Greenwood Cemetery Investigation
This blog post was written by Whitney Dankemeyer.
From time to time, we will come across a cemetery with little to no history. Not that this necessarily throws a wrench in an investigation, but it does make it a little harder to validate evidence. One of these cemeteries, for example, is a little secluded area in New Miner, Wisconsin. This cemetery is called Greenwood Cemetery, sits on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Wisconsin River, and is found at the end of a dead-end road.
Greenwood Cemetery has burial dates that go back as early as 1863, and records show the land originally belonging to a Thomas S. Joslin. He was born in New York in 1832 and at the age of 17 became a glassblower in Wisconsin. Thomas had moved to Pennsylvania for a short period afterward, but in 1862 he returned to Wisconsin in time to have his second child. He and his wife settled on a farm in Armenia where they continued to raise their growing family for the next thirty years.
Joslin owned 400 acres of land, and 160 of those acres were along the Wisconsin River. Part of this land included the “Joslin Cemetery,” where the Joslin family would lay relatives to rest. Thomas’s son, Charlie, is recorded being buried in this cemetery in the year 1867, just a few years after the first few burials began. When Joslin died of heart disease in 1897, the Joslin Cemetery was sold to the Greenwood Cemetery Association in 1896 for a whopping $2.00.
The girls and I didn’t stumble upon this location through historical research though. In fact, I found this story on a Saturday afternoon reading haunted tales online. I found a website with a thread of stories sharing paranormal experiences, and what made the site even better was that it was strictly Wisconsin locations. One of the stories was posted in 2014 and stated it was written by Richard D. Hendricks in October 1961. The story is as follows:
“It was 1961, and three joyriding teenagers, Bernard, Glenn and Tom were rodding around the countryside north of Necedah, stopping at beer joints and raising a little hell. It was October, the air getting crisp with the onset of winter, the fall foliage past its peak, riotous reds and bright yellows fading to rust and brown, leaves dropping and piling under maples and oaks. It was one last gorgeous day in fall; the last exhale before months of cold and snow. The three were out having a good time, jamming in as much fun as possible in the fading warmth, knowing too well this was their last carefree opportunity for several more months. Or maybe ever. They were becoming men, and with that new responsibilities, new paths.
Aimlessly following the county roads, today not a care in the world, they found themselves in the town of Armenia, near Petenwell Lake and south of the present day National Guard Bombing and Gunnery Range. They chanced upon a cemetery, and pulled up to the gates to decide what to do with themselves for the remainder of the evening. It was a convenient stop, quiet, no one around. The moon was high; the night still warm. You could take a leak, joke with your buddies, dream of your futures.
Motion caught their eyes.
Soundlessly, unaided, the closed cemetery iron gates swung open. Open-mouthed, they stared.
No one was there; the breeze gentle. Yet the gate had swung back, with no visible agent. Though getting dark, they could see the gate quite clearly.
Did you see that?
As suddenly, an inhuman howl splits the air from deep within the cemetery. Again, in another corner. And again, in another. The screaming howl seems to be coming from everywhere at once. Their eyes dart, trying to pinpoint the source in the dim light.
Only tombstones and trees.
Shadows.
Then stillness.
No doubt made bold by beer and youth, the trio decide to investigate. They're afraid, yet it's the strangest thing.
What is it?
Curiosity drawing them on, they cautiously creep through the open gate, holding their breath, searching the gloom.
Again, howling here. Howling there. Howling everywhere, ringing all around them.
Bernard sees the apparition first. At least six feet tall, hunched near a crooked leaning headstone, a black human-like shape without noticeable neck. The figure is completely black, a three dimensional shadowy blotch against the fading light.
It disappears. Reappears by another headstone, howling all the while.
They all see it, now. Riveted by fear, they watch the shape's disappearing trick.
Here; there; darting; howling.
The featureless shadow suddenly appears astride a fresh grave. They see the low mound in the moonlight. Though under a brightly shining moon, the shape is featureless. "We were seeing it, yet we weren't," Bernard later recalls.
The howls turn to screams as the shape begins jumping and landing on the freshpacked earth. Up, down, screaming.
Everything unhinges. The teens scrabble back to their car, fishtailing and squealing tires out of the drive. They chatter nonstop, trying to make sense of what they had witnessed.
Naturally they take refuge, pulling into one of their haunts, a saloon they often frequent, where they find a couple of other guys they know. Over beers, they tell their wild story, interrupting one another to interject details, interpretations. Their pals are skeptical.
Intrigued, or maybe on a dare, the original trio and their two friends return to the cemetery in two cars. It's either a joke or a hoax or the boys can't hold their beer, the two friends can't decide. The trio's fear, though, seems genuine.
At the cemetery gates both drivers kill their engines, but leave on the headlights. In the glare the shadows are blacker, longer. Tombstones poke up everywhere, a few trees, but nothing else.
All is silence.
In the hush, the five slowly enter through the still open gate. In a corner stands the locked cemetery storage shed. The caretaker keeps his equipment and tools here. The door yawns wide.
One thinks he sees movement inside the shed. They all strain to peer into that darkness, but cannot discern any shape or movement.
Cautiously the five creep forward through the stillness.
As they near the door, nudging one another forward, a soul-searing howl explodes from within the tiny shed.
