Good evening, it’s Spooky Boo coming to you from the KSND radiowaves of Sandcastle, the sound of the sea. I’m sitting here high above the waves in the beautiful lighthouse over looking the coastline. You’ve never seen a coast as beautiful as ours and you’ve never seen a graveyard as haunting as our old hallowed ground. For centuries people have used that area to bury old bones. They say they don’t stay asleep in that old graveyard, that many awaken on the darkest of nights when the moon is new and the lights are few. There is a reason why the natives left this area and we were too blind and eager to see.
Come with me and listen to a tale of haunted graveyards across the land in these two creepypasta stories I have for you tonight and maybe you will hear a Sandcastle story coming this weekend about our haunted graveyard. It isn’t for the feint of heart though. Beware!
Find out how you can support the show at www.spookyboo.club or listen until the end of the program.
Now let’s begin…
Birchville’s Abandoned Graveyard
There’s an old deserted graveyard that’s somewhere in Birchville, South Dakota where people once buried their dead, but no longer due to some odd things happening there. It was once a place where the town would bury their departed loved ones from the 1880s to the early 1910s until, according to some, a few supernatural hauntings happened. Some of those who were buried at the graveyard were Lakota civilians who were massacred during the wars between the United States and the Plains Indians in the 19th century. A couple of them were Lakota warriors who died trying to defend their families. Because of this, some would venture into the graveyard at night and would claim they saw what looks like a really angry faced Dog Soldier with a tomahawk, and a Winchester rifle.
Of course, there were some who were skeptical of the haunting, and a couple of teens from the town went to the place on a dare as kids would do. One of the teens dared a boy to stay in the graveyard over night to see if he could prove himself brave so he stayed there for a night. The next day they had to make a search party for him since he hadn’t shown up for school and his family was worried. The teens, feeling guilty and in fear, told the adults that they went to the graveyard and dared him into going in. When the townsfolk got to the graveyard, they found the boy hanging from a tree, gutted with his entrails on the ground while the top of his head was scalped. This was one of the reasons that led to the graveyard being abandoned.
Another instance was a rumor about some type of devil creature wandering nearby and that it didn’t appear there until some strange looking woman started going up there. She always appeared to carry some type of strange looking book. There were rumors that she was a witch and people simply dismissed the whole thing as only that, a rumor. But those who would sometimes venture there usually heard some type of cackling and sometimes cloven hoof shaped prints would appear in the ground and snow. No one knows what happened to the so called witch. she disappeared just like she appeared, but the ghost of the Dog Soldier and the demon weren’t the only paranormal sightings in the area. Some people said they could see the Grim Reaper whenever they watched someone getting buried. Sometimes Death would point towards someone, and that person would die. Sometimes he pointed to the old, and later on he decided to point to the younger people. In 1908 one such person was a bright and healthy kid who saw Death pointing at him during his grandfather’s funeral and later on he died in the First World War. Another Man got his face kicked and trampled by a horse when he tried to ride after he saw The Reaper. Basically, seeing Death at a graveyard beckoning you was always seen as an omen and also a death sentence. After that, the graveyard was abandoned and a new one was made. The old graveyard is not on the map due to all the bad luck associated with it, but there will always be people trying to look for it and if they do, they will most likely be cursed and haunted for the rest of their lives.
Written by Levi Athens
It’s a shame that most people avoid graveyards. The dead deserve to be visited every once and a while. You’ll spend more time there than you will spend living anyhow. It pains me to see an old graveyard fall to neglect. The one near my house is pretty much spotless, I see to that myself.
That’s where my father is buried. He fell ill last year and passed away only a few months ago. I’ve spent a lot of time in the graveyard since then. It can be a rather lonely place, but I’ve become accustomed to that. Father always encouraged me to take a husband but for one reason or another, it never really worked out. Loneliness is nothing new to me.
One day when tending to the graveyard, I found a single mason jar laying atop a grave. It was filled with what appeared to be murky rain water and sticks. Assuming that it was an old flower vase that had been left out in the rain, I poured out the contents. I’d soon learn the mistake I’d made.
