#Old Burying Point Cemetery

[rabbitcruiser]

The Salem witch trials were ended by a letter from Massachusetts Governor Sir William Phips on October 12, 1692.

[myhauntedsalem]

The Old Burying Point Cemetery of Salem

A ghost tour of Salem is not complete without a visit to the Old Burying Point Cemetery. This cemetery sits on a small plot of land sporadically dotted with worn, decrepit gravestones. It is actually the second oldest cemetery in the United States and because of the dark history linked to it is also thought to be one of its most haunted.

Salem is of course most famous for its history of the Witch Trials. The Old Burying Point Cemetery is linked to that history by holding some notable characters that influenced this notorious era. The cemetery holds the remains of the man known as the Hanging Judge, Jonathan Hawthorne. He is suspected of being responsible for one of the cemetery hauntings, showing up in unsuspecting tourist photographs.

The Old Burying Point of Salem is also thought to manifest many other paranormal events. Many people have reported hearing disembodied voices, sighting unexplained light anomalies and experiencing sudden temperature drops as they trudge through the dated gravestones.

[blueiight]

Coming slowly to know his evil, or being catapulted into it ... was all the same. I wanted none of it finally. And, deserving nothing better, I closed up like a spider in the flame of a match. And even Armand who was my constant companion, and my only companion, existed at a great distance from me, beyond that veil which separated me from all living things, a veil which was a form of shroud. (IWTV, 1976)

[emmastory]

I always like to stop in and see some old friends whenever I'm home for a visit

[slowandsteddie]

Part Two is here

Steve likes to clean headstones at cemeteries.

CW: drug mentions, weed being smoked, glossed over panic attack (I didn’t want to write on it too much), and Steve is so incredibly lonely.

3018 words. Not edited but I was EXCITED.

Steve had always enjoyed going to the cemetery. He had family buried there, sure, but that wasn’t what he went for.

He was the kind of guy who went to clean off the older headstones that no one else did. There was just something so honest and relaxing in giving people their names back.

A water bottle, a soft bristle toothbrush, and an old credit card were all he took out of the car with him whenever he parked. Steve cleaned in sections, giving each stone the time and care it needed to get all of the dirt and grime off of it and out of the names. As soon as the names were clean, he’d gently place his fingers over them and smile.

“Hello, Clarence.” He said softly. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

The only answer was a slight breeze and a crow cawing.

“Hello, my love,” he said to the bird before carefully pushing himself to his feet.

His knees were sore. That headstone required a lot more precision as it was a lot older and one wrong move would probably leave it crumbling. He had told the front office a few times about it, but they wouldn’t take care of it.

“We can’t make money upkeeping stones of people who have no family left to mourn them.”

He lost track of how many times he had been told that. It didn’t stop him from cleaning the stones and letting whoever was the receptionist that day know.

When he was done for the evening, he’d allow himself to bask in the peace that came over him and warmed him. He’d have a smile on his face that lasted until he got home.

The contentment would leave as soon as he saw that big house that he lived in. His parents were never home and he had no siblings to help him fill the empty halls with noise.

Steve used to throw a lot of parties, just so he would have other people under his roof with him. He hadn’t done that since the night that Nancy called their relationship bullshit and then immediately got into one with Johnathan. It hurt him more deeply than he could express, but it was a much needed wake up call.

The Upside Down was another wake up call, but he tried to ignore that one.

Now, if he wasn’t at work or hanging out with The Party as they liked to call themselves, he was cleaning headstones until he had to leave. He thought it was ridiculous that the cemetery closed at night. If he could, he’d probably stay the night in the mausoleum just so that the people resting there would know that they weren’t forgotten about. Not while he still had air in his lungs.

Most people would tell him that there were healthier things to do with his time. Less morbid things in any case. But he felt so alive when he was alone with the stones and birds. It was better than being alone with half a house he wasn’t even supposed to go into.

His room, the kitchen, the bathroom. That was what his parents wanted him to confine himself to. Not even the living room because he wasn’t supposed to have guests over when they weren’t home. And they were never fucking home.

Steve parked the car in the driveway and stared at that stupid fucking door that had nothing behind it and sighed. Deeply. The car was still running and his fingers tapped on the steering wheel.

No.

He couldn’t do it. Not tonight. He couldn’t stand the thought of being so utterly alone right now.

So, he backed out of the driveway and started driving again. He wasn’t even really sure of where he was headed, just that he wasn’t going to that house right now. If he went too far, he was going to have to stop for gas at some point and he didn’t get paid for a few more days. That meant he might go hungry for a day. That was fine. He’d cross that bridge when he got to it.

Eventually, he found himself at the trailer park. Wayne’s truck wasn’t there, but the van was. A good sign that Eddie was home and that his uncle was at work.

This time, Steve did turn off the car when he parked. A moment of hyping himself up later, Steve got out of the car and went to knock on the front door. Thirty seconds after that, he heard someone tripping over something. Then the door opened.

The smell of cigarette smoke rolled out into the fresh air and he couldn’t help but to breathe a little deeper.

Eddie looked good, his long curly hair pulled into a messy bun and baggy sweats hanging a little low on his hips. Any other circumstance, and Steve was pretty sure he’d feel blessed that he got to see Munson without a shirt on. He might have been scrawny but those tattoos were a work of art. He was a work of art. Fuck.

Steve had to blink a few times to realize that the other male had been talking to him.

“Sorry. Rough night,” he explained. Though, it hadn’t been rough until he started thinking about being alone. Again.

“How can I help?” Eddie’s voice was smooth and Steve had to swallow before he could reply.

“Do you, uh, have anything left in that lunch pail?”

“Is Steve Harrington really at my door, asking to buy weed from me?”

“Is that a yes or a no answer, Eddie Munson?”

