  Until one day Richard overdosed, and Gerta only had one step-child left.  Me.
     I was sure (sure!) that Gerta knew Richard was doing drugs in his room that day.  She knew he was ill and possibly dying in there.  If she’d “found” him even ten minutes sooner, his life would have been saved.  So said the doctor, and I believed him.  But Father wouldn’t believe me.  He was angry whenever I said anything against Gerta, and told me to hold my tongue.  Still, I knew I was next, and I was sure that Father would not live long after willing his fortune over to his wife.  I decided that if Gerta got too bad, I would run away and live secretly with my aunt in New Jersey until I turned 18.  
     From the moment Richard’s body was found in his room, I forced myself to be a model child.  My homework was done on time, I was polite to Gerta and all her friends, I went on all the family excursions with Gerta and Father – even the dangerous ones like shark-fishing.  You can be sure that I took care to be “sea-sick” indoors and stayed away from the edge of the boat.  Gerta was clever with her tricks.   Everyone thought it was an accident the time we were out shopping and I fell onto the subway in front of an oncoming train.  I managed to roll out of the way on time, but it was way too close for comfort. 
       I had almost decided to run away when my father brought me the sad news that my aunt in New Jersey had died suddenly in her sleep, poisoned by person or persons unknown.  I was appalled. How had Gerta known?  But she had – I could tell from the smirk on her face. 
      I went to my room that night and locked myself in to think.  I could run away, but the money wouldn’t last long.  And I’d need to finish high school or my chances of getting a good job were nil.  Besides, Gerta would still be out there somewhere.  If she could hire someone to poison my only living relative (besides Father), she could hire someone to kill me, whether I was living at home or not. 
      There was only one thing I could think of.  And it was a terrible thing.  A family secret passed down from my Mother’s side for many generations.  It involved a witch named Bloody Mary, who had once tried to kill my many times great grandmother and use the child’s blood to make herself young and beautiful forever.  The witch had been stopped by the child's father (my many times great grandfather) in the nick of time, and the witch had cursed him as she burned at the stake.  Cursed his mirror, and the mirrors of all the men who had condemned her to death at the stake, so that anyone saying her name in front of those mirrors would invoke her vengeful spirit. 
       The story had gotten mixed up over the years, as it was passed down first in their village and then all over the country.  These days, school kids everywhere scared themselves silly chanting Bloody Mary’s name in front of darkened mirrors during sleepover parties, and nothing happened to them.  So no one really believed in the curse.  Of course, no one knew the real story of Bloody Mary.  That was a deep secret handed down by the villagers of long ago.  But I was a direct descendant, and I knew how to summon the witch.  You had to use a mirror owned by someone in the direct blood-line of one of the original families that lived in Bloody Mary’s village.  And the witch's name must be spoken by candlelight a certain number of times in their native tongue.  
       It was an evil thing to do, I knew.  But it was the only way to save my life.  It was either Gerta or me.  If I didn’t fight back, I was dead.  So I took my hard earned money and went out to a specialty store to buy hand-dipped, beeswax candles.  Black ones.  I followed my mother’s directions carefully, placing them at certain intervals around the living room so that they reflected in the huge mirror behind the couch.  Then I lit each one, speaking the spell passed down in my mother’s family.  And I waited.  Father was away on a business trip, and Gerta was out at a party with her latest boyfriend.  She came home late, and scolded me for staying up to study.   Her voice was playful and light – I hated that voice.  It made her sound like she was nice.  But there was also a note of suspicion underlying her words, and she stared hard at the flickering black candles. 
       “Holding a séance, little Marie?” she asked, emphasizing the word little, knowing I hated when she called me that. 
        “I just like working by candlelight,” I said mendaciously, turning a page in my text book. 
        Gerta frowned.  “You know, little Marie, I think it’s time we had a talk,” she said, walking over to the mirror behind the couch and primping her hair. 
        “Yes,” I said softly.  “We should.  You killed my brothers.  And my aunt.  But I won’t let you kill me.”
          Gerta laughed.  “As if you stood a chance against me!” she said, fluffing her long blond hair up behind her shoulders. 
         I spoke the name of Bloody Mary in the native tongue of my ancestors.  Once.  Twice.  Three times.  Inside the mirror, the image of Gerta burst into flames, and another face looked out.  It was the malevolent face of a twisted old crone, ruined with age, and altogether evil.  I ducked behind the chair as Gerta gave a scream of sheer terror, her eyes fixed on the witch.  As I watched from my hiding place, heat burst forth from the mirror, blistering her beautiful alabaster skin.  I could hear the flames roaring as the witch laughed evilly and held out her arms toward my step mother. 
      “Gerta,” crooned Bloody Mary.  “Come to me, Gerta.” 
        And she took my step mother into her arms. 
        Gerta’s terrified scream was suddenly cut off.  The flames disappeared as suddenly as they had come.  When I peeked out from behind the couch, Gerta and Bloody Mary were gone. 
       I called Father at his hotel the next morning to tell him that Gerta hadn’t slept at home.  (Well, it was true!)  He wasn’t pleased.  He called a few of her friends from his hotel room, and quickly discovered she had been carrying on with another man.  With several, if the truth be known.  Father hated infidelity.  He flew home at once to confront Gerta, but she was still missing; presumed run away with one of her flames. 
      Somehow, Father managed to divorce Gerta without ever trying to find her.  And since she had no family in the area except us, everyone accepted the cover story, and no one ever tried to locate her.  Gerta was gone for good.  And Father and I were safe at last.   

