Cemetery night funeral real stories. Scary stories about the cemetery and the dead

Gravedigger's Tale

In the 90s, when the Union collapsed, a bunch of research institutes closed. Researchers dispersed in all directions. Some moved into shuttles, began to carry consumer goods from China, others simply drank themselves, others radically changed their profile of work. My friend Oleg Petrovich Dementyev joined the cemetery. Digging graves. I must say, not the worst profession for that time. It was he who told me this strange mystical story. I just processed it literary. Here is his story. For many months, the little quiet woman shuddered at every ring at the door of her apartment. Carefully asked: "Who is there?" and with bated breath she waited for a short answer: "Police!" And only then, opening the lock to the voice of a neighbor or acquaintance, she could not come to her senses for a long time. I drank valerian and corvalol. But they were of little help. It was especially difficult on sleepless nights. Memories came running, and it seemed that her terrible secret will certainly be revealed. Then they will come for her. Tamara Petrovna committed her rare crime because of him, Sergei.

If suddenly trouble comes

Only now, fifteen years after her desperate act, she finally calmed down. It's too old. All that was left of him was a heavy and even a sick heart. Tamara Petrovna had a chance to lose loved ones since childhood: in 1935, right in front of her eyes, two people died of starvation. younger brother, then there were no parents, even later - her husband. Children were the only joy in her life.

She devoted everything to her daughter and son free time which, unfortunately, was never enough. Conductor is a traveling profession. Today is here, tomorrow is there.

When her daughter Svetlana got married and left with her husband, a young scientist, for Novosibirsk, Tamara Petrovna took it for granted: her daughter is a cut piece. Yes, and the youngest Seryozha, a merry fellow and a guitarist, remained nearby. Her favorite, her support and hope in the coming old age. But everything turned out differently ...

Sergei Volsky went to jail in his youth, out of stupidity. Microdistrict Sorting, which is located right next to railway, - the place is restless, hesitant, they often fight here in the evenings, drink and inject.

The guy got into a bad company, he messed up. In a brutal fight with passing truckers, the big-faced guys almost to death kicked two half-asleep drivers, taking their money and little things with them. Although Sergei did not participate in the fight, he was in the company of rioters, and so he thundered along with the “activists” for hooliganism and robbery.

The article is serious. At first he served his sentence in a prison in Nizhny Novgorod, then he was transferred to one of the colonies in the south of the region. According to Tamara Petrovna, he himself asked for it there. The mother was terribly worried. Apparently, some kind of sixth sense guessed unkind.

But after some time, Sergei sent a letter from the zone. He wrote that he was happy. Here he is being transferred good behavior and conscientious work in the duty company. Then you can visit him often.

Tamara Petrovna calmed down and even rejoiced. Until the next letter, she counted the days. But the son remained silent. It . To disperse the melancholy, the mother pondered what kind of gifts to buy Serezha in Moscow, imagined a warm meeting with her son after a long separation.

How to bring back a dead son...

Instead of the long-awaited envelope, inscribed in native handwriting, the postman brought an urgent telegram. It reported that the prisoner Volsky died suddenly.

Blackened and lost, Tamara Petrovna rushed to her friends. Thank you, they supported me, advised me to somehow pull myself together, told the bad news to relatives. Volskaya's sister and daughter Svetlana urgently flew to Nizhny Novgorod.

Together they went to this cursed zone. Then Tamara Petrovna said: “If he hangs himself, I won’t come!”

For some reason, it seemed that the son laid hands on himself, without even thinking about his mother. Sergei Volsky was killed in his sleep with two blows to the head with a stool. In the course of a short investigation, it turned out that the cellmates considered that he was a “snitch”, he got out too quickly on duty. For this he paid with his life.

At the trial, eleven witnesses did not want to give any details. Who "fell asleep", who "forgot". And the killer turned out to be a particularly dangerous criminal, a recidivist. He was sentenced to eight years for murder. But that didn't make it any easier for the mother. You won't get your son back.

