Bachelor's Grove Cemetery: My First Haunted Site

Hi, y'all. If you read the previous "All Aboard" post, then you probably already know me as The Man. I'm okay with that, and it is likely that myself and The Lady will be taking turns with the content here.  I'll take this time to explain where and how my fascination with haunted places and unexplained events began.  Now and in the future, keep in mind that i'm not trying to convince anyone.  I have no agenda other than to relate the tales.  

The very first haunted location I have visited (knowingly, anyway) is Bachelor's Grove Cemetery. I grew up in the Chicago suburbs during the eighties, so Bachelor's Grove, along with Resurrection Mary and the "Monk's Castle" was the subject of many spooky tales and more than a few rite-of-passage daresⁱ. I don't have access to any of my own photos of the place, but that's okay. Nothing unusual ever decided to appear on film during any of my visits, and the Wikipedia page has some very good shots.

It is a small place, maybe a hundred, hundred-fifty feet to a side, and it isn't difficult to reach at all; it is part of the Cook County Forest Preserve, and a large paved parking area is right across the street from the trail to it. The walk from the road to the gate of the cemetery is less than a quarter mile.

The origins of the cemetery, itself, are debated. It is clear from some of the surviving markers that it has been there since at least the 1840s. As of the last time I visitedⁱⁱ, the most recent entry on a monument was in the 1980s, but apart from this, the dates are mid-19^th to very early-20^th century. The folklorists' consensus holds that there was a nearby small community of German immigrants who were employed as laborers building the Illinois and Michigan Canal and this was either a stand-alone cemetery, or may have been affiliated with a small ramshackle church that stood where present-day Midlothian Turnpike runs past the lot. Note that I said 'surviving markers' above. This is because the cemetery has been thoroughly vandalized and desecrated over the decades. More detail on that below.

My first visit was at age 16, when some friends from school and myself, celebrating our new drivers licenses, decided to go check it out. We had heard the stories of ghost lights (what my gram would have called 'witch lights'), a phantom disappearing farmhouse (which if you went into it would fade away and you'd never be seen again), Satanic rites, and spectral vehicles traveling the trail (which was, back in the day, the road into the cemetery). We had also heard many cautionary tales of how much patience and sense of humor the Deputy Sheriffs displayed toward folks caught trespassing there at nightⁱⁱⁱ, so sensibly we visited in the daylight. We were definitely more concerned about the cops than the ghosts.

All during the walk, we were sharing the spooky stories we'd heard, and anticipating what we might see and experience when we got there. What we did find horrified me.

The place was trashed. Stones were overturned. Stones were broken. Stones were clearly moved, to the point where you couldn't tell if you were walking on a grave. I read later that many stones had been removed, either stolen entirely or chucked into the nearby pond. Most unsettling, in at least two places you could see clear signs of excavation in front of a grave marker. Beer cans, campfire rings, and Trojan wrappers completed the picture of “normal” vandalism, while witchy graffiti and melted wax piles on a few of the monuments testified to the more occult (or more likely occult-wannabe) desecration of the place.

We walked around and explored, but didn't stay long. Nothing happened to scare us; we were just disgusted by our fellow living humans. This would have been 1984.

The next summer I went back with my girlfriend and her friend. I had read in the paper about a restoration and conservation program that was underway and I wanted to see if conditions had improved. And scare the girls. Mostly to scare the girls. And naturally this is the time something weird occurred.

We parked at the Forest Preserve as usual and carefully crossed Midlothian Turnpike to get into the woods. This was mid-July at about 2pm. So the sun was shining, it was hot and humid, and we had at least six hours of daylight left.

As we walked back, the girls were exchanging stories and trying to scare one another. Don't let anyone kid you: teenage girls are just as competitive as the boys. It took us five or six minutes to walk back to where the cemetery appears on the right side of the trail. Just about the time I was expecting to see the rusted and sagging chain-link fence, it got quiet. The insects and frogs in the foliage to either side of us went silent all at once. Like a switch turning off. A couple more steps, and we could see into the cemetery, but it was dark. Like it would be at dusk, but it was still a sunny afternoon. There were trees all around, and one or two big ones within the cemetery fence, but there was plenty of sky visible. No reason for there be such a deep shade.

I could see that the grass had recently been mowed and the previously encroaching brush from the forest had been trimmed back. Some of the graffiti had been cleaned off, though there was still some present, and I had started to comment aloud on how much better it looked than it did the last time I was here. Then I noticed that everything was still silent. Midlothian Turnpike, a fairly busy road, was less than a hundred yards away, but there was no traffic noise. No birds, no bugs, nothing. We could hear one another speak just fine, but there was little other sound to be heard. Even our footfalls seemed to be muffled.

Then I noticed my girlfriend shivering. We were all dressed for a hot summer day. Just a minute ago it had been ninety degrees and we were sweating. Now it felt about fifty degrees. Not surprisingly, the enthusiasm for visiting the haunted graveyard had evaporated, so I snapped a couple of quick shots and we left. At a fairly brisk pace, I might add. After a few steps in the direction of the car, we heard the wildlife again and it was bright and hot. Not a cloud in the sky.

I returned a few times in subsequent years, sometimes by myself, and others with an organized “ghost hunting” group. Others have taken photos of orbs and mists^iv. Books have been written. Documentaries have been filmed. Electronic voice phenomena has been captured there^v. Even the talking biceps guy on TV did an episode at Bachelor's Grove in 2012. I suspect if I looked on YouTube, I would find a lot of content.

Every time I visited, it has been a peaceful spot in the woods. Except for that one time.

i Even before the internet, we still had “challenges”. They were stupid and puerile just like today, but the difference was we did them in person. So we actually could beat the crap out of the d-bag who thought the dare up.

iiI moved back to Tennessee in 2003, so it would have been a year or two before that.

iiiAnswer: None whatsoever. Handcuffs, a ride to the station, and a call to your parents were guaranteed.

ivI don't mention the fairly famous photo of a full-body apparition sitting on a headstone, because to me it looks like a textbook example of a timed exposure.

vBut you can capture EVP just about anywhere.