“It’s a get in here and give me a minute answer.”

Steve didn’t need to be told twice. He went inside as soon as Eddie moved out of the way before closing the door behind him. He ran a hand through his hair as he took another step, just so he wasn’t right against the door.

Eddie wandered off, back to his room probably, and Steve stayed where he was. He looked around the small place and realized that this was a home. A place that was lived in, a place where love resided. His house could never compare. It was bigger and in better condition, but that meant nothing to him.

“You’re in luck, I have a baggie with your name on it.”

“I swear to god if you just used that sharpie to write The Hair on that bag…”

Eddie tossed the sharpie away from himself and whistled innocently. Steve wanted to be annoyed, but he actually laughed.

“So. How much?”

Eddie tilted his head.

“For the stuff?” Steve continued.

“You’re going to buy and smoke it, but you draw the line at saying weed?”

It should be illegal for someone to look that good while being that condescending.

“How much for the weed, Eddie?” Steve gave in.

“For you? I’ll take ten bucks.”

“Damn,” He replied as he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. “That’s highway robbery.” A sly smile tugged at his lips as he pulled out a Hamilton and held it out for the older male.

Eddie took it and put the baggy in Steve’s still outstretched hand. “Now get out of here. I have a reputation.”

“You? What reputation?” He teased.

Eddie grinned. “The one where I don’t hang out with jocks. See you tomorrow, Harrington.”

“Not if I see you first, Munson.”

Steve shook his head before heading toward the door. Their interaction kept him warm all the way home.

That time when he arrived in his driveway, he stayed there. He pulled the keys out of the ignition and locked the doors to the vehicle before walking around the side of the house to get to his backyard. He knew better than to get into the pool while home alone, even if he was on the swim team. But that wasn’t where he was headed. He kept walking until he was in the woods, at his usual haunt.

He had built himself a little structure that was barely big enough for two people. It was tight and comfortable. Very underwhelming compared to the house that constantly felt like Too Much. He sat down on the small pile of pillows and wrapped a blanket around himself in an attempt to get that warm feeling back from his interaction with Eddie.

He grabbed his bong, which was always in his little hut, and the nearby water bottle before setting it up. Next he grabbed the lighter and flicked it a few times to make sure that it still worked. He didn’t smoke weed a lot, a baggy could probably last him a few months, but sometimes he just needed to be under the influence in order to handle being in his room. With the hazy feeling, it was easier to pretend that there was someone in the other room. Or, at least easier to believe that it could be true.

One hit was all it took for him to realize that Eddie had given him the good stuff. A huge smile tugged at his lips. He’d make him some cookies or something to thank him. He’d have to come up with a good excuse to stop by that Hellfire table at school and drop off a plate, but he could figure it out later. When he got that far.

A second hit gave him the feeling that he was after. Steve felt so cool when he realized that he didn’t choke like he usually did. He took care of everything properly before hiding the weed under the pillows that he had been sitting on.

He wandered back to his house, feeling a little better about the whole Alone Situation, and went in through the backdoor so he wouldn’t have to walk around the house again. Steve got a few steps away before remembering to go back and make sure that the door was locked. That had him checking all of the rest of the doors and even the windows.

When he got to his room, he stripped down to his boxers before crawling between the sheets. He pulled the covers up to his chin and snuggled in before closing his eyes and letting his mind wander until he fell asleep.

—

It was five o’clock in the morning when Steve’s eyes flashed open. His heart was pounding as he worked on untangling himself from the sheets. Trapped. He felt trapped.

Somehow, he ended up on the floor with a solid thud that knocked the wind out of him. He was gasping, but at least he was free of the blanket that had him pinned in place before.

“F-fuck,” he groaned as the tears started to slide down his face.

He gave himself a few minutes before forcing himself to his feet and stumbling to the bathroom. Shower. He needed a shower. So that was exactly what he did.

One fifteen minute cold shower later, Steve was feeling more himself again. He dried off and got dressed before taking his time to make sure that his hair was perfect.

After all of that it was still too early to head to school, which meant that he found himself going to the kitchen and pulling out the ingredients to make some chocolate chip cookies. It was a safe choice. Everyone loved chocolate chips and there were no nuts in case someone had an allergy.

A double batch of cookies later, the phone was ringing.

“Hello?” Steve greeted, cradling the receiver between his ear and shoulder as he wiped his hands on the apron that he had put on before he started baking. He adjusted the phone onto his hand as he straightened up. “Hello?”

“Stevie!” His mother’s voice came across the line. “We’ll be home for a few weeks soon!”

“That’s great, mom. I can’t wait to hear about this adventure.” It was hard to sound excited.

All that complaining about an empty house and knowing his parents were coming back didn’t help. His mother would fuss for a day or two. His father would act like it hadn’t been months since they’ve seen each other. They’d probably even ignore him as usual, to be honest. His parents tended to think that making sure the bills were paid was more than enough. It wasn’t. Steve was done trying to convince them of that, though.

They talked for a few minutes, her words not really sinking in. Then he hung up and leaned against the wall, trying to convince himself to not cry. He took a deep breath and almost called Eddie before just hanging up the phone again and walking away from it.

Steve slid all of the cookies into a Tupperware container before grabbing his backpack and heading out to the car.

He was still going to be too early for school.

Which meant that he headed to the cemetery to clean a few headstones beforehand.

—

Steve was rolling through the motions, something that no one picked up on despite his reputation as King Steve. He was grateful for that.

His morning classes blurred together and then it was lunch time. He didn’t even have an excuse in mind when he walked over to Eddie’s table. If anyone told him anything, he ignored it. Instead, he set his bag down and unzipped it before pulling out the cookies and handing them to the older male who looked at him strangely.

“I didn’t poison them, Munson, jeez.”