Then she wanted only one thing: to bury Sergei in the cemetery in Nizhny Novgorod. The thought that her boy had been buried somewhere as a vagabond without lineage, without tribe, was unbearable.

Other orphaned mothers, albeit a little, console themselves by caring for the grave. They talk to the photo on the monument, plant flowers in the tomb, light funeral candles on the Religious holidays. She didn't even get that.

Instead of the long-awaited envelope, inscribed in native handwriting, the postman brought an urgent telegram. It reported that the prisoner Volsky died suddenly

But, despite all the requests, pleas, demands to give her the remains of Sergei, police officials answered: “Not allowed!”. Some languidly referred to a possible exhumation if the case went to further investigation. But they obviously didn't want to pursue him.

Desperate, Tamara Petrovna reached the highest ranks of the Ministry of Internal Affairs and the Prosecutor's Office. Russian Federation. Then she still worked as a conductor on Moscow trains and, arriving in the capital, several times went to see big bosses. Who swore, who promised to consider the case. Meanwhile, six months have passed.

To one colonel from the Ministry of Internal Affairs, Tamara Petrovna promised all her savings for decades of winding around the country in rattling cars. He said: "We will decide."

And then a friend turned up on the street. She listened to Tamara Petrovna's complaints, her story about ordeals, and advised Sergei ... to steal. Otherwise, they say, you will not wait for the resolution of your problem. Prisoners are never given a proper burial. Volskaya understood what she had to do.

Lord, give strength and patience

"Lord, give me strength!" - Asked Tamara Petrovna and on the day off she went to the caretaker of the cemetery at Sorting. He attentively listened to the woman turned gray with grief.

You can help, but it will be expensive ...

How?

He named the amount.

Two times less than what she offered to the capital's officials!

The woman took administrative leave at the Passenger Service Directorate and began to prepare for the operation. The energetic daughter, after the death of her brother, once again visited the zone. There were people who, for a certain fee, indicated the exact place of burial. The daughter visited the outskirts of the rural churchyard.

On the unmarked grave Compassionate local old ladies laid out a brick cross. Leaving for Novosibirsk, Svetlana drew a diagram for Tamara Petrovna, on which she marked the place where her brother was lying. Now a piece of paper with a drawing is very useful.

Despite all the requests, pleas, demands to give her the remains of Sergei, the police officials answered: “Not allowed!”. Some languidly referred to a possible exhumation if the case went to further investigation.

How to reburial a person...

The cemetery caretaker turned out to be a man of his word. At the appointed hour, Tamara Petrovna and four hefty men (among whom was my friend) drove out of town in two cars.

It turned out that one of the drivers had once served in this zone, so he knew the way there well. Already after midnight they finally reached a small grove among the fields. Four of them illuminated simple fences, gaudy plastic flowers, monuments, and not far from them, a red mound with a brick cross, spread out from the rains, spread out from the rain.

Mother's heart sank painfully, she convulsively grabbed the pills. Digging up the grave took an unexpectedly long time. Sticky clay stuck to the shovels. Tamara Petrovna volunteered to help. It was fearful that they would not be in time before dawn. The men sent her to the cars, away from them: “And if you feel bad, then what do you want to do”?

Finally, the spades thumped dully against the tree. The matter now remained for the small: to transfer the coffin to and throw in the pit. But hastily put together, lain in the ground for more than six months, the domino could fall apart. It was necessary to get it by tying the boards. The ropes were prudently taken with them. Suddenly, one of the conspirators became ill.

And then it seemed to shoot through me: what if it's not Sergei? - recalls Tamara Petrovna. - After all, prisoners, they say, are often put in mass graves. She began to ask the peasants: "I'll give you another thousand rubles, just look: is he or not."

They hesitate, they are afraid. And time is running. Then we see, at the coffin the board moved away and I immediately recognized the face of my son along the scar and dimple on the cheek, along the chin. At dawn, the hole was dug up and bricks were laid so that no one would guess what was happening.

