Explore every episode of the podcast The Grim: Haunted Cemeteries & Graveyard Tales
| Title | Pub. Date | Duration | |
|---|---|---|---|
| Horror Within Mount Hope | Mount Hope Cemetery, Bangor Maine | 27 oct. 2026 | 00:20:53 | |
The Grim is opening the gate to Mount Hope Cemetery in Bangor, Maine, during the week of Halloween. Founded in 1834, it is one of America’s oldest garden cemeteries, and it sits in the city that shaped Stephen King’s darkest fiction. On October 12, 1937, Public Enemy Al Brady and his gang walked into downtown Bangor and into an ambush by the FBI. When the gunfire on Central Street stopped, Brady lay dead in the road, and he was buried at Mount Hope in a grave no one marked for seventy years. This episode follows Mount Hope from its rural garden beginnings to the gangster’s grave, and from there into the fiction of the man who turned Bangor into Derry. Along the way: the garden cemetery movement that shaped Mount Hope’s hills and ponds; Civil War soldiers beneath one of the oldest Civil War monuments in the nation; the lumber barons who built Bangor; the Brady Gang’s trail of robbery and murder across the Midwest; the ambush at Dakin’s Sporting Goods; the unmarked grave and the headstone that finally came in 2007; the shootout’s echo in Stephen King’s It; the filming of Pet Sematary among Mount Hope’s graves, with King himself playing the minister; and the hauntings and legends whispered about the cemetery after dark. A gothic Halloween journey through Mount Hope’s graves, its gangster’s unmarked rest, and the cemetery that helped haunt Stephen King’s Maine, from The Grim. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| The Upiory & Strzygi Burying Ground | Poland’s “Vampire” Grave at Pień Cemetery | 20 oct. 2026 | 00:17:30 | |
The Grim is opening the gate to Pień Cemetery, a forgotten 17th-century burial ground in northern Poland where the dead were locked into the earth. In 2022, archaeologists from Nicolaus Copernicus University uncovered Grave 75: a young woman with an iron sickle across her throat and a padlock fastened to her toe. They named her Zosia. She was buried among outcasts on unconsecrated ground, yet she wore a silk cap woven with gold and silver threads. This episode follows the excavation of what may be Poland’s largest burial ground for the rejected, the anti-vampiric burials of Slavic folklore, and the science that gave Zosia back her face. Along the way: Professor Dariusz Poliński’s excavations, which began in 2005; 101 unmarked graves of Lutherans and possibly Mennonites; the upiory and strzygi of Slavic folklore; a grave reopened while Zosia’s body still held soft tissue; a copper stain in her mouth; the DNA, isotope and radiocarbon findings published in 2026; Oscar Nilsson’s 3D facial reconstruction; a padlocked child buried face down; Vladimir, pinned with stones; a woman with tertiary syphilis; and the war, famine, disease and Little Ice Age cold that made neighbors fear the dead. A gothic deep dive into Poland’s upiory and strzygi, its outcast burials, and the girl her village feared would rise, from The Grim. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| Dead Men Do Tell Tales | Goat Island, Newport, Rhode Island | 13 oct. 2026 | 00:14:12 | |
The Grim is opening the gate to Goat Island’s Pirate Graves, an unmarked burial ground on the shore of Newport Harbor in Rhode Island. In July 1723, twenty-six pirates captured from the sloop Ranger were hanged at Gravelly Point in the largest single execution of pirates the American colonies ever carried out. They were then rowed to Goat Island and buried between the high and low tide marks, denied hallowed ground even in death. This episode follows their story from capture to gallows: the Royal Navy chase that ended their careers, the Admiralty trial that decided who would hang, and the shoreline where they still lie, unmarked and unclaimed. Along the way: Charles Harris, a merchant first mate forced into piracy who was captaining his own sloop within a year; the notoriously cruel Edward Low, who slipped away into the dark near Block Island; the battle with HMS Greyhound off Long Island; nineteen-year-old Marblehead fisherman Joseph Libbey and the forced-man plea that failed to save him; Cotton Mather’s sermon on the dead as “terrible Preachers”; and the ghost lights and phantom ship said to haunt Goat Island and Gravelly Point. A gothic deep dive into Rhode Island history, colonial piracy, and the haunted pirate graves beneath Newport Harbor, from The Grim. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| The Empty Tomb | Crown Hill Cemetery, Indiana | 06 oct. 2026 | 00:22:23 | |
The Grim is opening the gate to Crown Hill Cemetery, the largest cemetery in Indiana and the third-largest non-governmental cemetery in the United States. Spread across 555 acres above Indianapolis, it holds more than 225,000 graves, among them a president, three vice presidents, and Public Enemy No. 1. On this episode, we trace Crown Hill from its 1863 founding on Strawberry Hill through the Civil War dead brought to its National Cemetery and the Confederate prisoners reburied in a mass grave decades later. Then we walk among the famous and the forgotten buried there, from Benjamin Harrison and James Whitcomb Riley to the founders of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway and the children of Hearts Remembered. Along the way: a fire-scorched tomb bearing the name of Lincoln's Secretary of the Interior, whose body has never been found; the Ghostly Hitchhiker of 38th Street; a Gypsy King's nightly bottle of wine that always disappeared; phantom soldiers and a woman wandering the graves with a baby; and the grave of John Dillinger, said to be sealed beneath concrete and scrap iron, which the cemetery has refused to let anyone open. A gothic deep dive into Indiana history, haunted cemetery lore, and the mystery beneath Dillinger's grave, from The Grim. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| The Bloodless Royals | Hohenzollern Crypt | 29 sept. 2026 | 00:21:49 | |
The Grim is opening the gate to the Hohenzollern Crypt, Germany's largest dynastic burial vault. Hidden beneath Berlin Cathedral, it holds 91 members of the family that ruled Prussia and later Germany for nearly a thousand years. On this episode, we trace the Hohenzollern dynasty from its 11th-century origins in the Swabian Alps through the rise of Prussia, the reign of Frederick the Great, and the collapse of the German Empire in 1918, then descend into the crypt itself to meet the kings, queens, and children buried there. Along the way: a gilded statue of Death scratching names into a ledger, three electors who vanished during a 1747 coffin transfer and were never found, an unmarked coffin that may hold the lost remains of a queen, and the centuries-old legend of the White Lady, a ghostly omen said to appear before a Hohenzollern death. A gothic deep dive into German royal history, Prussian dynasty secrets, and true ghost legend, from The Grim. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| Paris in Mourning: The Ghosts of Père Lachaise, Part 2 | 23 juin 2026 | 00:27:00 | |
Paris in Mourning, Part Two — and the gate is open again. The Grim returns to Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris, France for the season two finale, and the dead still have stories left to tell. We walk the haunted avenues of one of the world's most famous cemeteries to meet the figures history left unfinished. We begin with Molière, whose monument may rest over bones that were never truly his. We visit Oscar Wilde, imprisoned and destroyed for loving openly, now the recipient of unending devotion from strangers who cannot stop reaching toward him. We pause at the grave of Sarah Bernhardt, the greatest actress who ever lived, who spent decades sleeping in a coffin and returned to the stage on a prosthetic leg after amputation at seventy-one. We follow Frédéric Chopin to a tomb that holds his body but not his heart, which was smuggled back to Warsaw concealed beneath his sister's clothing. We stand beside Marcel Proust's stark black marble grave, where visitors report sudden floods of their own forgotten memories. We trace the rise and ruin of Georges Méliès, the magician who invented cinema's capacity for wonder and ended up selling candy in a train station, unrecognized in the city where he had once been famous. We visit the shared stone of Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas, and sit with the unresolved questions of how two elderly Jewish women survived Nazi occupation in the French countryside. And we close with the restless dead: a statesman's ghost that tugs at sleeves, a tomb whose stone runs warm in cold weather, and a Russian noblewoman's inheritance that no one has ever been able to claim. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| Mortsafes & a Mean Man | Canongate Kirkyard, Edinburgh, Scotland | 16 juin 2026 | 00:21:30 | |
The Grim is opening the gate and entering Canongate Kirkyard in Edinburgh, Scotland, one of the most storied burial grounds on the Royal Mile, where the dead have never quite stopped making noise. A young poet dies in an asylum at twenty-four, buried without a stone, forgotten by the city that once read him, until the man who owed him everything walks through these gates and refuses to leave him nameless. The father of modern economics rests steps from the house where he spent his final years, his grave now a pilgrimage site for scholars who leave coins on the stone with no prescribed ritual. Two centuries of soldiers lie beneath open grass, their names never carved, a single granite column standing for all of them at once. And then there is the question of Ebenezer Lennox Scroggie, a meal man, a corn merchant, possibly a great-nephew of Adam Smith, and possibly the man whose gravestone gave Charles Dickens one of the most recognizable names in English literature. Possibly. The gravestone is gone. The burial records say nothing. The story, however, refuses to die. Beneath it all runs a darker current: the resurrection men who worked Edinburgh's kirkyards by night, the iron mortsafes still rusting in the ground, and a story from a house just up the Royal Mile that has never been fully explained. Canongate Kirkyard does not give up its dead easily. But it does give up their stories. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| Silver Souls | Silver Terraces Cemeteries, Virginia City, Nevada | 09 juin 2026 | 00:23:04 | |
The Grim is opening the gate on Silver Terrace Cemeteries in Virginia City, Nevada, a sprawling collection of eleven distinct burial grounds established on a windswept hillside in 1867. Built at the height of the Comstock Lode silver boom, Silver Terrace was no frontier afterthought. It was a Victorian garden cemetery carved into the Nevada desert, complete with imported trees, marble headstones, and elaborate ironwork dividing the grounds by fraternal order, civic organization, and religious affiliation. Today the desert has reclaimed much of what was built. Four thousand people are buried here. Thirteen hundred markers remain. Host Kristin traces the history of Virginia City itself, from the 1859 discovery of the Comstock Lode through the population explosion that transformed a bare Nevada mountainside into a city of twenty-five thousand souls. She examines how the social hierarchies of the living followed residents into death, and explores one of the cemetery's most striking omissions — a story of exclusion that reflects the harder truths of what the Comstock was built on. Featured Stories The episode moves through the cemetery's distinct sections, uncovering the stories of those who built Virginia City and paid for it with their lives. Among the miners, two men who crossed an ocean together and died in the same mine six months apart. Among the civilian dead, a family plot that holds parents and infant sons, separated in life by twenty years of grief and reunited in Silver Terrace by a collision in San Francisco Bay. A woman buried in the Oddfellows section whose story is recorded only in the coldest terms a cemetery record allows. The firemen's section carries its own weight, including a grave restored a century after burial when a distant city answered the call to take care of one of its own, and the story of a woman the firemen fought to bury in their ground and were refused. Her grave has since been lost. Among the veterans, soldiers who carried their wars west and lived out their days among sagebrush and silver dust. And a Virginia City native, barely nineteen years old, remembered by the local paper as one of the most beloved young men in the city. The episode closes with a woman who spent nine years trying to reach the dead from the other side of the veil. She is buried at Silver Terrace now. Perhaps she found what she was looking for. Silver Terrace Cemeteries are open year round from sunrise to sunset, free of charge. The Comstock Cemetery Foundation manages the grounds and offers a self-guided audio tour with twenty-nine stops. Each fall, Funtime Theater performs Voices of the Past, a living history walking tour through the cemetery. Cemetery Gin, the official spirit of Virginia City, donates one dollar from every bottle sold to preservation efforts at Silver Terrace. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| The Trail Ghost | Norton Cemetery, Union County, Tennessee | 02 juin 2026 | 00:14:24 | |