Then he was zipping his bag back up and walking over to sit next to Tommy and Carol. Steve tried to focus, but he found himself looking toward the DND group a lot. Eddie was grinning as he wiped some cookie crumbs from his mouth.

Good.

The afternoon classes also passed in a blur, and then he found himself at the cemetery again.

It was a nice place to be, especially on a day like this. It was warm and sunny with a light breeze and some clouds in the sky. A crow was talking to him and he was talking back, saying things like “hello, my love” and “how is my pretty baby today” and “who should get their name back today, hmm?”

Eventually, he did find the headstone he wanted to clean. It was in a corner he hadn’t gotten to yet because of the beehive and swarms of the little stingy friends. Steve was allergic to bee stings, but he was calm and collected as he walked past them. He knelt down and gently brushed away what he could get with his hands before opening the bottle and splashing some water down. Then, he gently used the toothbrush to clean away dirt and moss.

Steve wasn’t sure how much time had passed, though he did look up when he saw a shadow. He was surprised to see Eddie looking down at him.

“Whatcha doing, Harrington?”

He leaned back so he was sitting on his feet and used the back of his hand to push his hair away from his face. There was no use trying to say that this was anything other than what it was.

“I like to give people their names back.” He shrugged. “It’s stupid, I know. But I think that they know they’re being remembered, or at least thought about, when someone can read their name.”

“It’s not stupid, Steve,” Eddie said softly before squatting down on the other side of the headstone.

They looked at each other for what felt like ages. It was probably only seconds. The older male pulled out his handkerchief and gently rubbed away enough that Steve could read the last name on the stone he decided to clean.

Munson.

“Who was she?” He asked softly.

“My aunt. Wayne’s wife.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I barely knew her. But sometimes I come out here because he can’t. And she deserves to be remembered.”

Steve felt like he was seeing Eddie in an all new light. He didn’t want to make the other male think about it too much. Besides, it seemed like he wanted to change the subject.

“I, uh… I come out here almost everyday. Clean different headstones based on who I feel could use it the most that day. I talk to the crows, too. Sometimes I let them pick for me.” He was blushing again.

“Did you bake those cookies?”

Steve was the one grateful for the subject change this time.

“Yeah. This morning. I realized how good of a deal you gave me last night and I just… wanted to thank you.”

“They were amazing.”

“Thank you. That recipe is the only thing I got from my grandma before she passed. She did make me promise to not tell anyone the secret ingredient, though.”

“Was it crack? It tasted like crack. I couldn’t stop eating them.”

Steve laughed at that before pushing himself to his feet and offering Eddie his hand.

“You caught me. I have a huge supply of crack for baking purposes.”

Eddie snorted. “I knew it.”

They released hands and Steve had a feeling that it was reluctantly on both sides, not just his.

“I’m glad you found me.”

“Yeah?” Eddie seemed surprised.

“Yeah. I’m actually highly allergic to bee stings and I might have needed some help with the epi-pen if one got me.”

They both laughed at that, though Steve did notice that he was being guided away from the stingy friends after that. The hand on the small of his back felt like friendship, though he’d never say it.

Once they were far enough from the bees that the older male stopped feeling the need to keep them walking, Steve met his gaze.

“What about your reputation?” He joked.

“What about it? Just because I don’t hang out with jocks doesn’t mean that I’m going to let one die because they wanted to give my aunt her name back.”

“I think you might have a soft spot for me,” Steve joked.

“Yeah,” Eddie murmured while glancing at Steve’s lips. Their eyes met again. “Maybe I do.”

Let me know if I should do a part two.

[fdelopera]

Musings on the Moon Knight System for the High Holidays

BROKE: Moon Knight System in the comics are Jewish in name only. They’re basically pagan idolaters.

WOKE: Jake is MK System’s spiritual protector in the comics (especially MacKay), and connects the most with their Jewish identity.

BESPOKE: The Moon Knight System are very Jewish, but Marc, Steven, and Jake have a lot of specific religious trauma, and they each connect to their Jewishness in different ways and at different times ... just as most Jews do. Their Jewishness is an intrinsic part of who they are.

At the Rosh Hashanah 2nd day service yesterday, the Rabbi said something that brought Moon Knight System to mind.

During the Malchuyot, Zichronot, and Shofarot prayers, she said this before the Zichronot prayer:

“Jews are all about memory. We tell and retell the stories of our ancestors to link our generations together. We tell the story of the Exodus and redemption, and these are human memories. Here in the Zichronot section, we consider G-d's memory. What we are asking in Zichronot is, "Am I remembered? Is my life in G-d's memory?" And the answer is, yes. Adonai remembers each one of us, every single creature created in G-d's image is seen and noticed.”

And yet, what about those of us who are dissociative? What about those of us whose memory is scattered, fragmented, and traumatized, just like the Jewish people have been throughout our history?

What about those of us whose memory stops at a certain point, just as our family tree goes back only a few generations to those who escaped the pogroms and the Holocaust? Yes, we can trace some of our ancestors across the ocean to the shtetls, and we can search for the deep root systems that our people have grown from, but we know that if we do, we will only find tragedy and death.

For every one of our ancestors who has a gravestone in an intact Jewish cemetery in the Old Country, there are countless others whose roots were cut, who were murdered by Romans and Inquisitors and Cossacks and Nazis, whose bodies were desecrated, and who were never buried in Jewish soil. And yet, even as the Nazis and the Russians and the Spanish and the Romans and so many others tried to erase us from living memory, still we persevered. There are still some branches left. Our cultural memory endures, even though it is fragmented.

And yet, what of us who strain to remember? What of those of us who have high walls instead of doorways, keeping us out? Perhaps we can even see trees growing on the other side, but we cannot enter, not yet. How then can we connect to our past? Must we wander for another 40 years? And on Yom Kippur, how can we atone if remembrance is scattered and hidden like the Lost Tribes of Israel?