And then an old woman appeared at the cemetery. Either she came to visit her people early in the morning, or for some other reason ... Her nerves rose again. What if he notices, guesses, informs? What then? And nothing good, because the case is something under jurisdiction. But the grandmother turned out to be weak-sighted, she did not figure out what was happening in the fog.

Sergei Volsky was reburied the same day at the Sorting cemetery. Now Tamara Petrovna herself cannot believe that she decided to take such a desperate step.

But she simply could not do otherwise. If it was not possible to live together with a living son, then even if he is dead, he will be there.

Sergei Volsky was reburied the same day at the Sorting cemetery. Now Tamara Petrovna herself cannot believe that she decided to take such a desperate step.

Now the cemetery watchmen often see this woman near the well-groomed grave, on the bench, which is near the monument behind the iron fence. She is talking about something slowly and quietly with her son for a long time.

Some of the rare visitors, looking at her, shake their heads and twirl their fingers at their temples, but the cemetery attendants know that the woman is completely normal, sane and always gives them delicious homemade pies, sweets, and gives money for vodka.

And most importantly - she found some kind of solace, visiting her "native hillock", there it always seems to her that the soul of her son is near, that he hears everything, that one day she will be close to herself. close soul in the world.

And she stopped being afraid of the police a long time ago. A mother's heart is truly omnipotent and fearless.

Supernatural: a call from the other world

On one of these visits, she was met by the same grave digger, my friend Oleg Petrovich Dementyev. This is how he remembers this meeting.

The woman was sitting on a bench near the grave, turning the key in her hands, and was very pale. You feel bad? I asked. She looked at me with a strange look, then she recognized me, smiled shyly and handed me the key.

What's this? I asked in surprise.

I see he's from your apartment?

The woman nodded.

I found it under the bench.

And then she told how it happened:

I lost it a week ago. Searched everything in the house. There was no key. Good thing there was a spare. But I decided to order another one. Even though the money is small, it's still a pity. You can't buy an extra carton of milk. In the evening she went to bed. She could not sleep for a long time, she kept thinking about something, some petty worries oppressed her, then she dozed off. woke up from phone call. The time was after midnight. For a long time I could not figure out where I was, what kind of call, then I picked up the phone. The voice was masculine and terribly familiar.

I stood and was silent, there were no thoughts in my head. There was no fear, no surprise. Then again:

Who is it?

But I already knew who. It didn't even occur to me that this could be someone's evil prank.

Can you hear me?

Listen, Seryozha...

You lost the key on my grave. It's under the bench. So don't order a new one. And yet ... He hesitated, sighed, it was heard through the receiver - thank you and goodbye.

Short beeps. I woke up when it was dawn outside the window, and the birds were already singing with might and main. The receiver was in my hand, and short beeps squeezed tediously out of it. I came here half an hour ago and...

She handed me the key again. It was old, from English locks that slam shut when you leave the apartment. Now these are no longer installed.

I picked it up, turned it around, then handed it back to her. He kissed his gray, shampoo-smelling hair, turned and went to his thirtieth precinct. By 12.00 it was necessary to dig another grave.

Now the cemetery watchmen often see this woman near the well-groomed grave, on the bench, which is near the monument behind the iron fence. She is talking about something for a long time slowly and quietly with her son.

VIDEOS: 7 mystical phenomena in the cemetery captured on camera

Real cases and stories

Road through the cemetery

For many years I have been haunted by an incident that happened to me in my distant youth. At that time I was sixteen years old or something like that.

"Granddaughter" - a mysterious story

My aunt worked as a cook at a children's camp, and she took me with her to one of the camp shifts. Then I was seven years old. Almost all the children were older than me and played with each other, and I was all alone.

Out of incredible boredom, I began to explore the surroundings of our camp. Once I went into the forest through a hole in the fence and started down the hill to the river bank. Suddenly, a graveyard appeared ahead. Since it was daytime, I was not at all afraid.

I entered the cemetery and began to slowly walk along the widest path. Near one grave, I noticed two people - an old woman and an old man, small, very quiet and, as usual, gray-haired. The old woman waved her hand at me, and I approached them closer.