The Grim is opening the gate and entering Norton Cemetery, tucked off the Ghost House Trail inside Big Ridge State Park in Union County, Tennessee. Small, mossy, and slowly sinking back into the earth, the cemetery rests quietly in the trees while the forest works to reclaim it. The park itself was born from displacement, rising out of the 1930s Norris Project and the communities it erased. Traces of those earlier lives still surface along the trail, including the reconstructed Norton Gristmill, which carries a dark legend no record has ever confirmed. The cemetery is overwhelmingly a family burial ground, spanning generations of the same name in these hills. Among the stones are graves marked only by a single word or a single name. Ibby. Son. No dates, no explanation, nothing but the inscription and the silence around it. One of the most often-told spirits here has no stone at all. The men buried in this clearing lived through the Civil War fighting for the Union while surrounded by a Confederate state, and two of them may have ridden in the same regiment without the trail plaques ever mentioning it. Whether the wandering figure people report seeing at dusk is a grieving father, a returning soldier, or simply a trick of the light, Norton Cemetery has never stopped collecting stories. Some places hold onto their dead long after the markers are gone. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| The First Decoration Day | Beaufort National Cemetery, Beaufort, South Carolina | 26 mai 2026 | 00:18:55 | |
The Grim is opening the gate into an American holiday that isn't as old as time. Memorial Day feels timeless, as though it has always existed on the American calendar. But the holiday is younger than most realize, and its true origins are far stranger and more powerful than the version history chose to remember. This episode opens the gate to Beaufort National Cemetery, a forty-four-acre Civil War cemetery in Beaufort, South Carolina, established by Abraham Lincoln in 1863, where more than 29,500 souls rest beneath moss-draped live oaks. Before walking those grounds, we follow the story backward to a Charleston racetrack in May of 1865, where nearly 10,000 people gathered for what may have been the earliest large-scale Memorial Day ceremony in American history. Most were formerly enslaved Black citizens. The story was nearly erased and wasn't rediscovered until historian David Blight found a handwritten account at Harvard in 1996. Inside Beaufort, we meet the men whose lives give this cemetery its weight. Donald Conroy, decorated Marine pilot and the real-life inspiration for Pat Conroy's novel The Great Santini, rests beneath the same oaks where his character's fictional funeral was filmed. Joseph Simmons was born in 1899 on nearby St. Helena Island, fought at Belleau Wood, served with the Buffalo Soldiers in World War II, and spent thirty-four years in uniform, only to receive meaningful recognition from France weeks before his hundredth birthday. Ralph Henry Johnson was twenty years old when he threw himself onto a grenade in Vietnam on March 5, 1968, saving the men beside him and earning the Medal of Honor he would never hold. Beaufort holds more than the dead. It holds the memories a nation tried to forget. Descending once more into the hauntings of history on The Grim. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| Tombstones Under The Trees | Lone Fir Cemetery, Portland, Oregon | 19 mai 2026 | 00:20:48 | |
The Grim is opening the gate and entering the oldest cemetery in the Pacific Northwest. Portland was built by people who survived impossible journeys, and Lone Fir Cemetery holds nearly all of them. Established in the 1850s on land where a pioneer father was buried as a condition of sale, Lone Fir became the final resting place for more than 25,000 souls: founders and frontier figures, poets and painters, asylum patients and immigrants, and over three thousand Chinese laborers whose graves were bulldozed in the 1950s to build a county parking lot. The oldest active cemetery in the Pacific Northwest is also Portland's second-largest arboretum, with more than seven hundred trees growing where memorial plantings once marked individual lives. But beneath the canopy, not everyone rests easy. Featured Stories The Origins of Lone Fir: From a frontier farm burial to Portland's central necropolis, the story of a city that outgrew its dead and consolidated them in a single place. Block 14: The erasure of more than three thousand Chinese immigrant graves, the parking lot built over their remains, and the 2026 apology issued nearly a century after the desecration. The Macleay Mausoleum: A $13,500 Gothic Revival monument in red sandstone, built by Scottish merchant Donald Macleay to honor his wife Martha, who died on New Year's Day 1876, the day after giving birth. The Founders: Beneath the Trees Asa Lovejoy, who lost the coin toss that named Portland; Oregon's first Poet Laureate Samuel L. Simpson; painter Eliza Barchus; and Julius Caesar, the formerly enslaved man whose headstone reads "Play ball." Emma Merlotin: A French courtesan brutally murdered on December 22, 1885, whose killer was never found, and whose shadow many believe still moves between the trees. The Old Man in the Dark: A first-person account of an encounter at Lone Fir that left two visitors running and one unsettling question unanswered. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| A Garden in the Gallows | Msida Bastion Cemetery | 12 mai 2026 | 00:19:31 | |
The Grim is opening the gate into a haunted garden hidden under the Mediterranean sun. Perched within centuries-old bastions overlooking Marsamxetto Harbour, Msida Bastion Cemetery in Floriana, Malta is one of Europe's most hauntingly beautiful historic cemeteries — and one of its least known. Once the site of the Knights of Malta's gallows, the grounds were transformed into a Protestant burial ground after the British arrived in 1800, becoming the final resting place for over five hundred souls: soldiers, merchants, children, and wanderers drawn to Malta by empire and trade. The cemetery's history spans centuries of conflict, neglect, and remarkable restoration. Bombed during World War II and left in ruin for decades, it was rescued in 1988 when volunteers painstakingly reassembled more than twenty thousand fragments of shattered stone. Today, ancient cypress trees, wildflowers, and migratory birds share the grounds with Neo-Classical monuments carved with urns, angels, broken columns, and Masonic symbols — all suspended above the still blue waters of the harbor. Among the graves rests John Hookham Frere, British diplomat, poet, and friend of Lord Byron, who spent his final years on the island. Scattered throughout are the forgotten dead of British Malta: officers felled by disease rather than battle, merchants who never returned home, and families who built lives beneath foreign skies. Two Catholic burials and one Russian Orthodox burial quietly break the cemetery's Protestant boundaries — small fractures in the rigid lines of empire and faith. The cemetery carries its own folklore. Visitors report wailing voices drifting from the bastions after dark. Night tours led by the warden each summer recount stories of duels, suicides, and mysterious deaths. A child buried on Christmas Day in 1871 — the last known burial — and a shadowy figure reportedly seen near the wall decades later. And somewhere within the restored paths lies Mikiel Anton Vassalli, the father of the Maltese language, denied Catholic burial by the Church he defied, resting anonymously among strangers in the very cemetery his rediscovery helped save. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| Live Free, Die Haunted | New Hampshire | 05 mai 2026 | 00:17:08 | |
In the quiet hills of New Hampshire, two small burial grounds hide some of the most persistent and unsettling folklore in all of New England. This episode of The Grim opens the gate on Pine Hill Cemetery in Hollis, known to locals as Blood Cemetery, and Gilson Road Cemetery in Nashua, where the stories go deeper and stranger than any single legend can contain. Pine Hill was established in 1769 on land donated by Benjamin Parker Jr., and nearly three hundred souls rest beneath its weathered stones. The cemetery's infamous nickname traces not to murder or massacre, but to a single grave: Abel Blood, a Christian philanthropist whose surname proved too unsettling for local imagination to ignore. For decades, visitors have reported a phantom child along the roadside, malfunctioning cameras and electronics within the gates, sudden temperature drops, and a pointing hand carved in stone that some claim shifts direction after dark. Then there is Gilson Road, less than an acre, easy to overlook, and according to paranormal researcher Fiona Broome, the most active cemetery in the state. Here, the graves of infant children draw quiet offerings from strangers, a headstone bears an unexplained hole drilled cleanly through its center, and a legend tied to a Colonial-era woman named Betsey Gilson has haunted the roadside for generations. A banished medicine man. A glowing headstone. A dark rider, some call the Watcher. At Gilson Road, no single story dominates, only an accumulation of dread that visitors carry home long after the gate is behind them. Featured Stories Pine Hill Cemetery (Blood Cemetery), Hollis, NH — The origin of the "Blood Cemetery" nickname, the legend of Abel Blood's shifting grave marker, reports of a phantom child along the roadside, and decades of paranormal encounters documented by researcher Fiona Broome. Gilson Road Cemetery, Nashua, NH — The mysterious drilled headstone of five-year-old Walter Gilson, the legend of Betsey Gilson and the ritual visitors still attempt after dark, and why investigators call this the most haunted cemetery in New Hampshire. Descending once more into the hauntings of history, on The Grim. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| Light Above, Silence Below | The Old North Church Crypt, Boston, MA | 28 avr. 2026 | 00:15:17 | |
Beneath one of America's most iconic landmarks lies a crypt holding more than 1,100 souls — and stories most visitors never hear. In this episode of The Grim, we descend beneath Old North Church in Boston's North End, past the lanterns and the legend, and into the underground tombs that have held the dead since 1732. Featured Stories Built in 1723 as Christ Church, Old North was Boston's second Anglican congregation — an outsider faith taking root in Puritan soil. Its Georgian architecture echoed Christopher Wren's London cathedrals, its bells are the oldest change-ringing set in North America, and its steeple carried the signal that set Paul Revere riding. But the building's deeper history lives underground. The crypt beneath the church holds thirty-seven tombs, coffins stacked upon coffins in chambers carved from necessity. Among the interred: Timothy Cutler, the church's founding rector who abandoned Congregationalism for Anglicanism and guided his congregation through the colonial era's most uncertain decades. Major John Pitcairn, the British Marine officer present at Lexington and Concord, reportedly brought here after falling at Bunker Hill — though whose remains truly rest in this tomb remains unresolved. And Samuel Nicholson, first captain of the USS Constitution, who helped forge a new nation's naval identity before returning, in death, to lie among those he had outlived. Then there is the brick. In the spring of 2025, an anonymous package arrived at Old North — a single crypt brick returned by a stranger whose husband had taken it, followed, the note said, by a string of bad luck. The brick now rests on a pillar in the crypt, sealed beneath glass alongside its two-sentence confession. Two weeks after it was reinstalled, the lights went out. No explanation was found. Old North's staff insist this is a sacred space, not a haunted house. The brick is lighthearted, they say. It's what you make of it. Over a thousand people rest beneath a city that has spent three centuries walking over them. Maybe the lights just flickered. Maybe the brick is just a brick. Or maybe the crypt has feelings about what belongs to it. Descending once more into the hauntings of history — on The Grim. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| Reap What You Sow | Picpus Cemetery, Paris France | 21 avr. 2026 | 00:24:54 | |