The Brick Wall:

A Massachusetts Horror Story

Massey was a soldier unfortunate enough to cross me, his commanding officer.  He did not live to regret it.  There was something very satisfying in the moment when I thrust the tip of my sword into the soldier’s heart during our duel.  I watched him fall to the ground with the satisfaction of a job well done.

The men under my command seem depressed in the following weeks. They mention Massey frequently, but I ignore their conversations.

One night, I retreat to my chambers to sulk and soon was joined by a delegation of men who were friends of Massey. I am surprised and delighted to learn that they had come to their senses and now saw the impertinent lieutenant for the cheat he really was. We share a round of drinks and laughed together.   I’m afraid I drank far too much that evening.

The other soldiers suggested we explore the lower dungeons. That sounded like a fine idea to me.  We set off in merry spirits, drinking and singing and laughing, our voices echoing through the narrow passages. Deeper and deeper we went.  My head started spinning and my legs felt like rubber after all that drinking. I am afraid I passed out from drunkenness, much to my shame.

When I came to, I was lying on my back with my wrists and ankles shackled to the floor. Drunken men, fooling around, I thought.

“Very funny, lads,” I called out. “Now set me free.”

The soldiers didn’t answer me. A moment passed and Massey’s best friend appeared in the doorway, holding mortar and a mason’s trowel.  The other men began handing him bricks and I realize that the soldiers are bricking up the entrance to the cell in which I lay shackled. “Very funny,” I said again.

No one answered me. They worked in silence, laying brick after brick until one row is done, then two. They were playing a nasty joke on me, of course.

Then Massey’s best friend paused in his work and looked directly into my eyes. At that moment I realized that this joke is no joke. Scream after scream ripped from my throat as I struggle against my bonds. But the dungeon was too deep within the fort, and no one heard my screams.  

They were on the final row of bricks. I was reduced to bribery now, desperately using my wealth in an attempt to escape my fate.  But no one listened to my bribes.    I watched in heart-thudding horror as the last brick is put in place, as the last chink of light faded from my sight. I have been entombed alive in the deepest, darkest dungeon of the fort.  I howled in panic, writhing against the iron manacles binding hands and feet and twisting my body. Eventually I fell back against the floor, my wrists and ankles wet with my own blood.

My fingers were torn and throbbing from their intense scrabbling against the hard floor. I found myself weeping angrily, though I have never shed a tear in my lifetime.

The agony of the thought sent me writhing again in spite of the horrible pain racking my wrists, ankles, and hands. Daylight. I must see daylight again. Just once more.

“Don’t leave me here to die alone! Don’t leave me!”  

But I was alone, and the sheer brutal horror of it overwhelmed me. My eyes strained against the complete and utter darkness, and I wondered if they were even open.

