The sun has fallen, the nighttime sky pulled over your head, and a strange fog rolls across old tombstones. In the distance, a faint melody drifts through the mist. Whispers float through the wind, yet there is no one else in the cemetery. Well… no one alive, anyway. Welcome to Southeast Grove Cemetery.
Happy Halloween, readers! Today, I’m going to tell you a spooky tale from the Region, so find a warm and cozy spot – maybe next to your fireplace, or by a window if it’s a stormy night – and settle in. If you are easily scared, maybe save this for another day. But if you enjoy the thrill and being frightened, welcome. I hope this gives you the adrenaline rush you’re looking for.
Now, let’s dive into the story behind Southeast Grove Cemetery, also known as “Gypsy’s Graveyard”, or “Gypsies Cemetery” (2).
The origin of the Gypsy’s Graveyard lore dates back more than two hundred years. In the 1820s, on the outskirts of what is now known as Crown Point, Indiana, a group of “gypsies”, which is what they were called at the time, settled in the area. Though they intended their stay to be brief, the local townsfolk were less than welcoming.
As the story goes, rumors spread quickly through town – tales of pagan rituals at the gypsies’ campsite and accusations of stolen livestock. The citizens grew furious and demanded the group leave at once. Before they could depart, a horrible epidemic broke out, which prompted the locals to ostracize the newcomers. They refused to provide any aid to the group of gypsies, withholding food and medicines (3).
The travelers begged the townspeople for help, pleading to stay until their families were well enough to travel. Their request fell on deaf ears. The citizens of the area threatened them to leave immediately, or else they would face serious repercussions. When a group of men returned a few days later, they were surprised to find the gypsies – and their belongings – were gone. The only trace left behind in the area were several burial mounds where the deceased were laid to rest (3).
The townspeople’s treatment of the gypsies did not go unpunished. According to local lore, the “townspeople and their descendants would forever pay a price for their inhospitable attitude – the gypsies had cursed the city and their dead haunted what would later become South East Grove Cemetery” (2).
Spooky, right? Well, that’s not all…Storytellers in the Region say when the men who confronted the gypsies returned home that evening, the bottoms of their pants were stained in blood. Some believe it means they were marked with the gypsy curse (3).
Today, visitors to the cemetery still report mysterious happenings. Some locals who visit insist they have seen white, glowing orbs drifting through the mist, others speak of shadowy figures lurking between the tombstones. Many describe a chilling presence, and a few even claim they found blood stains on the bottoms of their pants, just like the townsfolk did over two hundred years ago (1). According to Tombstone Travels, there is an urban legend around here, and it states “that if you walk through the cemetery and notice blood on your clothing then you are a descendant of the original towns folk and will be chased out of the cemetery by glowing lights. Another says the original gypsy campsite was on land just outside the cemetery and if you go back there at night you can see ghostly figures, smell a campfire and even hear music.”
There are two stories from locals I wanted to share today. The first is from Hauntings Around America, and it is spooky. I will post some of it here, but if you would like to read the rest please head to their website: https://www.hauntingsaroundamerica.com/post/gypsy-s-graveyard-crown-point-indiana?utm_source=chatgpt.com
“As we walked through the old creaky gate, I kid you not, there was this strange fog that started to grow thick. It was really weird. In the center of the graveyard there is an angel statue,as we got close to her, all three of us froze. I can’t tell you why, we just stopped. I started to get this awful feeling and couldn’t get out of there fast enough. We turned as some sort of unit and practically ran out of there. Mind you, we hadn’t seen anything, only had a weird feeling. Right as we got out of the gate, I turned around and froze. My friends did the same. There appeared to be a weird shape GLIDING through the cemetery about twenty feet away. At one point its head snapped in our direction and then turned forward again to continue its glide.”
I recommend reading the whole story!
The next story is a long one, and appears to be from Reddit. It is also posted on Tombstone Travels, so I will share it here. If you’d like to read the story from its original source, you can find it here: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/2jshdn/what_happened_in_gypsies_graveyard/
Per Tombstone Travels, in 2012, some local teens were looking for something exciting to do. They decided to take a drive to the cemetery that night to see if it’s really haunted. The kids did not expect to have the experience they were about to get. Side note: I was also a teen in 2012, so this is really weird! Could have been me! End side note.
“”What’s that, back there?” we heard Toni ask from a few yards ahead of us. She was leaning over the edge of the fence that designated the end of the cemetery.
“Looks like a bonfire,” Jack said, looking over her shoulder.
“Who would light a fire in the woods? Haven’t they learned anything from Smokey the Bear?” joked Ducky as she and Peter caught up with Toni and Jack.
“There is a portion of fence that has been bent down. Should be easy to climb over. Lets check it out,” said Nick, using the zoom lens on his camera to survey the area.
I clung even more tightly to John. “I am not comfortable with this,” I whispered to him.
“Do you want to go back to the car? We don’t have to go in if you don’t want to.” he assured me.
“No, but I am not going over that fence,” I replied with steely resolve.
“Jimmy, who always acted like he had something to prove, was the first to jump the low fence. Toni, Jack, Ducky, Nick and Peter followed. Raven came over to me and took me by the arm. Three of us stood there, arms locked together, at the short fence looking deep into the woods at the faint fire light in the distance as the shadows of our friends approached it in the dark.
As their shadows grew fainter, I could swear I heard music on the wind. A soft violin melody. It wasn’t a playful tune, but a slow, melancholy piece that reminded me of a funeral dirge. I looked at Raven, and she wordlessly expressed that she, too, could hear the music. Just then, we heard a loud scream from beyond the treeline.