Hidden behind a plain residential gate in Paris, unmarked on most maps and open only a few hours a day, Picpus Cemetery holds a silence unlike any other. Beneath its unassuming garden lie more than 1,300 victims of the Reign of Terror — and above them, nearly two centuries of unbroken prayer. Featured Stories: The Mass Graves of the Reign of Terror For six terrifying weeks in the summer of 1794, the guillotine stood at the edge of Paris — and the bodies were quietly carted to a convent garden just five minutes away. Over 1,300 men and women were buried here without ceremony: nobles beside laborers, nuns beside soldiers, strangers in life bound together in death. The Carmelite Martyrs of Compiègne Sixteen Carmelite nuns, ranging in age from twenty-nine to seventy-eight, are counted among the dead. It is said they sang hymns as they were led to the scaffold — an act of quiet defiance that would later be immortalized in Francis Poulenc's opera, Dialogues of the Carmelites. The Search for the Lost Dead After the Terror ended, surviving families returned to a city that had buried its dead quickly — and quietly. It was not a noble who guided them to the burial site. It was a young commoner who had followed the cart carrying her father and brother, and remembered where it went. Because of her, Picpus was found again. The Marquis de Lafayette Born into French nobility and orphaned by fifteen, Lafayette sailed to America at nineteen to fight in a revolution that was not his own — funding troops from his personal fortune, enduring Valley Forge, and helping deliver the decisive victory at Yorktown. He returned to France to champion liberty, survived imprisonment during the Terror, and was laid to rest at Picpus beside his wife — with soil from Bunker Hill buried with him. An American flag still flies over his grave today, renewed each Fourth of July. Picpus During the Nazi Occupation Through the German occupation of Paris, an American flag continued to fly over Lafayette's tomb — and remarkably, the cemetery was never entered by German forces. Nearby, staff at the Rothschild Hospital risked everything to save Jewish patients: falsifying records, creating false death certificates, and quietly sheltering those in danger within the convent grounds of Picpus itself. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| Graves of the Confined | Manzanar Cemetery, California | 14 avr. 2026 | 00:16:25 | |
In this episode of The Grim — a podcast exploring cemetery history, dark history, and the stories the dead leave behind — we open the gates of Manzanar Cemetery, part of the Manzanar National Historic Site near Independence, California. Set against the stark backdrop of the Sierra Nevada, this windswept burial ground stands on the grounds of one of America's most sobering WWII Japanese American internment camps, where more than 10,000 people were forcibly incarcerated during World War II. For decades before the war, anti-Asian legislation had been quietly narrowing the world of Japanese Americans — stripping land rights, denying citizenship, and building a climate of suspicion that needed only a single spark. Pearl Harbor provided it. On February 19, 1942, President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066, setting into motion the forced removal of more than 120,000 Japanese Americans, nearly 70,000 of them U.S. citizens, from their homes on the West Coast into internment camps surrounded by barbed wire and guarded towers — with no charges, no trials, and no crimes beyond ancestry. Hidden within Manzanar's boundaries was a place most history books overlook — the Children's Village, a wartime orphanage where even children with living parents were sometimes separated from their families by policy. Some arrived not fully understanding where they were going. Others, like seven-year-old Francis Honda, would later describe it simply: it was lonely, it was sad, it felt like the end of the world. And yet, older residents like John Sohei Hohri gathered the children at night to tell stories — keeping imagination alive behind the wire. The cemetery itself was never part of the original plan. It emerged out of necessity, carved from what had once been a peach orchard just beyond the barbed wire fence, shaped by death in a place that had not prepared for it. Today only six graves remain — but at the center stands the Soul Consoling Tower, a white obelisk built in 1943 by the incarcerees themselves, funded through fifteen-cent contributions from each family. On its face: Soul Consoling Tower. On its reverse: Erected by the Manzanar Japanese, August 1943. In 1988, the Civil Liberties Act of 1988 brought a formal government apology and reparations of $20,000 to surviving incarcerees. It was an acknowledgment — but for many descendants and survivors of Japanese American incarceration, Manzanar National Historic Site endures not only as a place of grief but as a space of continuing reflection on what justice truly means and what remains unresolved. Descending once more into the hauntings of history — on The Grim. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| The Marbled Whispers | Staglieno Cemetery, Italy | 07 avr. 2026 | 00:20:54 | |
Step through the iron gates of Staglieno Cemetery, one of Europe's largest and most extraordinary burial grounds, nestled on a hillside above the Ligurian port city of Genoa, Italy. Stretching across more than a square kilometer, Staglieno is no ordinary resting place — it is an open-air museum of marble, grief, and artistry, where some of Italy's most gifted sculptors transformed mourning into breathtaking stone. In this episode of The Grim, we trace Staglieno's origins from Napoleon's 1804 Edict of Saint-Cloud through architect Giovanni Battista Resasco's grand vision, brought to life when the cemetery first opened its gates in January 1851. We explore the towering statue of Faith, the domed Pantheon modeled on Rome's, and the sweeping galleries that house both neoclassical masterpieces and Art Nouveau monuments. Featured Stories The Sculptors of Staglieno — Meet the masters who gave grief a form: Leonardo Bistolfi, Giulio Monteverde, Augusto Rivalta, and others whose weeping angels and contemplative prophets have earned the cemetery's figures the haunting nickname the talking statues. Joy Division's Closer — Discover how photographer Bernard Pierre Wolff's 1978 visit to Staglieno carried its melancholy far beyond Genoa's walls, and how the Appiani family tomb became one of rock music's most iconic images. The Revolutionaries — Walk among the tombs of Nino Bixio, who helped forge modern Italy at Garibaldi's side, and Giuseppe Mazzini, the exiled nationalist who dreamed of a republic and drew 100,000 mourners to Genoa's streets in death — the city that had once condemned him. Constance Lloyd, Fabrizio De André, and Fernanda Pivano — A quiet corner of the grounds holds the wife of Oscar Wilde, the beloved Genoese singer-songwriter who gave voice to the forgotten, and the translator who brought Hemingway, Ginsberg, and Kerouac to Italian readers. The British Cemetery — On the hillside's outskirts, 352 Commonwealth servicemen from both World Wars rest in orderly rows — a reminder that Genoa was, and always has been, a crossroads of the world. Edoardo Sanguineti's Last Word — The poet, provocateur, and founder of Gruppo 63 who dismantled language and rebuilt it — and who once said of poetry: it is not dead, but it lives a secret life. Descending once more into the hauntings of history — on The Grim. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| The Forest of Sorrow | Aokigahara, Japan | 31 mars 2026 | 00:17:52 | |
Grim Mourning and Welcome to The Grim. This week, Kristin opens the gate on one of the most haunted and heartbreaking places in the world — Japan's Aokigahara Forest. Known as the Sea of Trees, this dense wilderness sprawls across 13.5 square miles at the base of Mount Fuji, less than 100 miles from Tokyo. Ancient volcanic eruptions carved the land beneath it, leaving roots tangled across a maze of hardened lava and iron-rich stone that silences compasses, weakens cell signals, and swallows sound whole. Aokigahara is a place of extraordinary beauty — and extraordinary grief. If you or someone you know is struggling, help is available. In the US, call or text 988 to reach the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline, available 24/7 at 988lifeline.org. If you're outside the US, please reach out to a local crisis line or a trusted person in your life. You don't have to carry this alone. Featured Stories The Forest That Absorbs Sound — Inside Aokigahara, the wind disappears. Wildlife falls silent. Sunlight breaks into fragments through a canopy so thick it dims the world below. Visitors describe a stillness unlike anything else — a quiet that feels less like peace and more like the forest itself is listening. A History Rooted in Loss — The forest's association with death stretches back centuries. Linked in folklore to the ancient practice of ubasute and the restless yūrei of Japanese legend, Aokigahara became cemented as a place of final decisions through Seichō Matsumoto's 1960 novel Kuroi Jukai and later, Wataru Tsurumi's 1993 work. By 2003, authorities stopped releasing annual death figures to discourage further tragedies. The Weight of Silence — We explore the cultural and social forces that have drawn people to this forest — from Japan's historically complex relationship with suicide to the economic pressures that drive many there at the close of the fiscal year. Researchers, psychiatrists, and survivors speak to the isolation, the financial collapse, and the strange pull of wanting to disappear without being found. The Yūrei Among the Trees — In Japanese folklore, spirits of the dead who pass without resolution do not leave. Dressed in white burial kimonos, with long black hair and hands that hang limp, they linger in places like Aokigahara — anchored by grief and unfinished lives. The Hour of the Ox, between 1:00 and 3:00 AM, is said to thin the veil between worlds. What the Forest Is Teaching Us — From thermal-imaging drones to volunteer patrols and crisis signage, Japan continues to fight for lives at the edge of this forest. We sit with what it means to speak honestly about a place like this — not to mythologize it, but to understand the very human weight it carries. Descending once more into the hauntings of history — on The Grim. If you or someone you know is struggling, help is available. In the US, call or text 988 to reach the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline, available 24/7 at 988lifeline.org. If you're outside the US, please reach out to a local crisis line or a trusted person in your life. You don't have to carry this alone. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| Graves in a Ghost Town | Odd Fellows Cemetery, Centralia PA | 24 mars 2026 | 00:14:29 | |
Where the dead are remembered and the earth still burns. Beneath the quiet rows of Odd Fellows Cemetery in Centralia, Pennsylvania, a fire has been burning since 1962 — and it shows no sign of stopping. In this episode of The Grim, we open the gate on one of America's most unsettling burial grounds: an active cemetery inside a ghost town, maintained by a church miles away, visited by families who no longer have a home to return to. Centralia was once a thriving coal-mining community in Columbia County, Pennsylvania. Today, fewer than five residents remain — the rest displaced by a government-mandated evacuation driven by an underground mine fire that has burned for over sixty years, reaching temperatures exceeding 1,000 degrees Fahrenheit. The town's eerie fate inspired the 2006 horror film Silent Hill, and its abandoned streets and smoke-venting earth continue to draw visitors from across the country. Yet through it all, the cemeteries remain. Tended. Loved. Active. Featured Stories:
If you’re drawn to haunted history, Pennsylvania coal region lore, environmental disasters, or the ethics of leaving and staying, this story sticks. Subscribe for more, share this with a friend who loves eerie true history, and leave a review with your take: would you visit Centralia or avoid it? Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| Ireland's Three Saints | Down Cathedral Graveyard, Ireland | 17 mars 2026 | 00:18:07 | |
In this episode of The Grim, Kristin opens the gates to Down Cathedral Graveyard in Downpatrick, Northern Ireland — a hilltop burial ground sacred since the Bronze Age, where centuries of pilgrimage, legend, and quiet reverence converge on a single unadorned stone. Saint Patrick: Born in Roman Britain and enslaved in Ireland at sixteen, Patrick spent six years as a shepherd before escaping and returning as a bishop — transforming a land of druidic tradition into the most fervently Christian island in Europe. After his death in the late fifth century, rival kingdoms erupted into open conflict over possession of his remains, a clash so significant it was recorded in Irish annals as the Battle for the Body of Patrick. Tradition holds his body was brought to this hill in Downpatrick, where a granite marker — placed in 1900 — draws pilgrims to this day. Saint Columba (Colmcille): Born in 521 into one of Ireland's most powerful Gaelic dynasties, Columba abandoned a path of political power for the monastery — founding communities at Derry, Durrow, and Kells. When a secret copy he made of a mentor's psalter sparked a legal dispute that spiraled into the Battle of Cúl Dreimhne in 561 — killing thousands — Columba left Ireland, vowing never to look upon her shores again. He sailed to the remote island of Iona off the coast of Scotland, where he founded a monastery that became one of the most significant spiritual centers of the early medieval world. Along the way, he had a documented encounter with a violent creature in the River Ness that would take on a very different reputation in the centuries to come. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| The Ghoul of Plainfield | Plainfield Cemetery, Wisconsin | 10 mars 2026 | 00:15:26 | |