I imagine that Marc has wondered thoughts like these from time to time, especially around the High Holidays. Marc wants to think of himself as an apostate. If he’s being particularly edgy, he might even describe himself as an idolater. But I don’t think he is. Marc has a Jewish soul. So does Jake and so does Steven.

And as much as Marc might want to think that he is beyond atonement for the things he’s done, perhaps in quiet moments, he still hopes to atone as best he can. Perhaps some nights, Marc and Jake and Steven share dreams of teshuvah, of repentance, of making amends. With Gena. With Crawley. With Frenchie. And yet, how to even begin?

Perhaps Elias Spector, the Orthodox rabbi, might once have read the following passage on Rosh Hashanah as he spoke to the congregation from the bimah. And even if Marc was dissociating into the ether when he heard these words, sitting as far away from his father as possible, halfway to hiding deep within, the duty of being the Rabbi's son weighing heavy on his shoulders ... perhaps Jake and Steven listened, and they remembered for all of them:

“When a person commits a sin and does not turn in repentance, when that person forgets the sin, Hakadosh Baruch Hu remembers. When a person fulfills a commandment by doing a good deed, but forgets about it, Hakadosh Baruch Hu remembers. When a person commits a sin and later turns in repentance by remembering that sin, Hakadosh Baruch Hu grants atonement, and forgets the sin. But when a person fulfills a commandment and is constantly filled with self-praise because of it, Hakadosh Baruch Hu forgets it. What a person forgets, G-d remembers, and what a person remembers, G-d forgets.” -- The Hasidic Master Shmelke of Nikolsberg

Shana tovah and g’mar chatima tovah to the Moon Knight System. May they be inscribed and sealed in the Book of Life.

[matan4il]

Update post:

Rockets from Gaza continue to be fired at Israel. The 7 days where there was a break in the fighting, were clearly used by Hamas to re-build their abilities to fire into Israel, because the rocket attacks since the fighting has resumed are more intense than they were in the days before the break started. The rockets from Gaza were joined today by rockets from Hezbollah in Lebanon, and from Syria. Among other consequences we've seen on this day, at least 12 Israelis were injured by this rocket fire, and a synagogue was hit.

As the testimonies about the rapes and sexual assaults committed by Hamas continue to mount, in the last two days, we got confirmation that men were victimized by Hamas, too. The voices decrying the rapes as crimes against humanity are starting to be heard as well. The fact that it took people two months to get there, and some (*cough* the UN Women's organization *cough*) still issued what can barely be called a pale statement on the subject. When taken with how long it took them to speak, it really is not enough. But some voices are actually surprising. The Guardian is notoriously anti-Israel, to the point where its own Jewish worker has written about not feeling safe there. But now they've published an op ed that said exactly what needed to be said: rape is rape. And looking away from rape, for whatever reason, is wrong. And here's another testimony from a piece by The Sunday Times:

People are speculating on why Hamas won't release the last of the women that are known to be alive and in captivity in Gaza, despite that being a breach of the hostage deal, and a red line for Israel. A common hypothesis is that these women must have been raped and abused so badly, Hamas doesn't want to release them. IDK if this is true, but then, I'm not just writing about what Israelis know for sure. I'm mainly writing about what Israelis are going through, the torment of not knowing, the fear of the darkest possibilities that come up when the unknown looms over us, and this hypothesis is a part of it.

The IDF says it has destroyed 500 terror tunnels in Gaza since the fighting began, and 800 tunnel shafts. It has also published the names of Hamas leaders, and called on them to surrender. This is a reminder that Hamas could stop all the fighting, and save many Palestinians, by surrendering immediately, and returning all the hostages that it's still holding.

This is Yaron Avraham.

He was born to an Israeli Arab family in Lod. When he was 9 years old, his beloved older sister was murdered in front of his eyes by his older brothers, for having returned home late (i.e, for supposedly being promiscuous). He was incredibly distraught, since he was so attached to her, and to get him out of the way, he was sent by his brothers to study at an extremist mosque in Gaza. He recounted that he was there for 5.5 years, during which the boys were indoctrinated to hate Jews, and think little of their own lives. As a climax exercise, they were "buried" alive in a real grave, in a real cemetery, while their classmates held their funeral above them. Yaron Avraham said it took him years to heal from this experience. Another incident that he shared, is that once, two of his classmates were accused of being sexually active together (he didn't believe the accusation, and thought they were being made an example of). The two boys were beheaded in front of their classmates. Yaron gave them hell at the mosque, until they sent him back to his family. His brothers then had him study instead in another extremist mosque, this time in the village of Yatta. After another 1.5 years there, he ran away, and ended up living on the streets of Lod, a mixed Israeli city. He was taken in by a Jewish man, who fed and took care of him, and gave him proper education. After a couple of years, Yaron chose to volunteer, to serve in the IDF. His unit was sent to Gaza, and he ended up outside the mosque where he was abused. He wanted to go in and kill everyone there, but his Jewish commander stopped him. "You don't understand," he tried to explain the antisemitic brainwashing that happened inside that mosque, but his commander insisted that killing everyone inside goes against our values. Yaron said that this was the beginning of his journey to convert to Judaism, when he saw how instead of sanctifying death, Jews sanctify life. Everyone's life. Even their enemies'.

Yaron has retold his story numerous times, my summary here is based on several of his interviews, written and filmed. But something that got to me about a recent one, that he gave after Oct 7, is that he was asked about the occupation as the excuse anti-Israelis give for Hamas' brutal violence. Yaron said that it was never mentioned! That in the 7 years he spent in those two mosques, no one ever talked to them about the occupation. That it was always clear this was a religious fight. The problem was the evil character of the Jews. That is the mentality of Hamas terrorists. That is the antisemitic brainwashing that they undergo. That's why they can rape, maim, torture and murder without a second thought, even though they surely know this would not liberate any Palestinian.