The old woman rummaged through her purse and pulled out two dolls made of thread - white and red. She handed them to me saying maybe I want to be their granddaughter. The old man nodded his head and smiled. Very frightened, I rushed back without touching the dolls.

Seven years later, I'm already fourteen years old. One night I dreamed of these old men. They were exactly the same as then. They smiled at me in my sleep and asked how my business was going. The old woman again offered me dolls. And at that moment I woke up.

Seven years later, when I was twenty-one years old, I got married. A week before the celebration, I was sorting through things, thinking what to take in new house. On the hanger hung an old coat that I had not worn for a long time. Deciding to throw it away, she reached into her pocket to check that there was nothing there, and pulled out those same dolls.
The next morning, getting on the bus, I went to the very cemetery where I had been fourteen years ago. I got to the old children's camp, which has not worked for a long time and was heavily abandoned. I began to descend to the cemetery along a familiar path.

And now I'm already on the path, I found the grave quickly, it was noticeable that no one was looking after her.

I tore out the weeds and dry grass, scattered the branches. I buried the dolls near the grave and asked for forgiveness in a whisper. Since then, I no longer dreamed of the old men and never met me anywhere. I believe they are already dead too. And when I finally celebrated my twenty-eighth birthday, nothing special happened in my life.

Source

The curse of the child

In the village where I usually go every weekend, a neighbor who lived opposite killed his six-month-old daughter. He and his wife were caught in the cemetery when they were burying a child. I myself did not delve into the details and was not even surprised to learn about the murder. The girl's father is a drug addict, and her mother was a prostitute. I would have forgotten about this story, if not for its consequences. Two weeks after the girl, the old woman died.

She was seized by an attack right in the garden. And after some time, the girl Katya from our village died. Then I decided to go home from sin away. Returning two weeks later, I was horrified to see the road, all covered with branches from fir trees, this is how we see off the dead. My grandmother told me that after my departure, a general pestilence began in the village. I panicked, called my friend Kristina and we began to make a list of all the dead. There were about fifteen people on the list. Having written out all the dates and causes of death, it turned out that there was not a single natural death. Then we remembered that it all started after the murder of the baby.

We decided to find her grave. First we went to the main cemetery. Walk five kilometers through the fields, the highway and the forest. The only thing they found was an artificial skull. Then we went to the cemetery near the church, but we didn't find anything there either. From fatigue, I suggested that perhaps the girl was buried right in the garden. Christina immediately offered to check it out at night. We silently made our way to the territory of the house and began to examine the garden. Having found an unusual tubercle, we took out small shovels and began to dig. There was a package, looking inside, we found the corpse of a child. I barely managed not to scream. When I calmed down, I was overcome by a feeling of great guilt.

We all knew what kind of family it was, and heard children's cries, but no one intervened. Then I realized that we really deserved all these deaths. We apologized to the girl for about half an hour. When we dug it back in and left the garden, I finally burst into tears.

I blamed myself, I understood the feelings and pain of the unfortunate soul. Everyone thought that my nerves were shattered, but realizing everything, I quickly returned to my normal state. The deaths in the villages after our trip to the garden stopped, and life went on as usual. Apparently, the spirit of the girl sent a curse on the inhabitants of our village.

Ever since I remember this sad story I have tears welling up in my eyes.

Source

"Watchman" - a mysterious story

This story happened when I was thirteen years old, three years ago. There was a long abandoned two-story building on my street, and no one knew what had been in it before.

And for as long as I can remember, this building has always been abandoned. The most curious thing was that all the furniture and things inside were intact. And we used this fact, very often went to this house and even took books from the library at our own peril and risk.

Our story happened around the middle of September, we just moved to the eighth grade. Even then, a new boy was transferred to our class, and he had a very malleable character. The boy's name was Gosha, and everyone mocked him.

Back at the end of July, at night, we periodically noticed on the second floor of this building some kind of dark figure with something glowing in its hands. The figure always walked along the same path, moving along a long corridor.

