Blog Archives
A cemetery, a breathless whisper, a random photo. What do you see?
Those of you who read my blog know about my, shall we say, passion for cemeteries. You can read the post here if you missed it.
The photos in that post are from the necropolis in Glasgow, Scotland, which spreads itself over a hill just above Glasgow Cathedral. I am going to share another photo with you in a moment.
But first, a little exposition.
I climbed the hill to the necropolis on a cold, still May morning, stopping to take a photo of an interesting headstone. I was alone when I reached the top of the hill, alone in the city of the dead.
It was silent, an eerie silence, with low hanging clouds, and a murder of crows roosting on a long hedge just behind me.
Walking around, I took a few photos – very few. I felt as if I were intruding.
I returned to that hedge, looking at the stone monuments to death, when a breathless voice whispered in my ear. A female voice, speaking the lyrical Gaelic I had been hearing since my arrival in Glasgow.
I spun, and the cold presence whirled away from me as if it were dancing.
A second later, the crows flew up, cawing wildly, into the still, silent sky.
I took a fast walk back down the hill, cooled my heels and my hammering heart in the cathedral a good long while.
When I returned home, I processed the photos, and began to look through them. The single shot I took of a random headstone grabbed my attention.
And it has grabbed attention ever since. Everyone I show it to has seen – something, in the photo. Something that wasn’t there when I took it on that cold day.
Now it’s your turn:
What do you see in the photo?
Until next time – keep looking over your shoulder.
~Cate
Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody – why do we love urban legends?
A dark bathroom, a single, flickering candle. Six words whispered to the mirror – and an urban legend is passed on.
They are deliciously spine tingling, gasp inducing, and outright spooky. We scare ourselves silly with them, and love doing the same to our friends. Many a nightmare can be blamed on urban legends.
Random House Dictionary offers the following definition:
a modern story of obscure origin and with little or no supporting evidence that spreads spontaneously in varying forms and often has elements of humor, moralizing, or horror: Are there alligators living in the New York City sewer system, or is that just an urban legend?
Wikipedia adds:
An urban legend, urban myth, urban tale, or contemporary legend, is a form of modern folklore consisting of stories that may or may not have been believed by their tellers to be true. As with all folklore and mythology, the designation suggests nothing about the story’s veracity, but merely that it is in circulation, exhibits variation over time, and carries some significance that motivates the community in preserving and propagating it.
Quite a mouthful.
I heard all of them as a kid – the Hook, the woman in white (also known as the white lady), the alligator in the sewers, pop rocks and Coke leading to an exploding stomach – and yes, I tried this. Stop laughing.
Why are we so fascinated by these mythical stories? Why does part of us want them to be true – especially the scare-me-out-of-my-mind legends?
They are part of our culture – almost a rite of passage. Girls have whispered “Bloody Mary” to a candlelit mirror, boys have scared each other silly in the dark with “Step by, step, inch by inch” dramatizations since, well, ever.
The stories may change, but the thrill of sharing them carries through, generation to generation.
So spill – what is your favorite urban legend? Feel free to chill us.
Until next time – keep looking over your shoulder.
~Cate
Just a bracing stroll through the cemetery. . . .
Highway to - *ahem* road of the dead, Glasgow Necropolis
Stepping into a cemetery is the type of experience that leaves a smear on the subconscious. It pulls you in, unwilling at first. But the need to enter, to see, to find out for yourself is stronger than the fear.
Once it has lured you inside it gathers you close, whispers its secrets, and reminds you with a cold slap to the heart that no one gets out alive.
Man, I love them.
Walking among the stone markers of the dead, you start to wonder. Am I really alone? Is that the wind that tapped my shoulder? Did I really hear the Gaelic whispered in my ear just before a flock of birds screamed into the still, silent morning sky?
There is only you, and the absolute quiet, so hushed you can hear your own heartbeat. The living fade into the background, and the wind that wasn’t there moments ago tugs at your hair, sends a chill racing down your spine.
You bend over to read the inscription on the gravestone, part of you knowing, just knowing that the inhabitant will be standing behind you when you turn around. The relief when they’re not leaves you giddy.
You whisper an apology as you tiptoe across the graves, because the cemetery is so old and crowded there are no formal walkways.
Or it is a city of the dead, glorious monuments rising above you, surrounding you, crowding you, until you feel like the only living person on earth.
Monuments to the dead
I have explored cemeteries of all kinds around the world – from an unsettling, ant-infested boneyard outside Virginia City, Nevada to a windswept, haunted necropolis above Glasgow Cathedral.
Every one has affected me, in a way that imprints the moment on my soul like a photograph. They spook me, unnerve me, and sometimes scare the hell out of me. But I keep going back for more.
Really – who doesn’t love a nerve-shredding scare every once in a while?
Did I mention Halloween is my favorite holiday?
Yeah – now you’re starting to understand.
Do you have a cemetery or boneyard that knocked you out of your socks? Feel free to scare us here.
Until next time – keep looking over your shoulder.
~ Cate