The Iran-funded Houthis terrorists attacked two ships today, both supposedly for being Israeli. The less severely damaged ship has one shareholder who's an Israeli businessman. The more severely damaged one has nothing to do with Israel, it's believed the Houthis might have misidentified it. Officially, the Houthis say they are in a war against Israel and the US.

This is 21 years old Keshet Kasrotti.

He was murdered at the Nova music festival, one of over 360 young people slaughtered there. His mom said that her one comfort, is that he was shot in the chest, so he died quickly. His suffering didn't last as long as it did for some. She also shared that many Israelis, upon hearing her son's first name (it means 'rainbow' in Hebrew) sent her this short poem by Neria Yaakov:

"I am breaking / said the light / and became a rainbow."

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Forget-Me-Not 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Loki

Summary: You return to your childhood home to put the past to rest.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You watch the dirt pour onto the casket. The caretaker shovels down the earth in a final farewell to a woman without mourners. You fold your hands numbly, waiting patiently for him to finish. There is little emotion to the affair. You just want it done with.

You don't notice the approach until a shadow wavers over the plot. You look up and nearly blanch at the blonde across from you. Frigga's golden locks are silvering but still finely coifed. She wears black in a mockery of the event. You're not offended for your mother, she harboured no good will in this place. No, you bear umbrage only for yourself. That clan truly thinks you can so easily be bought.

"You have my condolences," she says softly, lowering her golden lashes as another heap of dirt thunks onto the lid.

"Your son already delivered them," you reply frigidly, crossing your arms.

"It must be strange to be home again," she remarks.

"This is not my home," you insist.

She tuts and dips her chin. Slowly, she walks around the open earth and stands shoulder-to-shoulder with you. She fixes her posture and tilts her face in your direction.

"Then it shouldn't demand a high price," she sniffs, "we made a generous offer."

"Leave," you say, "now."

"It is only facts. Your mother can't have left you much more than her tab down at The Horn," Frigga intones, "you can take the money and go. You'll never have to see Hammer Ford again."

You scoff and jut your chin out, turning your face away from her, "you really think you can buy anything. Anyone. No, I want you to by that pit of dirt from the bank. You can wait, for once in your life."

"Careful," she warns.

"Or what?"

"You think the city has lifted you above us? That anything's changed--"

"Tell me, Frigga," you turn on her, "what can you do to me now? Look away? Keep your mouth shut? Just like you did before. You and everyone else, huh? Keep me at the point of your pitchfork? I am changed, Frigga," you snarl, "because I don't give a fuck about you or your last name anymore."

She inhales and her cheeks pinch. She glances over at the caretaker, old Foster, and gestures to him. He stills the shovel and nods, walking away, your mother left half-buried.

"My son was right about you," she squares her chin as she turns to face you fully, "you are a stubborn bitch."

You cackle and look around the cemetery. What a show she puts on. It's amusing.

"He must have mommy issues, 'cause he seems to like it," you rebuff.

Her lip curls, "I resent that suggestion."

"It's only a fact," you mimic her words back to her.

"Ugh, you are a smart one. You never used to be so mouthy. As I have it, you didn't make much noise at all."

You wince and bite down. Your teeth ache with the pressure of your fury. You could throttle her but you won't give her the satisfaction.

"Thank you for coming," you grit out, "my mother would've spat in your face."

It's her turn to laugh. She sighs it out and flutters a gloved hand at you.

"Think about the offer a little longer," she trills, "you know better than anyone, the future can take us to the most unexpected places."

You stare her down. He spins without hesitation and struts off. She waves and Foster reappears with his shovel. You take a deep breath and let it out through your nose.

Oh, you'll think about it. You'll think of the perfect fuck you for the next time an Odinson comes your way.

🏚

After the funeral, you drive to the small bank with its marble columns and arched double doors. You climb the steps and enter, the only teller behind the counter looking up at you. She greets you with a shaky smile as you approach. You know her, she sat behind you in physics; Marska.

"Hello, how can I help you today?" She asks.

"Well," you shuffle around the folder in your hands, "I need to close my mother's account."

"Oh?"

"She's dead," you say plainly. She knows, everyone does. They're all just playing that stupid game of pretend. They pretend that nothing's ever wrong. "I have her statements and a death certificate."

You lay both documents out promptly and wait. She stands from her chair and swallows, "let me get the manager."

You roll your eyes and sigh. You remember when she whispered with Kati during lessons. She was no kinder than anyone else. She cut off some of your hair and got you detention for swearing at her.

She goes off to fetch her superior as you wait. You clear your throat in the dull silence. She returns, walking slightly behind the man in his burgundy suit. You know him too. Fourth-period English.

"Hello, miss, I understand you want to close your account," he stands at the window as the Marska snaps her gum and twirls her hair. You glance between them. Really, they're fucking. You don't think the rings on their fingers were exchanged between them.

"My mother's. I'd also like to sign the foreclosure on her propety."

"Foreclosure. You understand you won't get any money back?" He raises a brow.

"I do know," you say firmly, "I don't care."

He types on the old blocky keyboard, sliding over the certificate and statement. He taps and clicks and looks at you again. "The account is closed. How would you like the eleven dollars?"

"Cash," you shrug, "and the foreclosure?"

He doesn't say anything. He turns to get your money from the drawer. As he comes back to you, you take it.

"A foreclosure won't come close to what your mother owed us," he says, "I suggest you seek a buyer."

You huff.

"How much would it pay?"

"Maybe ten at most. She owes-- owed us ninety."