Then we thought it was a watchman, and this spurred our curiosity even more. Once we took Gosha with us. We stopped in front of the building to look around a little, because we had to climb in so that none of the adults noticed us. We entered the building unnoticed by anyone. And then one of the guys came up with the idea to lock Gosha in order to laugh at him. When he was in the corridor on the second floor, the guys closed the door and propped it up with a bedside table that fell under the arm.

Gosha begged to let him out, and we just laughed.

The guy who stood guard said that the watchman was walking along the second floor again. We prepared to listen to how Gosha would justify himself to the watchman. And then there was a scream. It was Gosh. He squealed, then began to wheeze and began to beat on the door with such force that chips flew off the door. There began to form a gap.

Gosha was already crying in silence and, sticking it out into the crack, tore out the boards with the last of his strength. We started to pull Gosha out, but when we saw him, we recoiled. His hair stood on end, his eyes were wide with horror, they splashed with simply indescribable fear. And half of the hair on his head just turned gray. He tossed us aside and stormed out of the house screaming. Gosha did not come to school the next day.

Later we learned that he was taken to a psychologist.

After that, he spoke very badly and stuttered. A week later, his mother took him, and they moved from our city. This is what happened to us. We didn’t go to this house anymore, since it was clear and understandable to everyone that this was not a watchman, but something terrible.

Source

Took care of my own grave

In old Simbirsk (now Ulyanovsk), in the Kindyakovskaya grove, there used to be a strange-looking gazebo, similar to a pagan temple - a round dome, columns around and urns on four massive pillars. With this gazebo local residents many beliefs and legends were associated. It was often said that a treasure was hidden under it, and many even tried to break out a strong stone floor. The treasure was not found. But the true story of this gazebo was told in the 1860s by a deep old man, who was once the owner of this land, Lev Vasilyevich Kindyakov. In his youth, he served under Paul I. exact date he did not remember the construction of the gazebo.
The story took place in 1835.

In the evening, he called his colleagues to his estate to play cards. They played until late at night. After midnight, a footman entered the room and reported that some old woman had come up to the house from the garden and demanded to call the owner. Kindyakov reluctantly left the table and went down to the intruder.

She said that she was Emilia Kindyakova, his relative, who was buried under a pavilion in the garden, and said that at eleven o'clock in the evening two unknown persons disturbed her ashes and took off her golden cross and wedding ring. After that, the old woman quickly left. Lev Vasilievich considered that he was a little crazy, and as if nothing had happened returned to the table, ordering him to give himself cold water to wash up.

But the next morning, the watchmen came and said that the floor in the gazebo had been broken out, and some kind of skeleton lay nearby. Kindyakov was frightened and indignant. He had to believe in his yesterday's vision. In addition, he was convinced that the lackeys talked to the lady and heard what she said. He turned to the police, to Colonel Orlovsky. He began an investigation and soon detained two criminals. They said that they wanted to find a treasure, but they found only this cross and a ring, which they laid in the first tavern that came across.

As for Emilia Kindyakova, she lived in mid-eighteenth century and was a Lutheran by religion. She was one of the first owners of the village of Kindyakovka, Simbirsk province, which later turned into one of the remote parts of the city and was a favorite place festivities. After her death, a picturesque gazebo was built over her grave.

This story about the cemetery may seem mystical and a little scary to you, but this story happened to me and I want to share it, it's up to you to believe or not to believe in this story, but the story is very interesting.

A little about me: my name is Pavel and I am 23 years old, I work as a mechanic and get a good salary. I have no wife and no children. After I finished 11th grade I had a dream of becoming a filmmaker, making films and stuff like that. But apparently it didn’t work out for me with all this, you ask why? My parents divorced and I stayed with my mother and after the divorce we didn’t even have enough money for food, so I had to go to work at the factory. But still I had my own dream of becoming a director. And in my city there were no places where one could learn for this profession. Therefore, I decided to go to the city of Perm where my relatives lived who agreed to find me good school. But I also had a mother whom I could not just leave, so I promised her that I would help her. That's how I moved to the city of Perm.

