Fellow Midnight Society member Jenna's post on Security Coffins had me pawing through my bookshelf to find a book I'd bought a few years ago for story research (if that makes you think my library is questionable, you should see my browser history...). Buried Alive by Jan Bonderson The Terrifying History of Our Most Primal Fear Funny thing is, on the jacket flap, it's also touted as "an engrossing and witty history" that "deserves a place on every bedside table in America". Sounds good to me...but I have a feeling not every one would agree with that suggestion[...]
Tag
cemeteries
1 This story happens by lamplight, under a copse of trees and at the top of a steep hill, predictably under the cover of night when only the most nefarious deeds are done. It's October and the ground is frosted, but there are men at work with spades and shovels, digging into the soil with some ardour, awaiting that telltale sound of metal striking a coffin. If you've ever dug up a grave yourself, I'm certain you'd know it: the timber of the strike changes as the wood buckles, and then splinters. It's an extra bit of give beneath the tool -- the result of the grav[...]
In October I visited my brother in Colorado. It’s a magical place for me, full of crunchy leaves, kind people, and awe-inspiring beauty. I also have a favorite place to go while I’m out…the graveyard. I absolutely love visiting cemeteries and when I’m in one, I find this unexplainable peace and comfort. There’s this one in particular that I love. Grandview Cemetery in Fort Collins, Co. The first time I visited it was at midnight in the fall several years ago. The light shimmered through the trees as they swayed in the wind and dead leaves s[...]
Halloween has come and gone, and already the stores have started stocking holiday items. I hate this feeling -- the one you get when you see tinsel and prefab knit stockings two weeks before the clock strikes midnight on my favourite holiday of the year. I hide at home. Don't go into stores. Try to avoid the red and green and silver. It's too soon, and I'm not ready to let go quite yet. Being November 1st, I'm still holed up in my apartment, still sitting in my Halloween costume, trying to convince myself that's it's not over yet. And you know, it sorta is and i[...]
Some people keep their skeletons in their closets. Other people turn them into decorative art? A few days back I bit the bullet and purchased my plane ticket to Europe. It'll be my third trip across the pond, and every time I go, I venture a little farther. It's been previously stated that I'm big into visiting cemeteries amidst the art museums and various nooks and side streets, but I'll take on the occasional cathedral if it's there. (Notre Dame was in my way in Paris, really. When you're standing under it's massive shadow and don't have anything better to do -[...]
Hello from Boston! I've been in the city for the past week attending a design conference, but the place is so beautiful and there are so many adorable little puritan cemeteries I just had to bring some beautiful taphology home for you. The focus of today's post is Old Granary Burial Ground. Third oldest cemetery in Boston, it was founded in 1660, and holds 2,345 marked graves. Despite the small number, it's assumed that nearly 5,000 souls were laid to rest here, among them three signers of the Declaration of Independence (Sam Adams, John Hancock, Robert Tre[...]
“How long do you think it takes to dig a six foot grave, six feet deep? What is that, like, a hundred cubic feet of dirt?” Hundred an’ eight, actually. Assuming shoulder-width is three feet across on average. “In the dark.” I’m sitting on a nearby tomb — feet dangling off the ground, shoes kicking so that the lace of my left foot sneaker’s come undone and it’s making a regular ticking sound against the cement resting place of some lady whose name I don’t recognize. The dark part is important. You don’t want to be seen while you’re doi[...]
The Victorians had a very peculiar tradition of picnicking in cemeteries. After the death of Queen Victoria’s hubby in 1861, the entire country donned their mourning attire. For forty years. (To be fair, Victoria only asked her court for three years of goth gear. Moved by her dedication to Prince Albert, they persisted in continuing the tradition until the queen’s death, at which point the custom was put to rest, and so began the Edwardian period in Britain.) I’d like to say the tendency to accessorize all in black, cover the household mirrors with black[...]