In this episode of The Grim, Kristin opens the gates to Plainfield Cemetery in Plainfield, Wisconsin—a modest Midwestern burial ground rooted in pioneer history, where the quiet rows of headstones conceal one of the most disturbing legacies in American true crime. Home to the earliest settlers of rural Wisconsin, the cemetery is perhaps best known today as the final resting place of Ed Gein—a body snatcher who robbed the very graves he now lies among, buried unmarked between his mother and brother in the family plot. Visitors and true crime enthusiasts continue to make pilgrimages to the site, drawn by morbid curiosity and renewed interest following Netflix's dramatized portrayal of Gein's life. Locals, however, have long struggled with the unwanted notoriety—vandalism, desecration, and a steady stream of strangers searching for a killer's grave in a cemetery that was never meant to be famous. Featured Stories: Ed Gein: Confessed to robbing nine graves and making up to forty nocturnal cemetery visits between 1947 and 1952. The 1957 discovery at his farmhouse revealed murders, grave robbing, and the construction of grotesque objects from human remains—a crime scene that shocked the nation and defined a genre. Bernice Worden: The 58-year-old hardware store owner whose disappearance on November 16, 1957 led investigators to Gein's farm and unraveled the full horror of his crimes. Augusta Gein: Ed's domineering, deeply religious mother—the defining psychological force behind his life, preserved in shrine-like rooms after her 1945 death. The Plainfield Pioneers: The earliest settlers buried here since 1837, their quiet legacy now forever overshadowed by the man interred among them. Descending once more into the hauntings of history—on The Grim. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| The Final Haven | Old Church Cemetery, Cobh | 03 mars 2026 | 00:34:05 | |
In this episode of The Grim, Kristin opens the gates to Old Church Cemetery in Cobh, Ireland—a hillside burial ground stretching back to Ireland's Celtic past, where maritime catastrophe, extraordinary lives, and restless spirits converge above one of the world's great natural harbours. Home to victims of the RMS Lusitania, a celebrated Irish boxer, a surgeon who stood beside Napoleon's deathbed, and an Antarctic explorer who carried the cold home in his hands—Old Church is one of Ireland's most cosmopolitan and quietly haunted cemeteries. Visitors report auditory hauntings near the Lusitania mass graves: murmuring voices, footsteps on empty gravel paths, and the sensation of a funeral procession that never ends. The "White Witch of Cobh" claimed to witness the dead still arriving long after the rescue boats fell silent. Featured Stories: The Lusitania – May 7, 1915: 1,199 of 1,960 people perished when a German torpedo sank the ship in eighteen minutes off the Irish coast. Between 169 and 200 victims are buried at Old Church—many unidentified, many in mass graves. Jack Doyle – The Gorgeous Gael: Cobh's own boxing prodigy won 28 bouts before drink, Hollywood, and violence unravelled everything. A piper led him home. His grave is still visited. James Roche Verling: The army surgeon assigned to watch Napoleon in exile on Saint Helena—and sign his death certificate. Robert Forde: Scott's Antarctic sledge-master, sent home with frostbite before the fatal polar push. A mountain in Victoria Land still bears his name. Descending once more into the hauntings of history—on The Grim. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| The Black Hope Curse | Black Hope Cemetery | 24 févr. 2026 | 00:13:39 | |
Descend into Black Hope Cemetery in Crosby, Texas, where an entire post-Civil War freedom colony was swallowed by fire, forgotten by history, and buried beneath a modern subdivision — and where the dead refused to stay silent. Host Kristin uncovers Charlie and Betty Thomas — formerly enslaved people exhumed from a family's backyard still wearing their wedding rings — the Haney family's nightmare of glowing unplugged clocks, ghostly figures hovering over the bed, and a pair of red shoes that vanished only to reappear on a grave, and the Williams family's devastating loss of their thirty-year-old daughter after digging for evidence on cursed ground. Over sixty souls rest in one of Texas's most forgotten African American burial grounds, where a corporation built a neighborhood over the dead, a jury verdict was overturned, and families were ordered to prove the cemetery ever existed — despite the bones already pulled from the earth. Featured Historical Figures & Families: Charlie & Betty Thomas – Enslaved people freed after the Civil War, buried in Black Hope in the 1930s, Sam & Judith Haney – Discovered remains beneath their backyard, sued Purcell Corporation, and were ordered to pay court costs after the verdict was overturned, Ben & Jean Williams – Neighbors who uncovered coffin-shaped sinkholes, Tina — The Williams' daughter who died at thirty after digging for evidence, Jasper Norton – Longtime Crosby resident who identified the Thomases, and the unnamed members of the freedom colony whose settlement, church, school, and burial ground were erased from the historical record. Perfect for: True haunting enthusiasts, Black history scholars, Civil War and Reconstruction researchers, fans of Poltergeist and its real-world parallels, and anyone drawn to the stories America paved over — and the ground that refuses to forget. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| Phantoms of the Track | African Cemetery No. 2 | 17 févr. 2026 | 00:16:37 | |
Descend into African Cemetery No. 2 in Lexington, Kentucky, where the first Kentucky Derby winner rests in unmarked ground alongside Civil War heroes, Buffalo Soldiers, and the grooms and trainers who built America's thoroughbred empire. Host Kristin uncovers Oliver Lewis—who won the 1875 Derby at nineteen and died laying asphalt—journalist Robert Charles O'Hara Benjamin, murdered for defending Black voters, and over 5,000 souls buried in one of the nation's oldest African American-owned cemeteries, where only 1,200 names are still known and the earth itself remembers what history tried to erase. Oliver Lewis – First Kentucky Derby winner (1875), USCT soldier Dennis Simpson – Buried unmarked with his family, Nathan Caulder – Buffalo Soldier who died in France, Robert Charles O'Hara Benjamin – Journalist assassinated for defending voting rights, James "Soup" Perkins – Youngest Derby-winning jockey, Abraham Perry – Pioneering Black trainer, 180+ horse industry workers, 112+ Civil War veterans, and the Harlem Hellfighters. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| Pickett's Souls | Gettysburg National Cemetery | 10 févr. 2026 | 00:25:53 | |
Join host Kristin as The Grim descends into Gettysburg National Cemetery — where blood-soaked Pennsylvania earth became the birthplace of America's first national cemetery and a monument to the true cost of war. Before national cemeteries existed, soldiers were buried where they fell. The Civil War changed everything. At the Battle of Gettysburg — the deadliest battle in American military history — over 50,000 casualties fell in just three days as outdated battlefield tactics collided with modern repeating rifles. On July 3, 1863, nearly 12,000 Confederate soldiers marched across open ground during Pickett's Charge, met by devastating Union fire, marking the high-water mark of the Confederacy and the turning point of the war. In the aftermath, Elizabeth Thorn — six months pregnant and left alone with her elderly father — buried nearly 100 soldiers in the summer heat before a national cemetery even existed. Landscape architect William Saunders designed the Soldiers' National Cemetery with quiet dignity, where officers and enlisted men were buried side by side. Four months after the battle, Abraham Lincoln stood before 15,000 people and delivered the Gettysburg Address — 271 words that consecrated the ground and redefined the meaning of the war. Today, more than 3,500 Union soldiers rest here, among them 979 unknowns. Confederate dead were largely exhumed and reburied in Southern cemeteries, though some are believed to remain in rocky, inaccessible corners of the battlefield. But Gettysburg's dead may not all be resting. The surrounding battlefield and cemetery are considered among the most haunted locations in America. Visitors report phantom cannon fire, the scent of gunpowder in the dark, and shadowed figures moving between headstones. A spectral Union soldier is said to linger among the rocks at Devil's Den, while the ghosts of hanged soldiers reportedly haunt Sachs Covered Bridge. And Jennie Wade — the only civilian killed during the battle — is said to remain forever bound to the home where her life ended. At Gettysburg, the past does not vanish. It waits. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| The Erasure of Death | African American Burial Grounds | 03 févr. 2026 | 00:24:08 | |
Join host Kristin as The Grim opens the gate on one of America's most erased and overlooked histories — African American burial grounds and enslaved persons cemeteries across the United States. Records are heartbreakingly scarce. By 1860, nearly four million people were enslaved in America, yet their burial grounds remain largely undocumented, destroyed, or entirely lost. In a system that valued labor over human life, death was treated as an inconvenience. Burials were rushed, unrecorded, and hidden in remote corners of vast plantations — marked only by seashells, fieldstones, or personal objects that eroded over time. Even in death, dignity was denied. The end of slavery did not end the erasure. Jim Crow laws enforced segregation into cemeteries, and as towns expanded, undocumented Black burial grounds were paved over, declared abandoned, and legally cleared for redevelopment. This pattern was not confined to the South. In Lower Manhattan, the New York African Burial Ground — holding an estimated 10,000 to 15,000 enslaved and free African Americans — was uncovered by accident during federal construction in 1991, its dead disturbed by bulldozers before community outrage forced the project to a halt. At Arlington National Cemetery, Black refugees and United States Colored Troops soldiers were among the earliest buried, with many choosing freedom names — Abraham Lincoln, Thomas Jefferson — carved into headstones as declarations of identity long denied in life. In the years following the Civil War, African American benevolent societies built their own burial grounds — quiet acts of resistance funded not by the state, but by the community itself. From African Cemetery No. 2 in Lexington, Kentucky to Mount Pleasant Plains Cemetery in Washington D.C., these sacred spaces preserved names, identities, and legacies that official records refused to keep. Yet many remain neglected, underfunded, and under threat from gentrification and urban development to this day. The African-American Burial Grounds Preservation Act, despite its promise, carries no dedicated funding — leaving families to fight yet again for the right to protect their dead. Meanwhile, grassroots efforts like the Anson Street African Burial Ground project in Charleston offer a different model — one built on descendant collaboration, Gullah Geechee spiritual traditions, and a naming ceremony that returned humanity to ancestors stolen by silence. These grounds are still here. Beneath parking lots, behind churches, under cities that move too fast to notice who was left behind. The dead are not lost. They were buried — and then buried again by silence. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| Blood on the Irons | St. Philip's Graveyard & Cemetery | 27 janv. 2026 | 00:21:33 | |
Descend into the moss-draped grounds of St. Philip's in Charleston, South Carolina, where the nation's oldest Anglican congregation has buried its dead since 1681. Host Kristin explores a city built atop graves, uncovering the Revolutionary War heroes, Vice Presidents, and enslaved protectors whose legacies—and spirits—refuse to stay buried. Featured Historical Figures: John C. Calhoun – The Vice President who resigned his office to defend an ideology so divisive, his grave was hidden during the Civil War for fear of what Union soldiers might do to his remains. Edward Rutledge – The youngest signer of the Declaration of Independence, captured during war, elevated to governor—yet whose legacy reveals the contradictions at the heart of America's founding. Rawlins Lowndes – A revolutionary leader who fought tyranny abroad while perpetuating it at home, then opposed the Constitution itself to protect what he believed South Carolina could not survive without. DuBose Heyward – Descendant of a Declaration signer whose novel became one of America's most celebrated—and controversial—operas, a work of beauty inseparable from the questions it raises. Also Featured: Constitutional framers, Supreme Court Justices, Revolutionary War generals, and the West Cemetery—ground once reserved for strangers and outsiders, now holding some of the nation's most powerful architects of early America. The Hauntings: One of America's most famous ghost photographs, captured here in 1987. A grieving mother who died six days after losing her child. An enslaved man who saved the church from fire and earned his freedom, now said to watch over the grounds. And a young girl whose nighttime dare ended in tragedy, her cane still trapped where she fell. Perfect for: Colonial and Revolutionary War history enthusiasts, Southern Gothic lovers, Charleston ghost hunters, cemetery tourists, and anyone fascinated by the uncomfortable spaces where founding ideals and human contradiction collide—and where the dead refuse to let the past stay quiet. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| A Garden Built on Bones | St. James Cemetery, Liverpool | 20 janv. 2026 | 00:30:15 | |