The story itself: I moved to the city of Perm, I rode a train that was going very slowly. But still I arrived in 6-7 hours. I was safely met by relatives and I went to their home. The next day I woke up, they called me for breakfast, they fed me delicious porridge and drank tea. But still, I asked them how things are with the school (where I was supposed to study as a director)? They answered well, they found me a suitable school, it remains to go there and discuss everything. I was very happy and thanked them. But they told me that in return I should go with them to the cemetery. I reluctantly agreed. We all got ready, got out of the house, got into the car and headed to the cemetery. I asked them a lot of questions about the cemetery, but they didn’t even say anything, as if they were going there for the first time and didn’t know anything about it. Well, we drove to the cemetery and we parked the car. It seemed very strange to me that there was no one near the cemetery and no one even sells flowers and all sorts of junk. We walked along the road as if from nowhere some old woman appeared. She came up to us with a terrible look and said - do not go there, please. Then she left for the exit. I got worse and worse. I could not stand it and said, maybe we won’t go there, the old woman said not to go, why do we need all this! My relatives looked at me and said - if you don’t go to sleep, we won’t help you go to school! With a feeling of absence and similarity, I continued to follow them. We had already walked about 1-2 kilometers and I felt a pain in my head. We got to the grave we needed and I felt even worse. It seemed to me that the devil himself would come up to me and hit me with all his might on the head. For about 5 minutes we stood near the grave, when suddenly I looked into the distance and saw the silhouette of a man, or rather an elderly woman who was standing in my direction and looking at me. I shook my head, thinking this was nonsense, looked around and there was no one to be seen except my relatives. Relatives said that we can all go as a lady. I was delighted and forgot about all these nightmares. We returned home, it was already evening, everyone did their business and we all went to bed. And in a dream I had a dream about the situation where I saw that silhouette. I was looking at this silhouette, when suddenly, blinking, an old woman appeared in front of the house, whom we met at the cemetery. I woke up with a frightened look, I did not believe in all this. But everything worked out, I still dreamed of these scary dreams about a week but I continued to live. I entered the school of the director and everything is fine with me. But still, I remember this story every day and even now I feel uncomfortable.

History from life.

I moved to another city, got a job. The job was the most "fun" - a night watchman at the cemetery. You won't believe how many freaks come at night, dig up graves and take away everything of any value. I resolutely stopped such encroachments and I did not care where the bullet from the rifle hit - in the arm, leg, heart or head. I buried the dead robbers under a cliff on the eastern edge of the cemetery - it was always cold, gloomy, scary and creepy there.

But I will not continue to describe to you the delights of the life of a cemetery watchman, but will tell you about the events that happened on the night of July 11-12. Then the weather was calm, the wind was noisy, and in the sky, illuminating the surroundings with a silver light, the full moon shone. I was sitting in the gatehouse, watching Seventeen Moments of Spring and quietly sipping cheap red wine, when a strange sound came from the street. On the alert, I removed the rifle from the brackets, jerked the bolt and, quietly opening the door, went outside.

As I expected, over a lonely grave, located a little further from everyone, three people fussed. Two dexterously brandished shovels, the third shone a flashlight at them. I was overcome with such anger that I was afraid myself.

Why the hell are you desecrating a grave, you bastards?!

A rifle shot broke the silence. However, none of the diggers even stirred. It turned out that at the moment of the shot one of them managed to turn the shovel upside down with the bayonet and the bullet hit him, ricocheting into the tree. Three turned in my direction with such mugs that I understood without a word - they would kill.

There was no time to reload the rifle. I tossed it aside and pulled out an army knife from the top of my boot. “Maybe I won’t kill,” I thought, “but I’ll definitely cut it badly.”
The two with shovels rushed towards me. I dodged a sharply sharpened bayonet and slashed the attacker in the chest, but immediately received a blow flat on the head with a shovel. My eyes darkened, I sank to the ground. One digger grabbed my hair and threw back his head, the second, rubbing his chest - blood remained on his palm - picked up my knife and grinned.