I could feel John’s muscles tensing, wanting to jump the fence and find out what was the matter, but staying as protection for Raven and myself.
“What the hell is going on out there?” he yelled into the trees. Laughter was his reply. Ducky thought it would be funny to punk everyone out with her best horror film shriek. I didn’t think it was very funny.
The minutes started to drag on. Ducky’s scream was the last thing we had heard of our friends in a while… at least 10 minutes, and we started to get anxious. We called out to them, but only heard the melancholy music in response. John decided that he should check on them and jumped the fence, leaving Raven and I alone in the empty cemetery.
Just then, the music stopped. The music stopped and the screaming began. Raven and I grabbed each other in a tight embrace. It wasn’t Ducky’s best horror film shriek, but the combined bellowing of all of our friends. We could hear a crashing through the woods, and we prayed it was that of our friends returning to us. Raven gripped the pentagram she wore around her neck tightly, as I started reciting The Lord’s Prayer in a whispered voice.
Raven asked me why I was tugging on the hood of her sweatshirt. I wasn’t. I turned to look at what might have snagged the jacket, and that’s when I saw it.
“There is something innate in the human psyche that knows when something has gone terribly wrong. Your stomach feels like it has fallen to the floor, and the oxygen is stolen from your lungs. The buzzing in your ears that accompanies the tunnel vision that precedes unconsciousness drowns out all other noises. Perhaps this is the brain’s way of sheltering itself, protecting the fragile psyche from fracturing under the pressure of trying to comprehend the incomprehensible. I wish I had just passed out, instead of remaining conscious to see the grotesque vision before me.
Pulling on the hood of Raven’s jacket was a bony and desiccated hand. The hand was attached to a man had a swarthy quality, though still impossibly pale. He wore a patched wool coat and flat cap. His cheeks and eyes were sunken, and his breath was coming out as a raspy rattle. Deep in the hollows of his eyes, a fire burned. His eyes spoke of a rage and hate I had never experienced. I wanted to pass out, to stop seeing those hate-filled eyes boring into my own, reaching into my very soul. Instead, I screamed.
The spectre vanished at the sound, and Raven caught me as my knees went weak and I started falling to the wet grass. It wasn’t long before John and the others were clamoring back over the fence. Everyone was ready to get the hell out of this place. I wasn’t feeling steady on my feet, so John swept me up in his arms, threw me over his shoulder and fireman carried me back to the SUV.
The vivaciousness of the group that had driven out this way not even an hour before was all gone. You could hear a pin drop. We didn’t even want to listen to anything on the radio… as if we were afraid to hear the melancholy dirge through the SUV’s speakers.
We parted ways that night, never fully understanding what we had experienced. Nick was the only one who seemed happy about the whole excursion. He had gotten quite a few good shots of what looked like orbs surrounding an unearthly mist. Ducky got a sprained ankle, and the rest of us got plenty of nightmare fodder for the rest of our lives. We never really talked about that night afterwards, at least not with any amount of seriousness. We all laughed it off, and made excuses about sleep deprivation and mass hysteria.
Since then, a lot of us have lost touch. I’d like to think that it was the natural progression of human interactions that tore apart a once tight-knit group of friends. As high school passes and your once abundant free time is filled with work, and relationships, and adult responsibilities; the ones you gave that free time to begin to slip away. I don’t believe that is what happened, though. I think what drove a wedge through The Society was our inability to come to terms with what we had experienced.
Nearly ten years has passed since that night. John and I are now happily married. Raven and Peter are still our closest friends. Everyone else has fallen to the way side. Though sometimes it takes a few glasses of wine to loosen our tongues, John, Peter, Raven and I have spoken candidly about the events of that night. Peter told us that he and the others followed the campfire deeply into the woods while the John, Raven and I stayed behind. They were entranced by the quiet music, and followed it to the campsite. When they reached the source of the glow, they could see what looked like people huddled to the fire. Their faces were sunken, and they had an air of death about them. One swarthy man in a wool coat and flat cap was playing the violin, and no one seemed to notice the presence of the six teenagers sneaking up around them. Peter motioned for them all to head back, when Nick started snapping photos. The flash caught the attention of the huddled mass, and that’s when our friends started to scream. The violinist stopped playing, and everyone turned to face our group of friends. Their eyes, he said, burned with hatred. At that point Peter, Ducky, Jack, Toni, Jimmy and Nick all started running for their lives. John caught them as they were making their way back to the fence and they heard my cries.
What has never been discussed, though, when talking about the decline of The Society, was the blood. When we got back to Raven’s garage that night, going our separate ways, I made sure to look at everyone’s feet. The only shoes and hemlines not streaked with red were that of John, Peter, Raven, and myself.”
Today, the legend of Southeast Grove Cemetery lives on. I would not be surprised if there are still people, and spirits, wandering around this historic site as we speak. There are many eerie legends in the region, and the tales about Gypsy’s Graveyard are only the beginning. From now on, I plan to share some region folklore with you every year on Halloween (until I run out).
Before I go, and leave you to hide under your covers until the sun comes up, I wanted to make it clear that if you plan to visit the cemetery, be sure to receive permission, as it is apparently private property. Please also be safe and respectful of those laid to rest.
Oh, one more thing…be sure to check the bottoms of your pants when you get home! You never know what stains might be down there….
Happy Halloween!
Peter
Citations:
2. https://www.lowellpl.lib.in.us/gypsy.htm?utm_source=chatgpt.com
3. https://www.tombstonetravels.com/post/the-haunted-gypsy-cemetery?utm_source=chatgpt.com
Discover more from The Region Life
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
Leave a comment