What happens when a cemetery built to honor the dead becomes their greatest indignity? St. James Cemetery in Liverpool was designed as a modern answer to Victorian burial chaos—but instead recreated every horror it promised to solve. Now 57,000 souls lie beneath what's officially called a public park, their gravestones cleared away, their names reduced to lists on communal stones. Host Kristin descends into this haunted quarry-turned-cemetery to uncover the stories of those buried within: Sarah Biffin, the armless artist who painted for royalty with her teeth; Arthur Richardson, a forgotten Victoria Cross hero who saved a man's life under gunfire; William Huskisson, the politician killed by the world's first railway; and Lucy Walker, who became the first woman to summit the Matterhorn in a white dress. But the dead of St. James may not rest quietly. From Huskisson's limping ghost to the mysterious Christmas Vampire, paranormal reports have haunted these grounds for decades. When a cemetery strips away the names of the poor while preserving monuments for the wealthy, do the forgotten ever truly find peace? A story of progress, exploitation, erasure, and the souls left behind. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| The Rebel Royal | Kensal Green Cemetery, London | 13 janv. 2026 | 00:29:24 | |
In this episode of The Grim, Kristin opens the gates to Kensal Green Cemetery in London, England—the first of the city's Magnificent Seven, where innovation, artistry, and royal rebellion lie beneath seventy-two acres of leaning stones. Built in 1833 to relieve London's overcrowded graveyards, Kensal Green now faces its own crisis: caught between preservation and a city desperate for space. Over 250,000 souls rest here, including nearly a thousand recorded in the Dictionary of National Biography. Among them: Charles Babbage, whose unfinished calculating engines predicted the computer age; Isambard Kingdom Brunel, whose bridges and railways transformed Britain; writers William Makepeace Thackeray and Wilkie Collins, who dissected Victorian hypocrisy with unflinching precision; and royal rebels Prince Augustus Frederick and Princess Sophia, siblings who defied and endured the monarchy in equal measure. From overgrown corners to Gothic mausoleums, Kensal Green wears its age openly. Stones lean. Time presses heavily. Stories like The Living Dead Girl refuse to stay buried, and visitors sometimes sense something lingering in the shadows—reminding them this place holds more than bodies. It holds unfinished brilliance, scandalous secrets, and the question: do Victorian cemeteries still have a place in our modern world? Featured Stories: Charles Babbage – Mathematician whose designs predicted modern computing. A retailer named Babbage's eventually became GameStop. Isambard Kingdom Brunel – Engineer who built railways, bridges, and iron ships that transformed Britain. William Makepeace Thackeray – Author of Vanity Fair who dissected Victorian society's vanities. Wilkie Collins – Master of Victorian suspense, author of The Woman in White and The Moonstone. Prince Augustus Frederick, Duke of Sussex – Royal rebel who championed abolition and married in secret twice. Princess Sophia – George III's daughter, rumored illegitimate child, life of gilded constraint. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| The Harbour of Corpses | Fairview Lawn Cemetery, Halifax | 06 janv. 2026 | 00:30:23 | |
In this episode of The Grim, Kristin opens the gates to Fairview Lawn Cemetery in Halifax, Nova Scotia—a place where tragedy, memory, and history converge. Best known as the final resting place of 121 Titanic victims, Fairview offers a tangible encounter with sorrow: rows of granite markers transform distant history into something immediate and haunting. From the meticulous recovery work of John Henry Barnstead to the long-unidentified Unknown Child, the cemetery preserves lives lost at sea with dignity and care. But Fairview is more than Titanic. Just five years later, Halifax endured the Halifax Explosion, the largest man-made blast of its time. Amid the devastation, acts of heroism—like Patrick Vincent Coleman warning a train away from the blast—stand out against unimaginable loss, leaving lasting lessons in courage and resilience. The cemetery also honors those who served in uniform, with the Veterans' Columbarium providing dignified resting places and permanent recognition for Canadian and Allied servicemembers. Visitors sometimes report fleeting, unsettling sensations—cold spots, whispers, or a feeling of being watched—particularly near the Unknown Child's grave, reinforcing the cemetery's quietly haunting presence. From unexplained orbs and shadowy figures at the Titanic wreck site to the silent stones of Fairview, this episode explores how history, tragedy, and memory leave echoes that refuse to fade. Kristin reflects on the human stories beneath the stones, the courage amid disaster, and the hauntings of history that linger, waiting to be remembered. Featured Stories: The Titanic Tragedy – April 15, 1912: RMS Titanic sank claiming approximately 1,514 lives. Of 2,224 passengers and crew, only 710 survived. The ship carried 16 standard lifeboats and 4 collapsible ones—legally compliant by 1912 standards yet insufficient to save everyone aboard. The Recovery Operation – Halifax ships carried embalming fluid and undertakers, not rescue equipment. When the CS Mackay-Bennett ran out of supplies, Captain Frederick Larnder prioritized first-class passengers for preservation while many third-class passengers and crew were buried at sea. Of 338 bodies recovered, 150 came to Halifax—121 buried at Fairview in individual graves rather than mass burial. The Unknown Child – Mackay-Bennett sailors pooled money for his headstone when no family claimed him. DNA testing eventually revealed Sidney Leslie Goodwin, a 19-month-old British child whose entire family perished. His preserved shoes at the Maritime Museum helped confirm his identity nearly a century later. Joseph Dawson (J. Dawson) – An Irish coal trimmer mistaken for James Cameron's fictional Jack Dawson. After the 1997 film, visitors flooded Fairview leaving trinkets at his grave where fiction and history blur. William Denton Cox – A steward who guided third-class passengers toward lifeboats. His grave remained unidentified until 1991—79 years after his death—when the Titanic International Society helped restore his name. John Henry Barnstead – Halifax's Registrar created an unprecedented identification system: numbered sealed bags, catalogued belongings, photographs when no ID existed. His son Arthur Stanley Barnstead later applied these methods during the Halifax Explosion. The Halifax Explosion – December 6, 1917: SS Mont-Blanc, laden with explosives, collided with SS Imo and detonated at 9:04 a.m., killing at least 1,782 people. Railway dispatcher Patrick Vincent Coleman stayed at his telegraph warning an incoming train, saving hundreds but losing his life. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| 2025 | A Grim Review | 30 déc. 2025 | 00:14:47 | |
Nearly 47% of podcasts never reach episode three. Only 8.5% make it to 50. The Grim just published episode 73 — and this week, host Kristin closes the gates on a year of graveyards, uncomfortable histories, and stories that asked to be told. This isn't a typical episode. No single cemetery. No one ghost. Just an honest look back at the places that fascinated her most, the stories that lingered long after research ended, and the listeners who made survival possible in a landscape littered with abandoned feeds and forgotten voices. The year opened at Little Bighorn — a place that sits heavier now, asking visitors to think not just about what happened there, but about who was allowed to tell the story. It moved through Ross Bay Cemetery in Victoria, a Victorian masterpiece that felt familiar and foreign and deeply haunted. Into Peru, where Presbítero Matías Maestro Cemetery embraces its haunted side with night tours that honor both the dead and the curious. Through Paris, where Montmartre hides a mass grave from the French Revolution that most textbooks never mention. Into the bone chapels of Portugal and Italy, where the why behind the beauty makes the history come alive. Two episodes explored asylum cemeteries — places where patients were buried without names, some not mentally ill at all, just inconvenient enough to disappear. One episode wrestled with Friedhof Ohlsdorf in Germany, where Nazi-era figures rest alongside war victims, and where the question of who deserves to be remembered refused an easy answer. Glasnevin Cemetery in Dublin brought one of the year's favorite stories — a historian who spent his life educating visitors and planned, knowing he would one day rest on those same grounds, accordingly. And Bennington Centre Cemetery in Vermont delivered one of the year's best names: the Redcoat Skeleton, a British soldier whose bones spent years in an attic before finally returning to the earth. True crime touched the grounds twice. The asylum episodes asked whose stories get erased. St. Paul's Cathedral crypt offered a latte beside Britain's legends. And the Tophet of Carthage raised questions about the past that even now, we don't fully understand. A year of graveyards that didn't stay quiet. A year of stories that deserved to be told. And a little niche podcast that, somehow, kept going. Here's to 2026. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| A Gothic Yuletide | St. Patrick's Cathedral Crypt | 23 déc. 2025 | 00:33:17 | |
Every December, millions pass through St. Patrick's Cathedral on Fifth Avenue — drawn by Gothic spires, Christmas lights, and the echo of Midnight Mass through marble vaults. Almost none of them know what lies directly beneath their feet. In this episode of The Grim, host Kristin descends into the crypts below St. Patrick's high altar, where more than twenty archbishops and cardinals rest in brick-lined tombs. Men who presided over Christmas Masses while influenza swept through tenements, while telegrams arrived with news of sons lost overseas, while a city swollen with immigrants tested the limits of faith and power. The cathedral itself was born in defiance. Archbishop John Joseph Hughes — "Dagger John" — drove its construction through financial ruin, a stonecutters' strike, Civil War interruption, and open anti-Catholic hostility. He died in January 1864 with the walls still unfinished, buried beneath a promise made in faith rather than stone. It fell to John McCloskey — a boy who once rowed across the frozen East River just to attend Mass — to see it through. He became the first American cardinal, quietly transforming decades of struggle into completion. The crypt holds the full weight of that legacy. Francis Spellman, the GI's Cardinal, was confidant to presidents and one of the most powerful Catholic figures in twentieth-century America — faith and political authority so entwined they were nearly indistinguishable. Terence Cooke, his opposite in temperament, governed with compassion and humility, his cause for sainthood now formally open. John O'Connor confronted clergy abuse publicly before the full crisis broke. Edward Egan's tenure was defined by the reckoning that followed. And then there is Fulton Sheen — the golden-voiced broadcaster whose Christmas programs reached millions of living rooms and won Emmy Awards, yet who clashed so bitterly with Cardinal Spellman that he was removed from television and reassigned. Originally interred here, his remains were later transferred to Peoria after a years-long legal dispute. A man who spoke to a nation during silent nights, and knew the solitude of conscience. But the most extraordinary presence in the crypt holds no title at all. Pierre Toussaint is the only layperson ever buried beneath St. Patrick's high altar. Born into slavery in Haiti in 1766, he arrived in New York as an enslaved man and became the city's most sought-after hairdresser. He sheltered orphans, fed yellow fever victims when others fled, and purchased his sister's freedom with his earnings. He helped fund Catholic institutions that would not admit children of his own race — and gave anyway, because the need was real. When he died in 1853, the poor and the powerful stood together at his funeral. More than a century later, his body was reinterred beneath the altar — the only layperson ever granted that honor. In 1997 he was declared Venerable, one step from sainthood. In a crypt filled with men who wielded authority, Pierre Toussaint represents something rarer: holiness without office, faith without recognition, charity practiced inside an unjust world without pretending it was fair. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| Blood & Marble | Chicago's Rosehill Cemetery | 16 déc. 2025 | 00:40:22 | |