"Ninety," you breathe.

"Like I said, it's a small town, I heard there's some interested investors--"

"Oh shut up, Pete," you shove the bills into your purse, "you're the same little toady you always were."

You shake your head and sweep around, marching out without another word. Even in her grave, your mother continues to fuck you over.

[rabbitcruiser]

Visit A Cemetery Day

Visit a Cemetery Day is a holiday that takes place every last Sunday in October. This year it falls on October 29. It is a day that allows us to honor the life of those who are gone. It is a chance to admit that, though they’re no longer physically with us, we still have them in our memories. It is a day when people go to the gravesite of friends and families who have left this world. On Visit a Cemetery Day, many choose to redecorate the gravesite of their loved ones. Many other activities give life to this holiday as well.

History of Visit A Cemetery Day

The culture of visiting gravesites and cemeteries predates most modern cultures, and it has been a way of life of humans since ancient times. A cemetery is more than a collection of gravesites and headstones. It is a place for deep reflection and connecting. It is not a lonely place where you can’t learn anything. It is a place of meditation, where you get to reflect on the memories you shared with those who have left us. The headstones also contain messages about the people we cherish and are worth reading. It is usually a wisdom quote that captures the essence of life, and it can be inspiring.

Visit a Cemetery Day reminds us that we’re not entirely disconnected from those who have left this physical world. The memories they left remain with us, and we can cherish them as much as possible. We can also reminisce on the times we spent together and how they have helped us get to where we are today.

Visiting a cemetery is also sometimes a gathering affair where people come together to honor the departed. This is done for soldiers who died in battle and also victims of casualties. The essence of it all is to remember them for the good they’ve done and honor the memory we have of them. This is why cemeteries are generally known as memorial parks, emphasizing the memories left behind by the dead.

Visit A Cemetery Day timeline

7 A.D. Burial Under Church Control

The church handles burial services and takes charge of burying the dead in Europe.

1797 First Chartered Burial Ground

The State of Connecticut incorporates a new cemetery in New Haven.

1800s Company and Municipally Owned

Cemeteries not owned by the church become more popular and accepted.

1860s Tribute to Fallen Soldiers

Americans visit the graves of fallen soldiers to place flowers and honor them.

Visit A Cemetery Day FAQs

Can you observe from a private gravesite?

Yes, you can observe this solemn holiday from a private graveyard.

How can you decorate a gravestone?

The gravestone can have carvings and inscriptions. Also, you can bring flowers occasionally to beautify the place.

What if the gravesite is far away?

You can observe a solemn time with friends to honor the dead, even when their resting place is far away.

How to Observe Visit A Cemetery Day

Visit the burial place of loved ones

Decorate the gravesites

Have a picnic with family and friends

On this solemn holiday, you can visit the burial place of dear ones who have departed. It helps us honor the memory they left behind.

You can bring flowers and other ornaments to beautify the burial place of the departed. By doing so, we remind ourselves that the dead deserve respect too.

You can have a quiet time with family and friends. It is a time to reflect and share stories about those who have left us.

5 Facts About Cemeteries

Epitaphs are a great source of knowledge

Most gravestones face east

Meaningful carvings are common

Cemeteries are sometimes multipurpose

Number of graves on an acre

Apart from being words of hope, epitaphs are also known to convey vital information.

Many gravestones in the world face east, mostly to acknowledge the rising sun.

Several gravestones have very meaningful carvings.

Sometimes, cemeteries feature other things like art, historical artifacts, and museums.

An acre of land can occupy close to 2,000 graves.

Why Visit A Cemetery Day is Important

To honor the dead

Understand life better

Helps to remember the dead

On this special holiday, we get to honor those who have gone before us. It is good to cherish the memories they left behind.

When we visit the cemetery, we get a better insight into life and appreciate that we must cherish it.

On Visit a Cemetery Day, we get to recall the times we spent with departed loved ones. We remember all the things they’ve done for us and the memories we shared.

Source

[myhauntedsalem]

Old Burying Point Cemetery

Salem, Massachusetts

In Salem, Massachusetts, you’ll find the second oldest cemetery in the country, the Old Burying Point Cemetery. The Burying Point was established in 1637. For its age, every occupant at the Burying Point unquestionably holds historical importance. But, one of the most interesting names etched into the ancient gravestones belongs to John Hathorne.

Along with Hathorne, you’ll find most of the names associated with the Salem Witch Trials at Burying Point. From the memorial for the wrongfully accused to the headstones of their pious chastisers, Old Burying Point Cemetery is a step back into a time when the line between the wicked and the innocent blurred. Others who were laid to rest at Old Burying Point include Mayflower passenger, Captain Richard More, and the last governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, Simon Bradstreet.

Since the first bodies were laid to rest at Old Burying Point, there have been many strange occurrences. The occurrences were widely believed to be supernatural, as this was the era of the witch. It is also because of this era that many choose to discredit these accounts of paranormal activity as a good case of hysteria.

Nathaniel Hawthorne once wrote, “There is a fatality, a feeling so irresistible and inevitable that it has the force of doom, which almost invariably compels human beings to linger around and haunt, ghostlike, the spot where some great and marked event has given the color to their lifetime; and still the more irresistibly, the darker the tinge that saddens it.”

Paranormal Activity at Old Burying Point

Sensitives who have visited Old Burying Point have reportedly become overwhelmed with the sensation of sadness and despair. Even while just walking through the graveyard, the heavy feeling of depression descends and sends innocent passerby into feeling as though there is little hope to be found in the world.

Over the years people have successfully captured EVP of voices from the beyond at Old Burying Point. Also captured at the cemetery via photographs are mysterious shadows, emanating lights, orbs, white mist and even apparitions.