Dear God, I can’t get out. I can’t get out. I CAN’T GET OUT!

The Brothers' Revenge:

A Wisconsin Ghost Story

The blizzard was raging fiercely around them as the brothers stumbled down the long road.  they were miles from any farm, and knew they had to seek shelter or freeze to death.  So it was with  gratitude that the two brothers spotted a saloon and pushed their way through the door.  Every eye in the room turned upon them, as the boys ordered coffee with the last of their money. As the bartender went to fetch the hot drink, most of the regulars returned to their conversations.  But one man continued to stare;  a massive butcher with a mop of red hair and a long red beard who was the worse for drink.

“You’re looking at me funny,” the butcher slurred, looming over the two boys.
“We weren’t looking at you,” said the older boy. “We were just warming ourselves by the fire.”
“Are you calling me a liar?” he shouted. Around the room crowd grinned; they loved a good fight. 
 “We didn’t say that,” said the older boy quickly, waving his hands and accidentally  striking the butcher on the arm. That did it. The butcher grabbed the boy by the collar. “No one hits me and gets away with it,” he roared and threw the boy headfirst into the huge fire raging in the hearth. There was a moment of stunned silence in the saloon, and then the elder boy screamed in agony as the flames engulfed him from head to toe. The younger lad shouted in terror. The older boy stumbled out of the fireplace, as the little brother tried to beat out the fire with his small hands.The butcher loomed above them, grinning sadistically as the flaming boy lost consciousness, his screams dying away.
“Your turn,” the butcher said to his brother. The younger boy gasped in fear and fled for his life out into the raging snow. The boy’s little frozen body was not found until the spring.
One evening, a decade after the death of the two young boys, a burly man with a long red beard came strolling down the road one taken by the brothers. The butcher had heard rumors of a ghost but had discarded them as so much poppycock and tavern talk.
As he meandered down the road, he became aware that a silence had fallen. In the odd silence, he heard the footsteps of a large animal. They walked when he walked and stopped when he stopped. Pulse pounding madly, the butcher turned. Behind him, large as an ox, stood a black dog with blazing blue eyes and sharp teeth. The butcher had seen those blue eyes once before, gazing at him from the face of a young boy trying to save his burning brother.
The black dog growled softly and took a step forward. The butcher whirled around to flee and found himself face to face with tall figure covered from head to toe in flames. The burning boy reached out toward the butcher with hands withered and blackened by fire. The butcher gave a terrified scream and fell, blood gushing from eyes and nose. He was dead before he hit the ground.  
      To this day, the black dog and the flaming figure still appeared in that vicinity to harass travelers and speed them on their way.