In 1900, Chicago families spent their Christmas inside a cemetery. Sleigh rides, carolers, children playing among snow-covered monuments — all of it unfolding across 350 acres on the city's north side. It sounds like a Hallmark movie. It was Rosehill Cemetery. In this episode of The Grim, host Kristin explores Chicago's first and grandest private cemetery — a Gothic fortress of ambition, tragedy, and restless spirits receiving the city's dead since 1859. Its castellated limestone entrance gate mirrors the iconic Water Tower on Michigan Avenue, both designed by the same architect. Inside, Chicago's largest mausoleum holds Tiffany-crafted windows, including a chapel commissioned to bathe its occupant's crypt in underwater blue light at sunset — chairs adorned with seahorses included. That occupant is John G. Shedd. Nearby rest Richard Warren Sears and Aaron Montgomery Ward — mail-order rivals for eternity. Legend says Sears never accepted the arrangement. Witnesses report a tall figure in a top hat pacing the marble corridors and vanishing into the chill. Rosehill holds sixteen Union generals, three victims of the 1929 Saint Valentine's Day Massacre whose grave locations are withheld from public record, victims of the 1903 Iroquois Theatre fire and the 1915 SS Eastland disaster, and Bobby Franks — the fourteen-year-old victim of Leopold and Loeb's crime of the century — beneath a small stone carrying an unbearable weight. Among its other residents: a Nobel Peace Prize-winning Vice President, the inventor who helped wire the modern world, the man who gave Chicago its planetarium, and the composer of The Little Drummer Boy. And among its haunted: a glass-encased statue where ghostly mist rises on the anniversary of a young mother's death, a sixteen-year-old girl whose memorial receives coins and flowers through a glass case — and where visitors report hearing cries on quiet evenings. In December, when snow covers the winding paths and wreaths hang on wrought-iron gates, Rosehill keeps its own quiet vigil. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| Snowbound Souls | The Literary Dead of Sleepy Hollow Cemetery | 09 déc. 2025 | 00:33:37 | |
December and graveyards have always belonged together. The Victorians knew it — they laid evergreen wreaths on the graves of their loved ones on Christmas Day, symbols of eternal life enduring through the cold. And nowhere does that connection feel more alive than Sleepy Hollow Cemetery in Concord, Massachusetts, where winter wraps 119 acres of literary history in snow and shadow. In this episode of The Grim, host Kristin walks the frozen paths of one of America's most beloved rural cemeteries — a landscape designed not to imitate the rigid churchyards of old, but to fold death gently into nature. When Ralph Waldo Emerson dedicated these grounds in 1855, he called it "a garden of the living." In winter, beneath bare pines and frost-covered stone, you understand exactly what he meant. At the heart of the episode is Author's Ridge — where four names carved into granite continue to shape the way America thinks, grieves, and tells its stories. Henry David Thoreau spent two brutal New England winters in a one-room cabin at Walden Pond, writing about frozen ponds as breathing things and ice harvesters carving blocks that would melt months later in Calcutta. He aided freedom seekers through the Underground Railroad on winter nights when frozen rivers offered silent passage. He reverse-engineered the American pencil. He accidentally burned 300 acres of Walden Woods and returned a year later seeking peace from the same scorched trees. In 1860, a late-night rainstorm to count tree rings triggered the bronchitis that would kill him. His final words — "Now comes good sailing" followed by the murmured "moose… Indian" — remain as cryptic as the man himself. Today visitors climb the ridge in snow to leave pencils on his grave. Louisa May Alcott was born on her father's birthday, a winter child in a household more familiar with drafts than comfort. The Christmas breakfast scene in Little Women — four sisters giving away their meal to a starving family — was something she had lived before she ever wrote it. At thirty, she volunteered as a Civil War nurse and was treated with calomel, a mercury compound that poisoned her and caused hallucinations of fire and witches she never fully shook. She wrote Little Women in two and a half months from her sickbed, wrapped in blankets, her breath visible in the cold — and it sold out just in time for Christmas. Behind her warm moral stories she harbored a secret love for lurid thrillers, became the first woman to register to vote in Concord, and raised her dead sister's infant daughter as her own. She died on March 6th, 1888 — two days after her father, having been born on his birthday and buried at his feet, fulfilling her wish to "support them in death and life." Nathaniel Hawthorne was born into guilt. His ancestor Judge John Hathorne was one of the unrepentant interrogators of the Salem witch trials, and the young Nathaniel quietly inserted a "w" into his surname — a small attempted exorcism he never legalized. He spent twelve years in near-total seclusion writing by candlelight before The Scarlet Letter emerged from his bitterness at losing a customs house job. He died in his sleep in a New Hampshire inn in 1864, his once-prolific imagination already flickering out, his body carried back to the ridge where he now rests as the quietest and most somber of the four. Ralph Waldo Emerson — who shaped the very cemetery where he sleeps — believed winter stripped the world to its essential voice. He wrote of entering snow-covered forests and feeling himself become "a transparent eyeball," a soul through which the cold universe passed. In his final years, memory loss dimmed the man who had once commanded words like constellations. He died of pneumonia in 1882, his grave marked not by a carved monument but by a massive unpolished boulder of rose quartz — raw, elemental, as though the earth pushed it up just for him. But Author's Ridge holds more than four fa Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| Legacy Within Trinity | Trinity Churchyard, New York City | 02 déc. 2025 | 00:20:12 | |
Step through the wrought-iron gates of Trinity Churchyard and the roar of Wall Street disappears. What remains is one of the oldest and most storied burial grounds in America — a quiet half-acre in the heart of Manhattan where thousands of souls have rested since the 1660s, and where the history of a nation is etched into weathered stone. In this episode of The Grim, host Kristin walks the grounds of Trinity Churchyard, tracing the lives buried in its shadow — from Revolutionary heroes and forgotten innovators to a woman who outlived her famous husband by fifty years, and a man whose grave still confounds amateur codebreakers centuries later. Alexander Hamilton rests here beneath a towering white obelisk, his story now known to millions through Lin-Manuel Miranda's Broadway phenomenon. But Trinity holds far more than Hamilton's ghost. Eliza Schuyler Hamilton — who survived betrayal, the death of her son, financial ruin, and the duel that destroyed her family — lies beside him, her grave still receiving flowers from visitors who understand that her story is as extraordinary as his. Angelica Schuyler Church, Eliza's brilliant sister and Hamilton's most intellectually intimate correspondent, rests nearby — her relationship with Hamilton the subject of historical debate and enduring fascination. Robert Fulton, whose steamboat reshaped American commerce and earned him accusations of witchcraft from startled riverbank witnesses, sleeps a few steps away. Albert Gallatin — the longest-serving Secretary of the Treasury in American history, an immigrant who quietly held the young nation's economy together while politicians raged around him — lies here largely overlooked. John Peter Zenger, the printer who was thrown in prison for daring to publish the truth and whose trial ignited the fire of American press freedom, has a grave so unassuming you might walk past it without a second glance. And then there is James Leeson. Born 1756, dead at thirty-eight, his life almost entirely lost to history — yet his headstone, carved with Masonic symbols, a winged hourglass, a flaming urn, and what appears to be a deliberate cryptogram, has drawn amateur codebreakers and conspiracy theorists for generations. He left behind no great deeds, no recorded legacy — only a stone that refuses to stop asking questions. The hauntings here are quieter than some, but no less unsettling. Near Hamilton's grave, visitors have reported a solitary figure in colonial dress standing silent among the stones. Footsteps along empty gravel paths, sudden bone-deep chills on warm nights, and sighs carried on the Manhattan wind. In the early 1800s, overcrowding forced hasty reburials — coffins barely a foot and a half beneath the soil, older remains disturbed and shifted to make room — leaving an uneasy energy that some say still lingers between stone and sky. The oldest legible grave belongs to a five-year-old boy, Richard Churcher, who died in 1681 — a reminder that these grounds were absorbing the city's grief long before Trinity Church itself was even chartered. From Founding Fathers to press freedom pioneers, from a woman who rebuilt her life across fifty years of widowhood to a cryptic Mason whose secrets may never be decoded — Trinity Churchyard is where the earliest story of America settled into the earth and never quite let go. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| The Pumpkin Patch Burying Ground | King's Chapel, Boston MA | 25 nov. 2025 | 00:19:15 | |
Before Boston was Boston, there was a pumpkin patch — and a grieving man who asked to be buried in it. That quiet wish became King's Chapel Burying Ground, the city's oldest cemetery, and one of the most haunted stops on the Freedom Trail. In this episode of The Grim, host Kristin traces nearly four centuries of history buried in less than half an acre. We begin with Isaac Johnson, whose 1630 death seeded this plot of earth as Boston's first field of the dead, and follow the ground through its most disruptive chapters: a Royal Governor who seized sacred soil by force to build an Anglican church, and Victorian-era "improvements" that rearranged headstones into tidy rows — while leaving the bodies exactly where they were. Today, almost no headstone at King's Chapel marks the grave beneath it. Over a thousand souls rest here. Only 505 stones remain. Among them are some of colonial America's most consequential figures. John Winthrop, founder of Boston and first Governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, lies in a family tomb near Tremont Street. Mary Chilton Winslow — believed to be the first woman to step off the Mayflower onto Plymouth Rock — rests in the Winslow Tomb. William Dawes Jr., the overlooked midnight rider who warned Patriots via the land route while Paul Revere took to the water, has a marker here, though his remains were quietly moved by descendants in 1882. And Elizabeth Pain, buried here in 1704, may have inspired Nathaniel Hawthorne to write Hester Prynne — her grave a possible seed for The Scarlet Letter. Then there are the darker threads. Wait Still Winthrop, grandson of the governor, served as one of nine magistrates on the Salem Witch Trials' Court of Oyer and Terminer. Thomas Brattle, buried nearby, wrote one of the most courageous dissenting letters of the era, openly condemning the use of spectral evidence at the height of the hysteria. And Widow Margaret Thatcher — accused of witchcraft but never arrested, mother-in-law to Salem magistrate Jonathan Corwin — rests here too, her gravestone long since swallowed by centuries of shifting soil. But it is the hauntings that have made King's Chapel legendary. The Headless Madam, an African-American woman whose body was desecrated at burial, is said to drift among the graves still — an angry, mournful presence that refuses to be forgotten. The man buried alive, or so his relative insisted, is said to have left a pocket of claustrophobic dread in one corner of the yard that visitors still describe today. Captain Kidd's spirit is rumored to linger despite history's insistence that he's buried elsewhere — and local lore holds that tapping a headstone three times in the dark and whispering his name may draw an answer. The displaced dead, unmoored from their own headstones by Victorian rearrangement, are said to wander the grounds at night searching for markers that no longer belong to them. And a Little Girl in White follows visitors silently through the graves, reaching out with cold hands. One of the most striking objects in the entire cemetery requires no ghost story at all: the headstone of Joseph Tapping, carved with Death reaching to snuff a candle while Father Time desperately tries to keep the flame alive. It is widely considered the most beautiful gravestone in Boston — and one of the most haunting memento mori in New England. A journey through colonial Boston, Salem witch trial connections, Revolutionary history, and some of the most enduring ghost legends in New England — where the pumpkin patch became a city's oldest sorrow. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| Eternal Enemies | Old Gray Cemetery, Knoxville TN | 18 nov. 2025 | 00:28:20 | |