The headstone was blank on the left side, it was a couple’s headstone. It must be sort of grim knowing exactly where you’re going to be placed when you die and where you’ll spend the rest of eternity.
That night I had a strange dream. It was the eeriest of sights. I saw hollowed out people made entirely of paper mache. They were dancing in the sickly moonlight in an elegant yet grotesque repose. These hollow people twisted and contorted in their bizarre motion to the sound of a skipping record player.
I awoke to a sound coming from the living room. I climbed out of bed cautiously and approached the bedroom door, opening it slightly and peering through the opening to the living room. I saw nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that could’ve made a sound. I entered the living room to be sure. Nothing.
As a lifelong lover of ghost stories, the thought of a spirit following me home from my many graveyard trips had no doubt had its effects on me. Though I was determined to not let my imagination get the better of me. I returned to my bed and tried once more to go to sleep.
A lightning storm had rolled in and the rain was making its way gracefully down the bedroom window as the thunder rumbled in the background.
The storm outside began to sooth my mind with white noise but an eerie sense came over me as I lay motionless trying to clear my thoughts. It was the feeling of someone sinister approaching, something creeping, something lurking closer and closer.
Suddenly a shadowy figure took shape at the foot of my bed. The lightning struck loudly just outside the window and illuminated the room through the silky curtains.
I bolted upright and screamed in terror. The figure was a man in a dark suit, not unlike the kind they bury people in. He looked at me in a puzzled manner as if he was trying to figure out who I was or if he recognized me. I looked back at him in much the same way.
“Darling, won’t you join me?” He spoke in a low voice.
“Father? Is that you?” I asked him.
With that the figure disappeared, dissolving into the dark as though he’d never been there at all.
The next day I went back to the graveyard. While kneeling down and cleaning a tombstone I saw something out of the corner of my eye.
I turned to look only to see the shadowy figure standing at the east end of the graveyard. I stood to my feet and stared at the dark suited man in the distance.
Softly the specter spoke. “Won’t you join me in the graveyard?”
The cold wind howled across that morbid land of isolation.
“There is a place for you here, in the dirt.”
The spectral man faded away into nothingness, leaving behind only a sense of unshakable dread and impending doom.
I decided it was time for me to leave, but upon making my way to the gate at the exit, I noticed a young woman weeping at the foot of a couple’s grave. She had long brunette hair in the same shade as mine. There was a certain haunting beauty about her.
Noticing me walking in her direction, she dried her eyes and stood up.
“You haven’t seen a mason jar in the graveyard have you?” she asked, turning to me.
Looking down I noticed that half of the headstone was blank, this was the gravestone where the mason jar was sitting.
I explained that I drained the contents, thinking that it was an old flower pot of sorts. Her eyes widened. I instinctively apologized, though I didn’t yet know why pouring out seemingly old water would be wrong of me.
Her gaze shifted to the graveyard behind me. From the expression on her face, I knew exactly what she must’ve been seeing. When I turned behind me I saw nothing there but a fading black mist in a rough silhouette.
She looked at me with tears filling her eyes. I tried my best to comfort her. She told me that her husband always said that he wanted her to be buried next to him. She reluctantly agreed. He was a miserable drunk with a temper.
“I’ve spent many evenings staring at my future gravestone as it mocked me,” she said sobbing.
The memory of her deceased husband had lingered around her and appeared to her on many occasions, asking her to come back with him and take her place beside him. Nothing she tried could get the haunting to cease until her grandmother showed her an old family tradition, a method of banishing the unwanted spirits. She showed her how to add the ingredients and told her to leave the jar upon his headstone.
The spell worked until I came along.
Now his spirit was back amongst the graveyard. He had mistaken me for her the first time around. Having seen her, he wasn’t going to leave her alone again. Hearing this I apologized profusely once more and immediately escorted her out of the cemetery towards my vehicle. From beyond the gates we could see the dark specter standing stoically. The figure lifted his hand beckoning to her. I offered her a ride to her place which she thankfully obliged.
