I've been reading a lot about the importance of a backstory for a haunt. This prompted me to ask my wife, who is not only my better half, but the creative one out of this duo, to write a backstory. And this is what she wrote:
*Empty Grave Acres*
The stories have been around longer then any of us can recall, but they all ring true. Once a year, a graveyard appears out of nowhere to collect more bones. Funny thing about this bone yard is, the dead never stay at rest and the graves are always empty.
My great Aunt first told me about this roaming “God’s Acre” when I was barely old enough to know the meaning of the word. She told me some spirits cannot stay dead long enough to rot. That sometimes when there is so much evil in one place, the place becomes a living thing of its own. Looking back, I wish I had paid more attention to my great Aunt’s tale especially after finding my late Uncle’s diary in the town’s archive.
Recovered Diary
W. C. Dalesandro
Dated October 1- November 1, 1821
October 1st. I know something is not right. The birds are not singing their morning songs and the fog has lain unusually thick for October. I feel in my bones a strange uneasiness as I set out for town this morning. I have hope that others close by are noticing the same sense of caution I am feeling.
October 3rd. The Sea seems to have stirred up the ghosts of our past this season, for everyone I spoke to while in town can feel odd air blowing in off the Gulf.
October 4th. I slept very little last night. I heard, God have mercy on my soul, the sounds of boots on the road leading to my fields. When I rushed out armed to defend my land, nothing confronted me. The air was still. But the dirt was unsettled leading into the darkness.
October 10th. Again I greet this morning having slept little in six days. I fear for my sanity as the night sounds increase to match my own panic. I have begun to notice the crows are no longer startled at my presence and have doubled in numbers. Tonight I will pray until sleep delivers me into rest.
October 13th. I have returned from town with less peace of mind then when I left early this morning. My closest neighbors the Bentley’s are indeed experiencing the same curiosities I am. My proximity to these events seems to have increased my experience; two nights from now, James Bentley will sit with me, armed with his pistol while his wife Mary stands watch armed with her Bible.
October 15th. Forever I will be haunted by the sights seen and heard last night! What I can only describe as a march of the dead has shaken my home to its very foundation! Tonight, the Bentley’s and I bore witness to the ground giving up its most rotting foul hearted dead. Some still wore the hangman’s noose and black hoods of their death and burial. The most disturbing sight was of the long dead Spaniards shakily dragging their bare bones still draped with Spanish rags towards the back acre of my land. James was overcome with fear and unable to fire a single shot and Mary fainted dead away I tell you! Never have I imagined such things were possible, I leave today to tell our local Priest of these events and pray he will grant me the strength to see another night in Pensacola.
October 20th. Father Constantine Maenhaut has recommended I stay at St. Michael’s until I come to my senses. Five days have passed and I am sick with worry at what might come of my land in my absence. I hold hope that all is well and safe in the glory of the lord and that his light will shine down on these cursed fields.
October 22nd. I left St. Michael’s with a promise from Father Maenhaut that he would come to my land in ten days time and bless my home while he eases my mind. I have found moss and vines covering every inch of my fields; I am grateful for the early harvest but must not let my land winter in this state. I say the Lords prayer every second I am outside of my porch. God have mercy!
October 25th. I have cleared my lands of the odd vines but found the most disturbing traces of the nighttime activities I have until now, only guessed at. These evil dead have constructed a cemetery on my back acre. On my land now stands a damned acre of God’s land. The sight of the nearly decomposed men and the smell! The smell of those rotting fingers at work! They toil even in death, unable to find God’s light. Why have these foul souls come to my land to build such a fiendish monument?
October 30th. The Bentley’s, having left their land after what we experienced, are no longer here to take comfort in. I find myself unable to leave the safety of my home even during the day. At night, the light coming from the Acre of Empty Graves is a beckon to those lost and damned in death. Not even a butterfly dares to trespass onto my land while the dead walk here. I pray while the fog belches into every inch of my home that I will survive long enough to land in Gods good graces.
October 31st. The screams are howling on this night of All Hallows Eve! I cover my ears and yell the Lords Prayer with all my breath, please let the sun rise and wash this place clean of the walking dead!
November 1st. LORD BE PRAISED! The Father came this morning as he had promised. I took him to the spot of evil monument that had been constructed, only to find all traces of it gone! Everything has been torn down and removed as if it never stood. I cannot explain all that I have witnessed but pray to never see anything like it in my lifetime. The crows now stand as my only other witness to the horrors of my Acre of Empty Graves.
Happy National Donut Day from the Davis Graveyard
5 months ago
