THE HIGHGATE CEMETERY

Here is a true story drawn from a childhood memory that still remains to haunt me.

In the early 1970s, London's Highgate cemetery vampire became a popular distraction in local and international news outlets. Whatever the creature was, it was seen many times by various witnesses and promptly declared a terrible vampire by two flatulent, over-inflated, self-appointed, and self-promoting experts.

Descriptions vary in detail, but most described a tall black shape with a white or pale skeletal face moving silently within and sometimes without the cemetery walls. These sightings eventually encouraged several self-styled vampire hunters to converge upon the cemetery and perimeter lanes to rid the grounds of the beast. They did so noisily, without restraint, some brandishing large wooden stakes and mallets, most fueled with alcohol. Other paraphernalia was seen, much of it in accordance with doubtful information from recent movies and popular books. The only thing missing was a vampire.

My interest in this foolishness began many years ago. I was raised and sometimes razed as a child in the north London suburb of Hampstead. A short bus ride and brisk uphill walk would bring me within a few hundred yards of the Highgate cemetery entrance. A twelve-year-old schoolboy could, and often did, slip easily through broken ornamental iron gates or climb the crumbling perimeter walls to find himself in a vast, overgrown garden of green mossy tombstones, marble sculpture, and leaning pillars. Granite and Marble columns with arabesque and other intricately carved designs stood at the entrances of more extensive vaults. A maze of narrow grassy paths through arches of trees, hanging vines, and ivy-covered graves revealed the sombre resting places of many notables.

No peasants lay here; this place was built to provide shelter and an everlasting sanctuary for the wealthy and many long-forgotten dignitaries. Old family wealth was once displayed tastefully here in the center of North London. An aura of desolation and watchfulness permeated the area now, quite apparent when first entering the place. There was something wrong here, a malevolent, angry presence always at your heel. I would never go exploring there alone or enter the grounds after sunset.

At the center of this awful place was a circular pit, a carefully excavated depression below ground level, about half a mile in diameter and approximately thirty feet deep. A flight of worn stone steps gave access to the bottom of this place. Many rectangular vaults were cut into the grassy side walls of this pit, some perhaps fifteen feet into the earth, others much longer; all were about twelve feet high. Wrought iron or heavily carved wooden doors secured the entrances to these places and were locked and chained to prevent unwanted scrutiny or interference. Over the years, neglect and abandonment by the city revealed the contents of these grim mausoleums.

Ancient stone coffins, some with elaborately tooled inscriptions, some with brass or stone nameplates, were now made accessible to the curious and those intent on desecration. Later, I learned that this area was known as The Circle of Lebanon and was undoubtedly the hellish pit from which all the prevailing anger and evil originated.

So, meandering through the cemetery, past overturned stone markers and neglected marble statues, one could find apparent signs of heresy and dark worship. Many other symbols were painted or scratched on the sculptures and plates — no resting place here for either the Godly or wicked. I remember well a lead-lined stone coffin with the lid removed and the mummified occupant clearly visible. Her long white hair was pulled behind her head and tied in place by faded red ribbons. I knew that in life, she was beautiful with long, fair hair, laughing as she skipped barefoot across the short, damp grass of the front lawn. Rooms in her big house echoed the bright chatter and laughter, welcoming friends and visitors.

She was angry now, though, and rightfully so, enraged at the disturbance, her long sleep violated by this great sacrilege. Several short black candles were carefully arranged around the rim of the casket, and dead flowers were placed as macabre decorations below the grinning parchment face of the deceased.

For some time, I stared, fascinated with the sight before me, unable to turn my gaze. Suddenly, the wind snapped me from my reverie, blowing gently, touching my face, kissing my cheeks, and ruffling my hair. The same little breeze was now tugging at the dead flowers in the coffin and wandering through the empty eye sockets of the corpse. Then, fancying something was moving and mumbling within the coffin, I ran. It was a breathless, terror-filled, headlong flight until I reached the safety of the narrow street beyond the cemetery walls. Still frightened, drawing painful, ragged breath through a parched throat, I started for home.

As the area's sinister reputation grew, so my mother, horrified that such a place could exist without proper oversight or governance, forbade me from ever returning to the cemetery.

The eyes cannot unsee, and although I never went exploring there again, my memories of that terrible place and the belligerent intrusive winds remain clear. A recurring nightmare would find me wandering along the overgrown paths, each leading to a desolate, forgotten field. I was lost and alone when suddenly before me stood the mummified form of my darling lady with red ribbons in her long white hair fluttering in the scented breeze. She called with a sweet, hollow voice for me to come to her.

Such was the clamor and mischief from Devil worshipers and occultists of every hue that local residents, now harassed by the ever-increasing attention from television, newspaper, and other media platforms, complained loudly and bitterly to the city. Subsequently, the ravaged acres were soon managed and supervised by a city-endorsed charity dedicated to preserving and maintaining select parks and buildings, reflecting London's early history. There was much worth preserving at the big Highgate cemetery. Yet, an intelligent darkness could also be found there, always carrying with it soft melancholy winds. These same winds bore wicked, cruel intent that should be contained and forever buried in obscurity within the unquiet grounds of the Highgate cemetery.