We went back to her house and she showed me the ingredients for the spell. Following her instructions I helped her perform the banishing ritual and seal the contents within a jar. It was the least I could do after my horrible error. We returned to the graveyard and placed the mason jar upon the stone. The jar sat proudly with a silver lid upon it and a freshly applied label reading “Do not discard.”
We started talking a lot after this. Her name is Maria. She works as a waitress in town. She has told me a lot about magic and her family’s customs. We even went to dinner together a few times and began hanging out on the weekends. She truly is a lovely person, someone with a lot of compassion, kindness and a love of life.
The contents of the banishing ritual must be replenished from time to time as the spell repeatedly fades. Months have passed since all of this occurred but all seems well for now. Since meeting Maria, I haven’t been spending as much time alone in the graveyard. Though I make sure to visit my father’s headstone often. I think he would be pleased to know that I’ve decided to marry.
Maria looks wonderful in her gown.
As long as she and I continue to do the banishing ritual, I think we’ll live happily ever after.
A Strange Occurrence by RedNovaTyrant I’m a student of St. Francis Xavier University in Antigonish, N.S., Canada. I’m in my third year at this point and have a handful of friends that I hang around so as to not get bored in this extremely mundane town. I’m not the biggest on parties and drinking super hard (a shot with friends once in a while isn’t so bad), so there’s not much for one to do in town since the only places of interest – that aren’t another friend’s room to hang out in – are bars. But it’s still a fun town to wander around at night. One of my friends – I’ll call him R – and I have been all over the area. We’ve walked along the old highway, the new highway, railroad tracks, through the local park, just across campus. It’s not something we do every single day, but it’s more often than not that we just get bored hanging around his apartment (after three years, Halo night tends to lose its luster). So we walk. Last night, while we were messing around in the park at around 1 AM, I made a suggestion. Behind our campus and across the highway, there’s an old and large graveyard on a wide hill called St. Ninian’s Cemetery. You could even see it from the student union building. Now I had been there as a child, when my mom wanted to go find the grave of her uncle, but I barely remembered the experience. So I asked R if he wanted to go and try to find my great-uncle’s grave. He said “hell yeah” and we were on our way back across town. The journey there took us along the highway, but it was pretty dead at this hour, so we goofed around and walked down the middle of the road. We weren’t drunk or under any influence, I should add. Otherwise, we probably would have been slipping on all of the ice that covered the cemetery roads. Despite being January, the temperature had been a bit higher the last few days, and so there was lots of slush and water sitting on top of ice for an unfocused mind to slip on. There was still a cold wind though, and lots of snow on the ground, so we were bundled up appropriately. As we approached our target destination, R and I both jumped for a moment at how it looked like someone was wandering the place, as we both saw a light moving between the graves. But then we realized it was a combination of night lights on the graves and the reflection of other light sources as we got closer that made them appear to move. Regardless, it gave us a quick jump and kept us on our toes. Not long after, we were crossing over the cold pavement with some haste to set foot on the frozen dirt road of the graveyard. There wasn’t a gate preventing us from getting in, so as far as we were concerned, it was open season. The sky was cloudy, so the night was fairly bright. Thanks to this, we were able to make out the basic layout of the cemetery from the entrance. There was a mausoleum right on the left as you entered, and to the left of that was a beautiful new cemetery shrine. The main road continued up the hill, where trees began to line the sides as you reached the top. At the top of the hill and a bit to the right was a massive crucifix. I took one picture of the cemetery later when we were climbing up the road, but it does not include the shrine or the crucifix. And I ain’t going back for another picture. Entering a graveyard at night was a bit nerve wracking for no particular reason, so we decided to just take a look at the shrine right quick, which was heavily illuminated under some street lights. As we approached it though, I stopped dead in my tracks as I heard a “ha, ha” in the distant. It was an odd laugh, not a natural one, but disjointed – almost like someone just saying the words “ha ha”. I was already a little on edge after being fooled by the lights, so this just shot goosebumps down my back in an instant. I held my hand out to R, gesturing to stop and listen. There were no other sounds that followed, so I turned