Step through the iron gates of Old Gray Cemetery — Knoxville, Tennessee's most atmospheric Victorian burial ground, where Appalachian ghost lore, Civil War grudges, and marble angels have kept uneasy company since 1850. In this episode of The Grim, host Kristin traces the full haunted history of Old Gray: how a fear of epidemic drove Knoxville to build a garden cemetery beyond its city limits, how the cholera outbreak of 1854 filled its earliest rows before the grass had even settled, and how the catastrophic 1904 New Market train disaster — one of the worst rail collisions in Tennessee history — brought dozens of victims through its gates in a single morning. We walk the grounds of Knoxville's most infamous feuds: the Mabry–O'Connor gunfight that left three men dead on Gay Street in 1882 — so notorious Mark Twain wrote about it — and the post-war confrontation between Union Major Eldad Camp and Confederate Colonel Henry Ashby, enemies in life and reluctant neighbors in death. Nearby lie Civil War rivals Parson Brownlow and John Hervey Crozier, separated in death by nothing but a narrow cemetery road and a century of unresolved bitterness. But Old Gray holds more than violence. The father of Tennessee Williams rests here. So does the mother of Secret Garden author Frances Hodgson Burnett. Diplomat Horace Maynard, suffragist Lizzie Crozier French, and WWI General Lawrence Tyson — whose son gave his name to Knoxville's airport — are among those whose lives shaped a city and a state. Then there are the legends. The Lady in White drifts among the stones at twilight. Black Aggie moves through the shadows between headstones. A hollow monument reportedly served as a Prohibition-era liquor drop. And the Lillian Gaines statue — a small marble girl with no confirmed identity — draws visitors who still leave flowers in her lap. A journey through Southern Gothic history, Victorian mourning art, and Appalachian ghost lore — where the haunted and the historical walk hand in hand. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| Bones of the Risorgimento | The Ossuaries of San Martino & Solferino, Italy | 11 nov. 2025 | 00:13:36 | |
Step beyond the veil with The Grim as host Kristin explores the haunting ossuaries of San Martino and Solferino in Lombardy, Italy—where thousands of bones rest in solemn tribute beneath cypress groves. The Battle of Solferino and San Martino (1859) was a brutal clash that forged modern Italy and inspired the creation of the Red Cross. Here, in sacred charnel houses, skulls and bones are arranged in silent testimony to war's cost and Italy's fight for unity. Discover how Jean-Henri Dunant's compassion amid the carnage gave rise to humanitarian law, and how the Tower of San Martino now watches over fields once soaked in blood. No ghost stories echo here—only bones that remember the Risorgimento's price. 📍 Ossuaries of San Martino della Battaglia & Solferino, Lombardy, Italy Perfect for: Italian history enthusiasts, ossuary visitors, Red Cross history buffs, bone chapel tourists 🎧 Descend with The Grim into Italy's most solemn monuments. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| The Dead Watch | Tolomato Cemetery, St. Augustine FL | 04 nov. 2025 | 00:15:04 | |
In America's oldest city, beneath sighing oaks draped in Spanish moss, lies a cemetery that opens its gates to the living only three hours a month. The spirits, however, keep their own hours. In this episode of The Grim, host Kristin walks the grounds of Tolomato Cemetery in St. Augustine, Florida — one of the oldest planned cemeteries in the United States, and one of its most restless. Long before the first headstone arrived, this soil cradled a Franciscan mission for the Guale Indians, displaced from their Georgia homeland and guided south in search of sanctuary. When British forces destroyed the mission, the ground became something else entirely — a refuge not for the living, but for the dead. What followed was centuries of layered grief. Menorcan refugees, brought to Florida as indentured laborers and driven north by cruelty, buried their dead here in 1777 after their priest petitioned the British governor for permission. Spanish settlers, yellow fever victims, Confederate militia members, convicts, and mothers all followed. By 1892, when the gates finally closed, roughly a thousand souls had been folded into its soil — many of them without peace. Among the most dramatic is Bishop Augustin Verot, the Rebel Bishop — a man who defended the Church while defending slavery, whose funeral became one of St. Augustine's most notorious disasters. Sealed in an airtight iron coffin against the Florida heat, the Bishop did not go quietly. The coffin exploded during the procession, scattering mourners and remains alike. What could be gathered was carried to a small white chapel on the grounds — where Father Félix Varela already rested. Varela was a Cuban priest, philosopher, and freedom fighter who spent his life advocating against slavery and for human dignity before dying in exile in St. Augustine in 1853. His remains were later returned to Cuba, but visitors still report a watchful presence near the chapel — a figure in clerical garb that appears and vanishes among the graves. Whether it is Varela or the Rebel Bishop, no one can say for certain. Then there is the Lady in White — a woman saved from premature burial when a branch struck her forehead during her own funeral procession and drew blood, revealing she still lived. She survived six more years, but her story didn't end with her. On foggy nights, a pale figure drifts silently among the graves, her face hidden beneath shadow and moss. And in the branches of the ancient live oak near the cemetery gates, some visitors still glimpse a small pale child — James Morgan, five years old, who fell from those same branches in 1877 and was buried in the very spot where he landed. His mother swore she saw him in the tree afterward. Others have too. A cemetery open three hours a month. Haunted every hour of every day. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| The Vampire's Tree | Panteón de Belén, Guadalajara Mexico | 31 oct. 2025 | 00:30:03 | |
Join host Kristin as The Grim opens the gate on All Hallows' Eve, crossing into Panteón de Belén — Guadalajara's most haunted cemetery, where Gothic arches, marble crypts, and centuries of legend wait beneath the Mexican sun. Originally built as part of the Hospital of Belén, a charitable sanctuary established by royal decree in 1751, the grounds were transformed into a burial site in 1848 when cholera swept through Guadalajara and the dead outnumbered the living. Architect Manuel Gómez Ibarra — the same visionary behind Guadalajara's cathedral — designed the cemetery in two realms: one for the wealthy, one for the common soul. Among its notable residents is José Cuervo, founder of the world-famous tequila brand, whose family holds a plot within its walls. But the cemetery's most enduring legacy belongs not to the famous, but to the forgotten — young women buried without surnames, their names erased to protect the reputations of the men who wronged them. The legends of Panteón de Belén are as layered as its history. A vampire stalked 19th-century Guadalajara, draining animals and stealing newborns until locals hunted it down and buried it beneath a concrete slab — from which a tree now grows, its bark said to bleed dark sap when cut. Victoriana Hurtado, a woman with catalepsy, was buried alive by her own sons before they could inherit her fortune, her hand breaking through the earth and turning to stone. A young boy named Nachito, terrified of the dark in life, had his coffin rise from the ground ten nights in a row until his parents built him a tomb above ground — where visitors still leave toys and candy today. Star-crossed lovers José and Andrea, forbidden from marrying in life, were buried beneath interwoven stone crosses, their union finally sealed in death. A pirate's hidden treasure, a dare gone mad, a night watchman who never existed, and a phantom carriage that stops at the cemetery gates but is never seen — the stories here never end. During Día de los Muertos, Panteón de Belén transforms entirely. Candlelight dances across gravestones, a monumental altar built by local students holds nearly 1,500 candles, and guided tours bring its restless spirits to life. It is a place where history, legend, and memory are inseparable — where the living and the dead share the same flickering light. Open only by guided tour, with night photography forbidden, Panteón de Belén remains one of Mexico's most significant heritage sites and most haunted locations. Some say the photography ban protects its restless souls. Others whisper it keeps the vampire from rising once more. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| Gunntown's Haunting Hollow | Gunntown Cemetery, Naugatuck CT | 28 oct. 2025 | 00:21:26 | |
Join host Kristin as The Grim opens the gate to Gunntown Cemetery — one of Connecticut's oldest and most haunted burial grounds, tucked into the quiet folds of Naugatuck where history and the paranormal collide. Established in 1790 on a modest hill above the Naugatuck River, Gunntown Cemetery holds the remains of the men and women who carved a community from New England wilderness. Among them rests, David Wooster, a Revolutionary War veteran who fought for the very independence that allowed this settlement to thrive, buried beside his wife Anna in a testament to love and loss. Enos Gunn, the founding family patriarch whose name the cemetery bears, surveyed and settled this land alongside his wife Abigail, their legacy etched not in marble but in the stone walls and fields that still surround the grounds. Spanning nearly a century of American history, Leverett Osborn lived from the aftermath of the Revolution through the Civil War — a man who witnessed Naugatuck transform from an isolated farming settlement into an industrial borough, and whose long sleep anchors the old world to the new. But in Gunntown, the dead do not rest quietly. The cemetery's reputation for paranormal activity is among the strongest in New England, certified haunted by famed investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren. Visitors report phantom music — a mournful fiddle or solemn hymn drifting from no visible source — and a phantom child in 19th-century clothing who darts between headstones before vanishing entirely. A tall, featureless Shadow Man paces the tree-lined perimeter, his presence causing cell phones, cameras, and lights to flicker and fail. Dogs refuse to enter from the road. Temperature drops strike without warning, even on summer nights. EVP recordings, unexplained orbs, and the unmistakable sensation of unseen fingers along a shoulder have made Gunntown one of the most investigated paranormal sites in Connecticut. This is what locals call a thin place — where the veil between the living and the dead is frayed, where Revolutionary drumbeats echo alongside a child's laughter, and where the pioneers buried beneath moss-covered slate never quite let go. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| The Grim's Guide to Salem | 8 Haunted Cemeteries in Salem MA | 21 oct. 2025 | 00:21:26 | |
Join host Kristin as The Grim opens the gate on a guided walk through Salem's most historic and haunted graveyards — eight burial grounds, each carrying its own dark legacy from the witch trials to the present day. Charter Street Cemetery, also known as the Old Burying Point, is Salem's must-see — one of the most haunted burial grounds in America, where judges Bartholomew Gedney and John Hathorne, who condemned the accused in 1692, rest just steps from the Witch Trials Memorial dedicated to their victims. The memorial, dedicated by Nobel Laureate Elie Wiesel in 1992, bears the names of twenty souls executed for witchcraft, their true graves still unknown — denied consecrated ground in life, lost to history in death. Visitors report shadow figures, ghost lights near Puritan-era stones, whispers rising from the earth, and the constant, unshakeable sensation of being watched. A short walk away, Howard Street Cemetery carries the weight of Giles Corey — the only man pressed to death during the witch trials — who now rests in an unmarked grave on grounds established nearly a century after his execution. Visitors report sudden chills, faint whispers, and the unsettling feeling of an unseen presence walking beside them. Broad Street Cemetery, Salem's second oldest, holds the Corwin family plot — Judge Jonathan Corwin and Sheriff George Corwin, the same family behind the Witch House that still stands today — where shadows shift between leaning stones and figures vanish at the edge of sight. Beyond Salem's center, Greenlawn Cemetery offers rolling autumn grounds and family mausoleums, while Harmony Grove invites quiet reflection through its garden cemetery design. The Friends Burying Ground, Salem's third oldest and smallest, holds the Quaker community's quiet legacy — a painful irony in a town founded by those fleeing religious persecution. And just outside Salem in Marblehead, Old Burial Hill — one of New England's oldest cemeteries, established in 1638 and famously seen in Hocus Pocus — holds a memorial for Wilmot Redd, executed for witchcraft in 1692, alongside reports of disembodied voices, shadowy apparitions, and the restless spirits of the Pierce family tomb. Throughout Salem's graveyards, the stones themselves tell a story — winged skulls, cherubs, urns, and weeping willows carved by hands long gone, each symbol a quiet dialogue between the living and the dead that has endured for centuries. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| Hungry Hill: The Ghosts of Oniontown | Old Wethersfield Village Cemetery, CT | 14 oct. 2025 | 00:18:51 | |