Falling all over one another to get away, Bernard later claimed his hair stood on end at the horrific noise. A sound he claims to still hear thirty years later, but never wants to experience again. In blind panic they stumble back to their cars, fumble with keys, nearly colliding cars in their haste to get away.
Later all claimed that the shape, whatever it was, had been standing just inside the shed door as they crept upon it. Watching them looking for it. All claimed an uncanny feeling of overwhelming terror as they fled.
Bernard returned the next day with his brother, this time under full sunlight. It had bothered him all night, and he wanted to see what was there. Under the clear cold light of day.
The fresh grave where they had seen the shadowy form jumping and screaming appeared undisturbed. Untouched, no footprints. It remains a mystery these many years later.
Glenn refuses to speak of the incident to this day.
A friend of Bernard's passed away in the intervening years. He was buried in this quiet cemetery in the town of Armenia. Though more than willing to talk about that terrifying October night in 1961, Bernard doesn't much care to visit his friend's grave. He's still uneasy.
Though over the years he's gone over it again and again in his mind, Bernard has yet to find an explanation that satisfies. It wasn't a bigfoot. It wasn't a projected image. It wasn't a Hallowe'en prank played on them. The three had randomly arrived at the cemetery in the first place. And they hadn't had that much beer to drink, and besides, how could five people be similarly affected?
Maybe we'll never know what the five young men saw that day. Is the black shadow still out there, sometimes howling and dancing atop fresh dug graves in the town of Armenia?
Are you brave enough to find out ...?”
Completely intrigued by this story, I reached out to the girls to see what their afternoon plans looked like. By 5:00 pm that same day, we were all carpooling to New Miner to check out this unheard of location.
We did a walk-around of the cemetery when we first arrived, but we were accompanied by a young man and older woman a few minutes into it. We minded our own business while they walked to the right side of the cemetery, which is where I actually heard rustling in the woods. I cocked my head to the side to see what the source of the noise was, only to find that there was nothing nearby. I looked for wildlife and even watched the steps of the visitors' feet to see if their tracks made a sound. There was nothing.
It was almost a full loop around the perimeter before Nicole came up behind me to mention her attraction to the right side of the cemetery. I too had these same feelings, so I explained to her the experience that I had. Immediately after our conversation, Swan approached us with comments about being drawn to the right side. We took this as a sign to go scope it out.
When we reached the right side of the cemetery, there was a cliff that overlooked the Wisconsin River, and you could see the water from the headstones. These markers were the older ones, dating back to the late 1800s. There was an eerie feeling about the plots on this side, specifically the Hewitt family plot. There rested only one member of the family, “Mother,” who died in 1906. There is no one else laid to rest with her, but why not? The feeling was almost kind of eerie.
We scurried back to the car and prepared for an Estes. I couldn’t help but mention the feelings I had by the Hewitt plot, and Swan mentioned being pulled to a headstone on the far right by the water. She couldn’t make out the name of the person buried there, but she felt like it was a woman.
Swan put the headphones on and immediately said, “Becky.” When I asked if Becky was buried here, Swan said her name again. I said hi to Becky, but asked her if there was a specific reason she came forward to talk. Swan responded with, “Help.”
We struggled with communication in the beginning of this session. When I asked Becky what she needed help with, she asked if we were with her. We told her yes and asked again what it was she needed our help with. She asked, “Me?” And when we repeated ourselves a third time, she finally responded, “Snuggle.”
When we heard the word, “Snuggle,” we were confused at first. I asked if she was lonely, but then Swan mentioned hearing a man’s voice. I suddenly questioned if we were listening to a romantic encounter, so I asked aloud. Swan said, “Message.” When Nicole asked what the message was, Swan said she heard “Miss you” and “Wondering where.”
Nicole asked me at this point what I thought we were listening to. She asked if it sounded like we were listening to a conversation, and I said I believed she was telling us she was wondering where he was. That was when Swan said, “I’m here tonight.” When we asked if this was a reunion, Swan stopped the session and said she was seeing a ginger-haired woman in a white, flowy dress looking around for someone. That was when Swan said, “Nice dress,” completely oblivious to the session we were actually having. She was seeing the exact encounter we were listening in on.
The couple took a moment to exchange a few words with another. There was talk about a song at breakfast, and one of them called the other out for being friends with a wh*re. We did try asking what the man’s name was, but they ignored our questions like they were the only two in the cemetery. Quite romantic, really.
It got to the point where I asked if they were going to walk into the light together, and Swan responded, “First thing on his mind,” “Lover,” and “Snuggle.” Nicole and I thanked them for letting us be a part of the experience, and we told them they could leave us at any time. We told them they had each other now, and Swan answered, “Better.”
The two people who showed up earlier were now walking back to their car. Their car was parked in front of ours, so when they came into view, Becky said, “An interruption” and asked, “Who’s that?” We told them they were other people visiting, thanked them for their time, and then ended the Estes session. Once we caught Swan up to speed, the three of us performed a group meditation to ensure the couple successfully crossed over.
It’s not uncommon for couples to be separated in the afterlife, but it meant a lot to be a part of this reunion. Even death couldn’t keep these two apart, and they now get to spend eternal life basking in their eternal love.
Thanks for reading.
Supporting Links:
コメント