One of these apparitions belongs to Mary Bright Corey, who died on August 28th, 1684. She was the second wife of Giles Corey, who later became an unfortunate victim of the Witch Trials. Giles died from his inflicted torture on September 19th, 1692, just after the eighth anniversary of Mary’s passing.

Another ghost that has been seen is the figure of a woman who appears in the back corner of the cemetery. She is usually spotted wearing a powder blue dress, whilst holding a picnic basket in hand. Sometimes, she is also accompanied by a young boy. It is the believed the two spirits were mother and son, and died in a fire.

The Ghostly Lady in White

In addition to the other ghosts spotted at Old Burying Point, another apparition that has been seen with great frequency is a Lady in White. However, she seems to be a bit camera shy, as there is little photographic evidence of her manifestations.

Normally, once the cameras come out, the Lady in White transitions into bright orbs or vanishes altogether. Although, on at least one occasion, an expertly timed photograph was slightly able to capture an image of her figure.

The Lady in White has allegedly even been spotted in the parking lot to the cemetery, as well as near by in buildings and restaurants. Though, it’s entirely possible these sightings are of different spirits.

[once-in-a-blood-moon]

Schmol Solomon headcanon... but it's longer than I thought it'd be, whoops...

Warnings: mentions of death and cemeteries?, nothing wildly angsty though :)

Solomon, who visits cemeteries all over the human realm just to feel closer to his humanity. He'll take his time to walk through all the rows of headstones, reading each one and imagining how those buried lived their short mortal lives; if they had regrets, if they loved to the fullest, if they had accomplishments, or if they righted the wrongs they may have caused in others' lives before their own time was up.

On occasion, he'll look into old archives and find some records of the names in the cemeteries to learn more about the people he had been protecting without ever knowing of their existence.

This past time of his slowly turned into an odd, but niche hobby. The really old tombstones - the ones that have clearly been neglected as time moves on to the point that no one recognizes the name engraved or recalls the life lived - Solomon washes them, ridding them of the moss and discoloration built up over many years. The faded stones are polished to perfection, now looking as if they were brand new. Anyone visiting the graveyard while he's there cleaning will see him seemingly talking to himself, but really he's keeping the soul of the grave he's cleaning company - whether he's able to get in contact with them or not.

It's his way of intimately contributing to humanity without ever getting attached to the living. It's his way of understanding the intricacies of mortal nature, of truly understanding through the deaths of others what life truly means for a human. And it makes him feel closer to the realm he vows to protect.

[emmastory]

my mom died in summer 2019. we had been taking care of her for a couple weeks at my childhood home, and I stayed for a few days longer to help my dad make all the necessary phone calls and deal with logistical issues and honestly also just because I was not ready to get on the train and go back to nyc.

on one of those afternoons, which felt weirdly unmoored and aimless after the rigid routine of 24 hour care, I went to the old burying point in salem just to walk around and think my thoughts. I don't have any family buried in salem (they're mostly in essex about twenty minutes away), but I've always found that particular cemetery to be a source of comfort, and I still do.

[themirroredmoon]

Graveyard & Cemetery Etiquette - The Basics

• Bring an offering for the spirits When deciding to venture into a graveyard or cemetery, keep in mind that every single graveyard has a Gatekeeper. What’s a Gatekeeper? They do precisely that: They guard the gate of the graveyard, usually having a statue or something near by of them. Sometimes it’s even the oldest spirit/first spirit buried there.

One of the most common offering is coins of any kind but you can leave anything from herbs, to bread, to water to even liquor. Try to avoid anything with cleansing or banishing properties as that can be seen as rude/taken as an insult. If you don’t have a physical offering, offer up a song or a poem, play some music, etc at the gate/entrance of the graveyard.

• DON’T take anything without permission This is a very basic courtesy as whatever is in there you may want, be it dirt or a rock, it is not yours to take freely. Ask via pendulum, meditate, etc but respect the answer you are given as to not anger anyone.

“If you take from a graveyard, you’ll leave more than you took.”

• If able, clean up any headstones that you visit The older the graveyard or cemetery, the more likely you’ll run into an old and forgotten headstone. While you don’t have to deep clean the marble, it’s always nice to pay your respects and tidy it a bit. Wipe away some loose dirt, maybe pull a weed or two—just some basic tidying. DON’T DISTURB THE GIFTS FROM THE LIVING. And be sure to be gentle with the headstones so nothing harsh or too abrasive to clean with.

• DON’T litter This is very common sense. I don’t care if it was just one wrapper and you missed the trash can. Just don’t be an asshole. Think of the graveyard or cemetery as the spirits’ home. You wouldn’t want someone to come into your home and leave wrappers and cigarette butts around, would you? Also, if you see a piece of trash and are able to get rid of it, do so.

• DON’T use mirrors Mirrors are gateways to the other side, blurring the lines between the physical world and the spiritual world. Yes, they can be used for scrying and other rituals but it is considered dangerous and shouldn’t be attempted by the inexperienced. Old tradition states that you should cover mirrors in the home of the dying and deceased because their soul could become trapped in the glass and render their spirit unable to cross over, and the same applies to graveyards and cemeteries.

• Be respectful of the living visitors Again, mind your manners around the living. Don’t be obtuse or overly loud, keep swearing minimal if there are children present, etc. Aka don’t be a distraction.

• DON’T step on the grave sites Mind your feet and where you’re walking, especially to look out for the graves that are in ground and just have markers versus having a headstone. If you do happen to step on a site, apologize and leave something for them if you have something. See top point. Stay on the paths!

• DON’T sit on the headstones I feel like I shouldn’t have to say this but—This falls under the same rules as littering. Imagine some random person coming into your home and climbing all over your things, including the roof of your home. Plus, due to the age, the marble can crack and break, causing you to injure yourself. Not good.