to R and asked if he had heard it. I suppose the question was unwarranted; his widened eyes told me everything before he nodded. We scanned what we could see of the cemetery, but there were no signs of movement. I asked aloud, without shouting, if there was anyone else there, but got no answer. To take a moment to catch our wits before making our way into the cemetery, we stayed next to the shrine for a bit, comforted by the bright light and jokes about how it looked like something that would have a hidden passage in a video game. Then, once we were ready, we turned on the light features of our phones and proceeded up the road. R fell on his ass instantly, due to the incline and massive amounts of ice all over the dirt path. I nearly followed suit, so we tried to walk on the side without stepping on any graves. The wind was still gentle, but it brought with it a stink that we thought was manure from the many farms in the area. It was a common thing on campus during the spring and fall; random days where the whole campus smelled of cow pies. I could vaguely remember the general location of my great-uncle’s grave, enough to know that it wasn’t right at the front of the cemetery, but somewhere at least on top of the hill. So we aimlessly wandered around, looking for my family name on one of the epitaphs. We found a few with the right surname, but the first name and dates didn’t match up. R went down for a second time, and I also took a tumble on the road. We laughed quietly and helped each other up, before continuing the search. As I was wandering about, I shined the light down at my feet for a second to see where it was safe to step. What I found instead was this: a bone. After exclaiming in surprise, I called R over for him to take a look. He was also intrigued by the find. It had no meat on it, no blood splatter; it was simply stripped clean. It was pretty creepy to just find a bone lying in the middle of a graveyard like that, but the whole area was surrounded by forest, so it was more likely the remains of some feral cat or dog’s dinner. Despite all of the doubts and explanations I was giving myself, I could feel a pool of dread beginning to fill in my heart. I couldn’t really tell if R felt the same way, mostly because we were telling dumb stories to each other to distract ourselves. As time wore on, it was getting a bit colder and R just wanted to head back soon. Since we were reasonable young adults, I said we should split up and search, since we both had our own light sources, which would make things go faster. R agreed to about another twenty minutes of searching, and so we split off. Then, with only a few minutes left before we were ready to call it, I found it – my great-uncle’s gravestone. I felt an aura of pleasant surprise upon realizing it was the correct one, and I made sure to take a picture of it (I’ve hidden the name and dates for my own anonymity). I began to call out to R to tell him I’d found it, but we ended up interrupting each other. His shout, however, was much more panicked. I stood up, hurried my way around the graves, and jogged across the ice to where he was shouting from. I met up with him halfway, but before I could ask what was going on, he simply grabbed my arm and yanked me to wherever he wanted to go. It was over on the right-hand side of the cemetery; I could tell thanks to the approaching crucifix. When we finally stopped, R pointed to the ground for me to look. At first I thought he was just showing me a grave in progress, but that was before I noticed the bones scattered about. Or the bloodstained snow. Finally, a waft of the terrible stench arose and hit me, and I was forced to keel over in disgust. R said that he nearly walked into the hole, but he had caught the strength of the wind’s stink increasing first, and stopped before he had fallen in. It was an absolute mess, the whole thing. The coffin lid was almost off its hinge, and what parts remained of the corpse inside it were flopped on top of each other. A half eaten skull stared at me; one side rotted but still intact, the other cleaned to the bone. And by how fresh the pile of soil was, we could only assume that whatever had done this, man or beast, was still nearby. Obviously, R didn’t really give a shit anymore about seeing my great-uncle’s grave, and I completely understood. We decided to get the hell out of Dodge and rushed down the icy road as best we could. As we jogged, I took a look behind us, paranoid that whatever had dug up the grave was following us. I was right to be paranoid, but I wish I’d never looked. Standing there on the side of the cemetery road, I was able to discern the shadowy movements of a man in loincloth unfolding himself from lying on top of Jesus, before climbing down the crucifix. I kept my screams inside and whispered two words to R: “Fucking run.” I wouldn’t let him look behind us as we sprinted out of St. Ninian’s Cemetery and across the double lane highway to safety.
Continue reading at https://www.creepypastascarystories.com/creepypasta/episode-107-stories-of-death-dogs-and-doom/ | Creepypasta and Scary Stories Podcast
