Gilson Road Cemetery - Nov 1999
page one

by Fiona Broome and the Hollow Hill staff ©2005

When the Gilson Road Cemetery was just a rumor, it seemed like a great idea to go there. Even when we learned its specific location, everyone said, "Sure, let's go."

For privacy, I have changed the names of the people who visited the cemetery with me on 5 November 1999:

Alan, a second-degree Black Belt karate instructor with a casual interest in ghosts. Ordinarily he has nerves of steel and a quick sense of humor. He's the one who knew about this cemetery.

Jane, friend of Alan. She's a sophomore in college, and a skeptic who wants to know more about the paranormal.

Nancy, professional photographer, 46-year-old mother of Alice. She was interested in the paranormal and intrigued by my "ghost photos," but definitely not psychic. Or so she said, anyway.

Alice, a high school student who lives her life as a delighted "Alice in Wonderland" and notices the paranormal.

James, a high school student and my son. Mostly a skeptic, but he notices "odd" things and seeks rational answers to them.

The Story

When Alan first told me about haunted Gilson Road Cemetery, it sounded intriguing. He'd been there one eerie Halloween night several years ago. Since then he'd heard stories about the haunted history of the site. Almost everyone loves a good "ghost story," and this sounded like a great place to explore.

On the afternoon of November 5th, Alan drove Jane and me to the cemetery, about fifteen minutes from my house. The cemetery was small, a little too quiet, and--in 1999--it was in a very rural location. The oddest thing was, the stone wall surrounding the graveyard was far too large for the sparse number of stones in it.

benign-looking Gilson Road Cemetery, in daylight
The cemetery seemed too quiet, in daylight

I later learned that most of the graves in the cemetery aren't marked.


Alan had heard that a home had been there in Colonial times, and murders had taken place in the home or at least nearby. Then the house had burned to the ground, and the local residents decided it was wisest to use the land as a cemetery rather than try building on it again.

The afternoon we visited the Gilson Road Cemetery, the sun was shining. It was an unusually warm afternoon for so late in the year, and we should have had a fun time wandering among the fallen leaves and ancient headstones. It was a lovely setting.

Jane seemed to have the most fun. She joked and laughed happily, reading the very Gothic notes on the headstones. However, her humor became sarcastic and a little too loud as we continued to explore the 18th- and 19th-century headstone. Was she nervous, or just caught up in the moment?

At first, Alan and I went along with Jane's high spirits. Soon, I felt uncomfortable, and then edgy. Something was very, very wrong about that cemetery, and I could practically grasp the antagonism I began to feel, eminating from the air around me as Jane continued to joke.

I took a few photographs, and we left. I felt very uneasy about the experience, but made excuses to myself. After all, it was a very old cemetery. The odd hole in one headstone seemed kind of creepy; perhaps that had unnerved me more than it should have. Well, that's what I told myself.

Later that night, six of us returned to the cemetery, to try some night photography. I had shaken off my earlier uneasiness, and when our group gathered to drive to the cemetery, we were in the mood for a fun evening hike.

It turned out very differently.

Next, Alan encounters something unusual,
and Jane learns not to joke in cemeteries


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