Now you, bitch, will suffer, and then you will die like a lousy dog. - the blade rested on my trachea. And that's where I noticed it...

The three scum didn't even know who killed them. A black shadow darted, one of the trio squealed like a pig in a slaughterhouse - he did not have both arms to the elbow - and immediately shut up, irrigating the ground with blood from the stumps and a cut on his throat. The second one threw a knife on the ground and ran away, but he did not run far: at the very gates, a shadow overtook him and the villain fell to the ground next to his head, which fell off a second earlier. The third, releasing me, was spinning around, panic horror seethed in his eyes, and when the creature appeared in front of him, there was a desperate terrible cry of a man who did not want to die. Slowly turning around, I saw a dismembered corpse… and the one who was standing over it…

Medium length black hair, pale skin, dark brown eyes, black pants, black boots, black blouse, black leather coat I didn't like the person right away. A strange-looking dagger was clamped in his hand - there was no handle, the blade seemed to grow out of his hand. And then, looking closer, I realized with a shudder that I was not mistaken - the blade really looked out of his palm.

The stranger turned to me and his thin lips twisted smile:

I never ran so fast in my life and stopped only near the station, taking a breath. After weighing everything and thinking it over, I decided to return home, but a surprise awaited me near the apartment: the words “STILL DATE” were carved on the front door.

Who doesn't love scary graveyard stories? Today we will talk about six creepy and real-life cemeteries full of mysterious phenomena, ghosts and mystics. So, buckle up and...

1. Scary Stories About Silver Cliff Cemetery

The origin of the name Silver Cliff Cemetery, located in the state of Colorado, goes back to the nearby mining town of the same name. In turn, the town takes its name from the Silver Cliff silver mine. Despite the rich deposits of ore, the companies involved in the development of the deposit declared themselves bankrupt three times due to poor management and financial fraud! The cemetery is still famous for its wandering blue lights. National Geographic published an article about these lights in 1969. Witnesses told various horror stories about this cemetery, for example, that these lights were small, round in shape and had a tendency to temporarily change color from blue to another. These lights danced around the tombstones. Someone argues that this may be a reflection of light from the city, but the first observations date back to the time when Silver Cliff was not yet electrified.

2. Mystical stories about Stip Cemetery

Steep Cemetery is a small, abandoned churchyard located in Morgan-Monroe State Forest, Indiana. There are only a few dozen burials here, some of them two hundred years old. Officially, this is a family cemetery, but horror stories about the cemetery say that in fact the churchyard was founded by members of the Krebbites cult. The rituals of this group included raising snakes and sexual orgies. Some eyewitnesses claim that you can still hear the words of spells and prayers of the cultists at night.
However, I could not find any references to Krebbites apart from Stip Cemetery, which makes this story an urban legend.
Another legend tells of a loving mother who visited the grave of her dead child, even after her own death. According to another story, an old woman can be heard crying in the cemetery, who cursed this churchyard after a group of students killed her dog and threw the animal's body among the graves.

3. Scary Stories About Camp Chase Cemetery

Camp Chase Confederate Cemetery, located in Columbus, Ohio, has become last resort for 2,260 Confederate soldiers. Why Ohio? It was here that the northerners located a camp for prisoners of war of the southerners, where during the period civil war contained 9400 soldiers. In 1863, an epidemic of smallpox spread in the camp, the victims of which are buried in the Camp Chase cemetery. By the way, there are the remains of not only captured southerners, but also northerners who worked in the staff of the camp. After the end of the war, the camp was liquidated, and the cemetery remained as the only trace of the existence of this place of detention of prisoners of war. At the same time, wooden crosses began to be replaced with tombstones only in 1895.