Death Waltz:
A New Mexico Ghost Story

Within an hour of my arrival at Fort Union, my new post, my best friend Johnny came to the barracks with a broad grin and a friendly clout on the shoulder. He'd hurried over as soon as he heard I had come, and we talked 'til sunset and beyond.
As soon as Johnny mentioned Celia's name, I knew he had it bad for her. To hear him talk, Celia was the most amazing woman who had ever graced God's green earth. She was the sister-in-law of the captain, and all the young men on the base were infatuated with her. Celia was the prettiest of the eligible ladies that graced Fort Union society. She liked the spice of adventure to be found so near the wilds.
Johnny alternated between elation when Celia talked with him and despair when she flirted with another man. I watched their courtship from afar and was troubled. There was something about Celia that I didn't like. I never mentioned it to Johnny, but I thought she was too much of a flirt. I wished Johnny had fallen for a nicer woman.
About a month after I arrived at Fort Union, a birthday dance was given for one of the officers. To Johnny's elation, Celia agreed to be his partner at the dance. Johnny was dancing on cloud nine all night, until a messenger came gasping into the room to report an Apache raid. With a small scream of terror, Celia clung shamelessly to Johnny and begged him not to go even though he was the lieutenant put in charge of the mission. Well sir, Johnny proposed to her right then and there and Celia accepted. Furthermore, Celia told Johnny that she would wait for him, and that if he didn't come back she would never marry. I doubted Celia's sincerity, but Johnny just ate it up.
I was assigned to Johnny's troop, so I had to leave too. We started out the next morning, and had a rough week tracking down and fighting the Apaches. Johnny split up the troop; taking command of the first group and giving me command of the second. My men reached the rendezvous point with no casualties, but only half of the other group arrived, and Johnny was not among them. They'd been ambushed by the Apaches. I had to take command of the troop. We searched for survivors, but never found Johnny's body. As soon as I could, I ordered the men to turn for home.
Celia made a terrible, heart-rending scene when she found out Johnny was missing. She flung herself into my arms when I gave her the news and sobbed becomingly. The display turned my stomach, it was so obviously insincere. I excused myself hastily and left her to the ministrations of the other soldiers. From that time on, I was careful to stay away from Celia, who mourned less than a week for my friend before resuming her flirtatious ways.
About a month later, a rich handsome lieutenant arrived at Fort Union. He was from the East, and Celia took a real shine to him. Johnny was completely forgotten and so was her promise to him. It wasn't long before Celia and the lieutenant were engaged and started planning a big wedding. Nothing but the very best would suit Celia, and her bridegroom had the money to indulge her.
Everyone in Fort Union was invited to the ceremony, and the weather was perfect on the day of the wedding. Everyone turned out in their best clothes and the wedding was a social success. After the ceremony, all the guests were invited to a celebratory ball.
We were waltzing around the ballroom when the door flew open with a loud bang. A gust of cold air blew in, dimming the candles. A heart-wrenching wail echoed through the room. The music stopped abruptly and everyone turned to look at the door. Standing there was the swollen, dead body of a soldier. It was dressed in an officer's uniform. The eyes were burning with a terrible fire. The temple had a huge gash from a hatchet-blow. There was no scalp. It was Johnny.
The whole crowd stood silent, as if in a trance. No one moved, no one murmured. I wanted to cry out when I recognized Johnny, but I was struck dumb like the rest of the wedding guests.
Johnny walked across the room and took Celia out of her bridegroom's arms. She was frozen in horror and could not resist. Johnny looked at the musicians. Still in a trance, they began to play a horrible, demonic sounding waltz. Johnny and Celia began to dance. They swept around and around the room, doing an intricate waltz. Johnny held the white-clad bride tight against his dead body while a deathly pallor crept over her face. Her steps slowed but still Johnny held her tight and moved them around in a grisly parody of a waltz. Celia's eyes bulged. She turned as white as her gown and her mouth sagged open. She gave one small gasp, and died in his arms.
Johnny dropped Celia's body on the floor and stood over her, wringing his blood-stained hands. He threw back his head and gave another unearthly wail that echoed around the room. Then he vanished through the door.
Released from the trance, the crowd gasped and exclaimed. The bridegroom ran to Celia and knelt beside her, wringing his hands in the same manner as Johnny. His cries were all too human.
Unable to bear the sight of the stricken bridegroom, I took my captain aside and asked permission to take a small detail back to the place where our troop had been attacked by the Apaches to search once more for my dead friend. He sent a dozen men with me. We combed the area, and finally found Johnny's body hidden in a crevice. It looked exactly the same as it had appeared on the night of Celia's wedding.
We brought Johnny back to the fort with us and the captain buried him beside Celia. Celia's bridegroom went back East shortly after we buried Johnny, and I resigned my commission a few days later and went home, never wanting to see that cursed place again.
I heard later that Celia's ghost was often seen at dusk, weeping over Johnny's grave, but I never went back to Fort Union to see it for myself.

Ghost in the Alley:

A ghost story from Canada

Rumors were rife about the alleyway behind the tavern. It was haunted, folks said. Haunted by the ghost of a young girl who had been found murdered in that self-same passage. People avoided the small street after dark, for the spirit was said to be a vengeful one. Of course, no one could name anyone whom the ghost had actually killed, but the tales were enough to keep people away from the alley at night.
Then one night, while the tavern was full of drinkers, a nasty character named O’Hare wandered into the bar. Women and children were not safe in his presence, but especially not women. After O’Hare had consumed far too much alcohol, he suddenly announced to the bar that he’d seen a pretty young thing in the alley out back of the tavern. The bartender froze in the middle of polishing a glass, and the men around the bar exchanged covert glances. No one said a word, but everyone was thinking about the ghost of the vengeful young girl.  Everyone in the bar looked down at their glasses as he stumbled to his feet. No one made a move to stop him, and there was a quiet air of “he deserves what’s coming to him” about the bar as O’Hare left the building. It’s just too bad that there isn’t really a ghost, thought the bartender, setting down the shining glass and picking up another one to polish. O’Hare sorely needed a lesson in human kindness and respect for others.
At that moment, a horrible scream came from the alley. Everyone in the tavern looked up in shock and fear. Had there really been a ghost out there? Or was O’Hare up to his old tricks and even now accosting one of their womenfolk?
The men leapt to their feet and raced to the back door of the tavern. Pouring out into the street, they were met by an unnatural cold, and their eyes were dazzled by a blaze of light.
The bartender thrust his way to the front of the crowd and saw the body of O’Hare lying in a pool of bright white light. His throat had been torn to pieces, and blood was spilling out in gushes. Above him hovered the semitransparent figure of a young girl, her eyes gleaming with red fire, her mouth covered with blood. She glared down at O’Hare and then turned to look at the crowd. The specter licked the blood from her lips thoughtfully, her eyes on the bartender’s neck. Then she vanished, taking the light with her.  At their feet, O’Hare gasped out his last breath and died.
The local authorities were summoned to deal with the body of O’Hare. Though skeptical at first, they were finally convinced, since there had been so many eyewitnesses who had seen the ghost hovering over the dying man.
The bartender resigned his position the next morning and took a job across town, the memory of the ghost’s hungry stare at his neck prompting him to look elsewhere for employment.

Fortunately for the owners of the tavern that backed onto the alley, their front door faced a well-lit road and so business was not slack.

Vampire Hermit:

A Scary New York Folktale
She was nervous when her husband said they were to stay in the abandoned house, for it contained  the corpse of the hermit who once lived there, enshrined in a coffin in the loft. It was an old custom and one no longer popular among the Iroquois people, but the hermit had insisted upon it before his death.  There was good hunting in this place, her man had declared, and so they moved in and she unpacked their few belongings in the front room, refusing to go up into the loft where the hermit’s body lay.

When her husband left to hunt, she immediately put her daughter in the sling on her back and went to look for roots and berries, staying away until her husband returned with the meat.  As she prepared the evening meal for them, her husband, tired from his hunting, climbed up into the loft to rest.

The hut soon filled with the delicious smell of roasting meat. She was sorting through the berries when she heard a muffled cry and the crunch of breaking bones. As she stared upward, frozen in horror, blood started to drip from the rafters.

She crept silently to the far corner of the room where she could see up into the loft. A skeleton with glowing red eye sockets was feasting on the body of her husband. Its teeth and chin covered with blood,.

Her daughter stirred restlessly at her back, and she knew that she had to get away immediately.

“I am going to run down to the stream to fetch water for the broth,” she called toward the loft. “I will be right back.” She took the pail and walked toward the stream, trying to appear normal. As soon as she was out of sight among the trees, she started to run as fast as she could. She heard a terrible howl from the direction of the house as the creature heard them escaping and started to pursue. The young mother stumbled desperately through the woods, the creature’s howls growing closer as it pursued them.  Her little daughter wailed  in fright at her back as she fled in terror, sobbing and was almost without hope The monster was gaining on her.

In a last act of despair, she shouted the Iroquois distress cry, hoping someone would be near enough to hear it. Her call was taken up and answered by the warriors from the village. She could hear the creature breathing behind her as she sprinted to the trees at the edge of the village. Here, her strength failed her, and she collapsed to the ground,

Just before the monster could pounce on them, a party of warriors burst through the gates of the village chasing the skeleton away. They swung their torches wide, and the skeleton retreated farther into the woods.  The warriors chased the creature back to the hermit’s house, and set fire to the cabin. As the flames encompassed the house, a terrible howling and roaring came from the loft, and the vampire hermit fled into the woods in the form of a rabbit, never again to plague the young woman or her daughter.