[morbidology]

9-year-old Richard Marlow from Etobicoke was nicknamed “Peewee” due to his small stature. He was in Grade 3 and was known for being painfully shy. “He was always the first away to school in the morning. He didn’t want to be late,” his mother, Gertrude, recalled.

On the evening of the 18th of July, 1944, the most of the Marlow family went to the cinema. Richard stayed behind with his brother, Gerald. Richard pulled on a blue hat and went outside to play on his older sister’s bicycle with Gerald checking out the window sporadically to make sure Richard was okay.

At some point during the evening, Richard disappeared leaving just the bicycle behind. A search party was assembled. Police scoured the neighbourhood assisted by army militia. Ponds and creeks were drained while wells, outhouses and forests were searched.

Richard’s father, John, came home from his army station to search for his son. They sent photographs of their son to newspapers across the country and wrote to the FBI begging for their assistance. Each Christmas, they purchased gifts in the hopes that Richard would return in time to open them. For the first three years, Gertrude dreamed about Richard. He appeared “clear as day” and asked “were you worrying about me, mommy?”

Despite the extensive search, there was never any sign of Richard. There were several reported sightings across the country but none ever turned out to be Richard. Ten years after his disappearance, Gertrude passed away. “It went on and on and on, and it just broke her heart,” said Richard’s sister’s daughter.

In 1973, John passed away. Both went to the grave without ever knowing what happened to their son. They are buried in Glendale Cemetery. Beside their grave is an empty plot with no headstone, no marker, and no flowers; it is there for Richard if ever he is found.

[blueiskewl]

1,700-Year-Old Roman Tombs Discovered in Bulgaria

A farmer in Bulgaria accidentally discovered two graves of a wealthy Roman-era family, but they appear to tell "a sad family story."

Two large graves discovered in northern Bulgaria likely tell "a sad family story" about wealthy Roman landowners whose child predeceased them in the third century A.D., archaeologists say.

In December 2023, a farmer unexpectedly found the graves while plowing his field in the village of Nova Varbovka. Because this region was a Roman province called Moesia in antiquity, archaeologists from the Veliko Tarnovo Regional Museum of History came to excavate the graves.

Both graves were built of brick, with plaster lining the walls and a large slab of limestone covering them. The larger of the two was roughly 10 feet (3 meters) long and contained the remains of two adults — a man and a woman who were both around 45 to 60 years old at death — buried with jewelry, coins, and ceramic and glass vessels.

The smaller grave, made somewhat earlier, contained the skeleton of a 2- to 3-year-old child and a rare bronze medallion depicting the Roman emperor Caracalla's (ruled A.D. 198 to 217) visit in A.D. 214 to Pergamon (also spelled Pergamum) in Asia Minor (modern-day Turkey), where he sought out the temple to Asclepius, the god of healing. Collectively, the two graves may represent a family's final resting place.

Some of the limestone from the graves appears to have come from a quarry near Nicopolis ad Istrum, a Roman and early Byzantine town founded by the emperor Trajan in the early second century. "This peculiarity and other indications make me think that the deceased are somehow related to the territory of Nicopolis ad Istrum," Kalin Chakarov, an archaeologist at the Veliko Tarnovo Regional History Museum, said in an email.

Chakarov, who excavated the burials along with colleagues Nedko Elenski and Mihaela Tomanova, noted that the Caracalla medallion could point to an Asia Minor origin for the occupants of the graves, which would be consistent with the fact that Nicopolis ad Istrum was built mainly by settlers from Asia Minor. "Of course, we are searching for an opportunity to make DNA and other analyses which our museum can't afford, to see if this hypothesis is correct," Chakarov said.

"The discovery of such tombs in the territory of Bulgaria is not a surprise, since the climate and soils are very good for growing agricultural crops," Ivan Tsarov, director of the Veliko Tarnovo Regional History Museum, said in an email. "Probably the tombs are of rich landowners," Tsarov said, since "it was the practice in Moesia Inferior for landowners to live in the warmer months of the year and be buried on their estates."

The artifacts discovered during the excavation are still being processed in the museum laboratory, where they are undergoing conservation and restoration, according to Tsarov. These include objects used during the deceased's lifetime, as well as those that would accompany them into the afterlife. In addition to jewelry made of glass beads and gold, there were six coins that dated to between A.D. 200 and 225, as well as a lamp, a leather shoe and several glass bottles, three of which were "lacrimaria," small flasks for collecting the tears of mourners.

"I think that it is a sad family story from the first half of the 3rd century," Chakarov said. "A dead infant, buried by their parents, who had their last resting place on the same spot where they buried their child."

Chakarov plans to conduct work in the area to try to find where these people lived, which he thinks was likely close to this newly discovered cemetery.

By Kristina Killgrove.

[cursecuelebre]

Coins are Essential to Hellenic Worship and Witchcraft

In Ancient Greece Drachmae (the coins/currency of the time) were used not just in everyday life but honoring the dead. It was believe that coins were offered to the deceased right before they were buried. The coins were given to grant the spirits passage to the underworld by paying Charon who will ride across Acheron, a river in the underworld to the afterlife, fearing they will get stuck on the shores if they don’t have the payment to cross. Though it is a very old superstition it is still very important to offer such a gift to the spirits that crossed over, though whether you don’t believe such a belief or do about paying the ferryman the act of the gesture is a sign of great respect and admiration for the departed. Collect your spare change and don’t be afraid to use them for various reasons:

- Offer them to your ancestors.

- Place a coin on gravestones when you visit a cemetery.

- Offer coins to your deities as money being one of the great sacrifices to give to them even if it’s just a penny.

You can also do spell work with coins as charms, divination (flipping heads or tails), talismans, focal point of power, etc.