Louisiana Rensburg Briggs

Louisiana Rensburg Briggs was a Confederate sympathizer from New Madrid, Missouri. Her father sent her to Ohio so that she could escape the horrors of war. After the end of the war, she married a Northern veteran, but she never forgot her past views. The woman constantly visited the Camp Chase cemetery, where she brought flowers to various graves of captured southerners, even when the graves were completely overgrown with weeds. Briggs always wore a veil during her evening visits to the churchyard to hide her identity. This earned her the nickname "The Veiled Lady of Camp Chase Cemetery." Subsequently, Louisiana became the initiator of taking measures to restore and preserve the cemetery. After her death in 1950, there were reports of a ghost appearing at the churchyard. crying woman leaving mysterious flowers on the graves. Bringing Mission Briggs became known as the "Grey Lady". Her paranormal activity is partly linked to the grave of a 22-year-old Tennessee soldier named Benjamin Allen. You can also note the presence of reports of the appearance of the ghosts of soldiers of the southerners in the cemetery of Camp Chase.

4 Scary Stories Of Highgate Cemetery

Many are buried at Highgate Cemetery in London, UK famous people, but after its filling, the current expenses for maintaining the graveyard were finally stopped. As a result, vegetation covered the entire territory of the cemetery and turned it into a classic, creepy place. A number of Hammer Films Productions horror films were filmed here in the late 50s. In the 1970s, a rise in interest in the occult led to rumors of the first ghosts and even vampires in Highgate Cemetery. The ensuing vandalism and looting of the graves only further fueled these legends and, ultimately, became the cause of the competition between the "magician" San Manchester and David Farrant. Each of them swore that it was he who could expel the vampire from the cemetery. Whole line of unpleasant incidents was committed at the churchyard in the period from 1970 to 1973, during which crowds of people gathered at the cemetery under cover of night, after which dug up, desecrated remains were found there in various poses. The police petitioned for an arrest warrant, and in 1974 Farrant was convicted of grave desecration and vandalism. Manchester and Farrant continue their occult confrontation to this day. The latest confirmation of the fear of vampires is reflected in the 1972 film Dracula, which provoked large-scale offenses at Highgate Cemetery.

5. The Chase family mausoleum and its history

The Chase family tomb was built in 1724 in Christ Church Parish of Barbados and first used for its intended purpose in 1807. The remains were interred, and the mausoleum itself was sealed with marble and cement. In 1812, the tomb was opened for the fourth funeral, but at the same time it turned out that three coffins previously left there were moved! And the children's coffin was completely placed vertically. They were all swapped and opened. Two more times in 1816 and 1819 the tomb was reopened for subsequent burials. And again it was noticed that the coffins were all turned the other way or standing one behind the other. However, even after the first discovery of this strange phenomenon the governor of the island ordered the doors of the crypt to be sealed, having previously poured sand inside, which was supposed to be evidence of an invasion of the tomb, but failed to cope with this role. Then the family decided to transfer the ashes of people dear to them to another place. Since then, the tomb has stood untouched. Despite the reports of that time, testifying to the absence of signs of flooding in the crypt, the most simple explanation for the phenomenon can be considered the release of groundwater to the surface. It was this that could move the coffins without destroying the layer of sand. Since coral also acted as the material of the tomb, the possibility of water coming out can be considered one of the versions explaining the terrible stories about the cemetery and what happened.

6. The horrors and vampires of Chesnut Hill Cemetery

Chesnut Hill Baptist Cemetery, located in Exeter, Rhode Island, is famous for the appearance on its grounds of a vampire named Mercy Brown. She outlived her sister and mother, victims of tuberculosis, and often visited their graves. In January 1892, 19-year-old Mercy contracted tuberculosis herself and was soon reunited with her family on the cemetery grounds. George, Mercy's father, began to complain that she came to him every night complaining of being hungry. His son Edwin also contracted tuberculosis, but since he too spoke of Mercy's nightly visits, the family and villagers believed that the cause of his illness lay in the restless deceased. On March 17, 1892, George Brown, with the help of others, dug up the graves of his wife and two daughters. Of these, only Mercy, who died in January, was not affected by decay. This was proof enough for George to believe in her rebirth as a vampire. The villagers cut out Mercy's heart, burned it, mixed the resulting ashes with water, and served the ailing Edwin as medicine. Despite this, he passed away a few months later. Mercy Brown's story inspired a number of writers to write several novels, including Bram Stoker's Dracula.