The Alton National Cemetery is located in my home tome of Alton, IL. Growing up just down the street, we knew it as a place where 163 Civil War Union soldiers and 12 unknown were buried in 1870. There were a lot of ghost stories that frightened all of us in the neighborhood, though it didn’t stop us from going there in the daylight and attempting to in the evening (we always ran no sooner than we made it through the gate).
This is a really scary story about a 17 year old boy and his camera who wasn’t afraid of the cemetery or the soldiers from 1870.
In late afternoon under a blustery November sky, Gary arrived at the cemetery and parked his car. Partnered by a light wind, autumn leaves danced a ballet under billowing dark clouds, pregnant with rain. Gary opened his door, stepping out onto the pavement and around to the trunk.
The cemetery was draped in an eerie stillness like a thick carpet of sleep. Ripping through the silence screeched the ornery “Caw!” of a black crow perched high atop a nearby tree. It’s raw greeting startled Gary who looked upward to locate its source. Detected, the crow flapped sluggishly, launching itself lazily from its current location, then floated across the yard to another perch.
Inserting his key into the trunk lock, Gary sprung the latch and lifted the lid. Inside, his gear lay neatly packed. He carefully lifted the tripod, placed it on the pavement and rested it against the bumper. He lifted the camera case and draped the cords around his neck. He grabbed a leather gear bag, shifted it to his left hand and pushed the trunk lid down. As he turned around, he picked up the tripod, balanced it over his shoulder and headed out across the lawn. The grass crunched beneath his shoes as he surveyed the graves, looking for a place to set up.
The headstones gleamed chalk-like across the lawn like bony specters. He stopped occasionally to study the more intriguing ones before moving on. He located a bench under a thicket of trees, and after a few moments of contemplation, decided this was as good a place as any. Placing his bag on the bench, he set up his tripod and mounted his camera. After a few adjustments he was ready to begin shooting.
A damp wind stirred and Gary turned up his collar to block it out. Then he strode to the bench.
Gary didn’t particularly believe that cemeteries were the best place to encounter spirits. He figured they had more interesting places to hang out than a gloomy, boring cemetery. But Gary knew that this particular cemetery was the resting place of several Union soldiers from the Civil War, dating back to 1870, and had also been the site of recent vandalism. He heard it through a few friends that these insolent occurrences had reportedly agitated the inhabitants, causing an upsurge in anomalous activity. This all whet his curiosity and the fact that it was only 5 minutes from home compelled his visit. He wanted to gather some photos, see what he came up with, and take it from there.
Starting in the east corner, he worked the camera, scanning the eerie graves slowly around to the west. He was mindful to pick up as much detail in different areas as possible, including any structure of interest in the yard. Then, finding a position that displayed the most unobstructed view of the cemetery, he left the camera rolling on its own. Then he grabbed his smaller camera and set out across the grass for stills of select headstones.
He strode to the oldest part of the cemetery. Bordered by ancient trees, it was situated along the east wall and underneath he found one of the cemetery’s oldest graves of the soldiers. The headstones appeared weathered and worn, and after 100 years, some of the inscriptions were barely legible.
After several adjustments to his camera settings, he started clicking shots getting as many different angles as he could. From here, he moved down the row to get the other graves in a similar fashion.
Overhead, the blustery sky grew dark and Gary figured he had only about twenty minutes before the clouds began to dump its contents. He moved quickly out towards the center and across to the other side, making any needed adjustments to the camera settings and snapping more photos. The ornery crow returned and cawed another announcement.
“I better get going,” thought Gary and he started back into the direction of the bench. Pushing his luck, he turned and held his camera in front of him. He aimed it randomly across the lawn and snapped a shot with his index finger. The crow sounded once more, this time with grave urgency. Gary turned to view it, still holding his camera in his outstretched hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something stir through the camera lens. He turned back to the screen to view the image head on, but all he saw was an eastern view of the cemetery.
The air grew heavy and Gary knew rain was imminent. He returned to his camera and tripod, its red indicator light signaling that it was still running. Gary turned again, extended his right arm and attempted just a couple more shots before the clouds let loose. He aimed the camera randomly across the grass and snapped another shot.
Then he turned his head slightly to the left, but kept one eye on the screen. As he suspected, he saw a white figure crawling ominously across the lawn. But this time he noticed . . . it was headed in his direction!
Gary dropped his arm and visually inspected the area he was shooting without looking through the lens. There was no white figure visible, only the cemetery: very still and very, very quiet.
Lifting his arm and returning the camera to its previous position and using a sideways glance, he watched through the lens as the white figure crept slowly and insidiously across the grass. It seemed that despite the labored crawl, it was much closer than before and Gary calculated that every time he lowered the camera, the figure traveled 100 yards instantaneously!
The rain began as a light sprinkle, and Gary raced to his camera on the tripod then attempted to pick up the image of the white figure. Lifting and viewing once again out of the corner of his eye, he relocated the specter. It had moved much closer and this time Gary was able to pick up details in its form.
It was creeping along on its belly, arms bent at elbows dragging itself forward, the lower half of its body limp and useless. In jerky, unnatural motions, its head lurched from side to side. Its ghastly face was a horror to behold. Two hollow sockets glared at Gary across the distance while its tongue lolled in its mouth, slack jawed and hungry. As Gary studied its face, the glaring countenance told him he was being apprehended with careful determination—and malice.
Terrified, Gary dropped the camera and began tearing down his equipment. The air filled with the dank odor of mold and rot giving Gary knowledge that the specter was upon him, probably no more than just a few feet away. He tried to dismount the tripod and camera but was so frightened that his trembling hands betrayed him. Clumsily, he knocked his gear over, its red indicator light fading to black as it hit the ground.
He grabbed the smaller camera and held it up once more. He found the entity and discovered that it was nearly upon him, creeping relentlessly in pursuit. He had no choice but to leave his gear behind. He dropped his small camera in the grass and fled, running mindlessly towards his car, a projectile of utter fear. 
The sprinkle of rain intensified and the grass grew wet under Gary’s feet. The crow cawed laughingly in the trees, and the smell of mold became heavier and more intense.
He was only 50 feet from his car when he slipped on the slick grass, flying headlong into a monument, striking his head on the stone. The crow cawed one last time and the drizzle of rain became a torrent. Gary lay on the grass, unconscious and bleeding. He wasn’t found until the next day. Three days later, Gary sat upright in his hospital bed, head wrapped in a turban of bandages. His equipment had been retrieved, but the camera and tripod was ruined.
By some miracle, his smaller camera survived the torrential rains. When he got out of the hospital, he had the film developed in search for evidence of the malevolence that had pursued him. He looked at the photos 100 times, scrutinizing the headstones, the trees and the random shots of the lawn. He found no evidence of the entity in any of the photos.
Sadly, he had no evidence of his encounter, save a nasty concussion and ruined gear.
The only witness an ornery old crow.He had no intention on ever going back to that cemetery. . . at least not alone.
Recent Comments