Here's the refined, SEO-optimized episode summary in flowing prose: Join host Kristin as The Grim unlatches the gate to Old Wethersfield Village Cemetery — one of Connecticut's oldest and most haunted burial grounds, where colonial history, witchcraft trials, and restless spirits converge on a hill older than the nation itself. Long before English settlers arrived, this land was Pyquaug, home to the Wongunks people. By 1638, Puritan settlers had chosen Hungry Hill as their burial ground — a rise by the Connecticut River whose name is wrapped in rumor and older spirits. The cemetery tells the full arc of American belief through its stones alone: at the base, stark Puritan skulls and hourglasses preach mortality; higher up, urns and weeping willows soften grief into sentiment; at the crest, Victorian cherubs and verse turn mourning into poetry. Among its most significant residents, Leonard Chester — one of Wethersfield's original ten founders — rests beneath a plain Puritan slab, his stone a deliberate act of remembrance for a colony clinging to survival. Reverend Gershom Bulkeley, military chaplain and author of the witch trial manuscript Will and Doom, lies nearby, his grave radiating the severity of Puritan judgment. Colonel John Chester led troops at Bunker Hill and marched with Washington through Valley Forge, his grave tying this quiet hill to the roar of the Revolution. And a cenotaph for Silas Deane — the diplomat who secretly secured French support and helped win American independence — marks a man betrayed by his own country, stripped of honor, and found dead aboard a ship under deeply suspicious circumstances, his body buried in foreign soil far from home. But Wethersfield's darkest legacy predates Salem by nearly thirty years. Mary Johnson was hanged for witchcraft here in 1648, the first woman executed for witchcraft in New England. Katherine Harrison, a wealthy widow accused in 1669 for the crime of living independently after her husband's death, was convicted and exiled — her property seized, her name destroyed. Though she is not buried on Hungry Hill, her absence haunts it. It is a haunting without a tomb, a silence that hums with injustice. That injustice appears to linger. Visitors to Old Wethersfield Cemetery report phantom voices rising from the oldest stones, sudden cold spots sharp enough to raise the skin, shadowed figures that dissolve when approached, and the sound of heavy footsteps on paths no one else walks. Orbs appear in photographs above certain graves, and the Webb-Deane-Stevens Museum's Witches and Tombstones tours draw visitors into the colonial dark where guides speak of apparitions drifting through the ancient burying ground long after dusk. Wethersfield won't offer Halloween trinkets or staged scares — what it offers is something quieter, older, and far richer. The past here doesn't simply wait. It walks. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| The Asylum of Horror | Danvers State Hospital Cemetery, Massachusetts | 07 oct. 2025 | 00:16:54 | |
Join host Kristin as The Grim steps into the forgotten field of Danvers State Hospital Cemetery — where nearly 800 souls lie buried beneath numbered stones in the woods of Danvers, Massachusetts, their names erased and their stories locked away by decades of silence. Built in 1878 on Hathorne Hill — land tied to the family of Judge John Hathorne, whose name is stained by the Salem witch trials — Danvers State Hospital rose as a sprawling Kirkbride complex designed to heal 500 patients. At its peak, over 2,000 were crammed inside. What began as a vision of moral treatment became a monument to suffering: overcrowded wards, institutionalized abuse, and the darkest chapter of American psychiatric history. Danvers is widely recognized as the birthplace of the lobotomy, where alongside insulin shock therapy, electroconvulsive treatment, and physical restraints, patients — many of whom were not mentally ill at all, but simply inconvenient, misunderstood, or labeled hysterical — endured treatments that carved torment into the walls. Families signed loved ones over and rarely came back. When the hospital finally closed in 1992, most of the buildings were demolished. In 2006, a fire visible from Boston seventeen miles away consumed what remained. Luxury apartments now stand on the scars of the vanished asylum. But the cemetery remains — sunken, silent, and largely untouched. For years its graves bore only numbers. The Danvers State Memorial Committee has worked painstakingly through brittle ledgers to match names to markers, restoring fragments of identity to the lost. Still, rows of numbered stones endure, mute witnesses to abandonment in both life and death. And the dead do not appear to rest quietly. Urban explorers and paranormal investigators who entered the abandoned buildings before demolition described slamming doors, phantom sobbing, and the steady sound of footsteps in empty stairwells. Shadow figures loomed in doorways and vanished when approached. EVP recordings captured whispered words — sometimes a single plea for help, sometimes full phrases too clear to dismiss — emerging most strongly from the tunnels and the cemetery itself. The Administration Block's clock tower drew reports of faces in windows and the faint sound of typing long after the wards were gutted. The tunnels, narrow corridors running beneath the complex, were so oppressive that some investigators refused to enter at all. The cultural shadow of Danvers stretches far beyond its grounds. H.P. Lovecraft drew on the hospital when creating Arkham Sanitarium, which gave rise to Arkham Asylum in the Batman mythos. The 2001 film Session 9 was shot within its abandoned walls, using the building itself as the antagonist. The podcast Lore devoted an entire episode to its haunted history. Danvers became the archetype of the American horror asylum — not because of fiction, but because of the suffering it truly contained. What lingers here may not be ghosts in the traditional sense. It may be something deeper: the memory of pain so profound it etched itself into the earth. To walk the cemetery at Danvers is to feel the weight of lives hidden away, forgotten, and only now beginning to be remembered. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| Unwelcomed Ghosts | All Saints' Church Cemetery, Pawleys Island SC | 30 sept. 2025 | 00:13:51 | |
Join host Kristin as The Grim unlatches the wrought-iron gate of All Saints' Church Cemetery on Pawleys Island, South Carolina — a romantic gothic acre draped in Spanish moss where Southern antebellum charm meets some of the most enduring ghost stories in the American South. Founded in 1739, All Saints Parish holds a central place in the history of Georgetown County. The church that stands today was rebuilt in 1917 using bricks salvaged from the Waverly Plantation rice mill, its grounds consecrated in the 1820s and now listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Beneath its moss-canopied oaks rest some of the Lowcountry's most storied names. Thomas George Pawley, the island's namesake, gifted the very land on which the church was built. Benjamin Huger, who as a child of eight watched Lafayette step onto American soil, grew into a congressman and host of presidents. Plowden C.J. Weston, one of the wealthiest men in the antebellum South, opposed secession yet followed Carolina into war and died before completing his term as Lieutenant Governor. Poet and novelist James Dickey, whose novel Deliverance burned his name into American memory, rests here alongside Governor Carroll Campbell Jr., who guided South Carolina through Hurricane Hugo's devastation in 1989. But the dead at All Saints do not rest quietly. A hand-painted sign at the cemetery entrance reads "The Holy Ghost is the only Ghost we welcome here" — a warning that feels less like comfort and more like confirmation. The most famous spirit is Alice, a seventeen-year-old girl whose brother tore a simple gold ring from her neck and hurled it into the marsh when he discovered her secret love for a young lumberman he considered beneath the family name. Alice died of yellow fever soon after, her last words a plea for the ring she had lost. Visitors today report feeling a tug on their own wedding bands as they circle her grave, and her pale figure is said to drift through her brother's nearby home, the Hermitage, searching still for what was taken. Beyond the cemetery gates, the barrier island itself carries its own spectral legend. The Gray Man, a cloaked figure of unknown identity, has walked the beach before every major hurricane to strike the South Carolina coast. Those who see him and heed his warning are said to return after the storm to find their homes standing untouched amid the surrounding ruin — a ghost who haunts not to frighten, but to protect. All Saints' Cemetery is a place The Grim considers among the most beautiful it has opened its gates to — a stage of Southern gothic grace where history, tragedy, and the supernatural gather beneath the same canopy of moss. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| The Controversy of Death | The Tophet of Carthage, Tunis | 23 sept. 2025 | 00:16:12 | |
Join host Kristin as The Grim crosses deserts of time to step onto the sands of Carthage — where the ancient Tophet waits, steeped in ash, controversy, and one of archaeology's most haunting unsolved debates. Unearthed by smugglers in 1921 just beyond the modern streets of Tunis, the Tophet of Carthage is the oldest and largest of its kind ever discovered — established within two generations of Carthage's founding in the late ninth century BCE and active for over six centuries until Rome razed the city in 146 BCE. Spreading across more than 6,000 square meters, the site held an estimated 20,000 urns lowered into the earth between 400 and 200 BCE, each guarded by carved stone steles bearing dedications to the Phoenician deities Baal Hammon and Tanit. Inside those urns, archaeologists found the cremated remains of infants and young children — and beside them, the bones of lambs, burned on the same pyres, sealed together in clay. What happened here is a question that has divided scholars for a century. Ancient writers painted a picture of ritual child sacrifice: Diodorus Siculus described a bronze statue with outstretched hands sloping into a fiery pit, while Plutarch wrote of children placed before the gods as drums drowned out their cries. Christian authors later claimed the practice continued in secret. Yet these writers were enemies of Carthage, writing centuries after the fact, and their accounts contradict both one another and the archaeological evidence itself. No Carthaginian texts survive to confirm or deny what took place. Some scholars argue the Tophet was simply a specialized cemetery for infants who died naturally, their graves marked with prayers for renewal and protection. Others, including Oxford's Dr. Josephine Quinn, argue the literary, documentary, and archaeological evidence for child sacrifice is now too strong to dismiss. The debate is unresolved and perhaps unresolvable. Nearly 40% of the individuals studied showed signs of dying before or at birth, but critics note that cremation distorts bone evidence beyond certainty. Tophets nearly identical to Carthage's have been found across Phoenician settlements in Malta, Sardinia, and Sicily, suggesting this was not an isolated practice but a widespread feature of an entire civilization — one that later shifted under Roman rule toward animal offerings of lambs, goats, and birds. Italian scholar Paolo Xella offers perhaps the most measured view: that child sacrifice at the Tophet was rare, summoned only in times of war, plague, or catastrophe, with animals substituting in calmer times. What remains is ash, stone, and silence — a sanctuary that refuses to surrender its truth. Whether burial ground, altar, or both tangled together in ancient fire, the Tophet of Carthage endures as one of antiquity's most haunting enigmas. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| Paris in Mourning | The Ghosts of Père Lachaise, Paris | 16 sept. 2025 | 00:36:39 | |
Join host Kristin as The Grim unlatches the rusted gate of Père Lachaise — Paris's most iconic necropolis, where over 3.5 million visitors a year wander among crumbling angels, marble crypts, and the restless dead of centuries past. Established in 1804 under Napoleon's order on land once belonging to the confessor of King Louis XIV, Père Lachaise began as a practical solution to a city overrun by its own dead. Architect Alexandre-Théodore Brongniart designed its tree-lined avenues in the style of classical gardens, while urban planner Nicolas Frochot filled its early emptiness with a clever strategy — reinterring the remains of Molière and La Fontaine with great ceremony to draw the living. It worked. The wealthy followed with their marble dreams, and Père Lachaise became the final performance of Parisian ambition. Among its most visited residents is Jim Morrison, frontman of The Doors, whose grave has become a shrine for the strange since his death in Paris in 1971 at age 27. His gravestone bears the Greek epitaph meaning "True to his own spirit" — or perhaps more chillingly, "According to his own demon." Medieval lovers Peter Abélard and Héloïse, separated in life by castration, convent walls, and centuries of exile, now lie side by side beneath a neo-Gothic canopy, their bones having wandered nearly as much as their souls before finally arriving here in 1817. Édith Piaf, the Little Sparrow whose voice became the sound of Paris breathing through heartbreak, rests beneath a simple black marble slab — her grave still crowded with roses and whispered lyrics decades after her death in 1963. Frédéric Chopin's body lies here, but not his heart — smuggled back to Warsaw by his sister after his death at 39, preserved in cognac, now sealed within a church pillar in his beloved homeland. Oscar Wilde's winged sphinx monument, once covered in lipstick kisses from pilgrims, marks the grave of a man imprisoned for daring to love freely. Marcel Proust, Honoré de Balzac, Eugène Delacroix, Molière, Gertrude Stein, and Victor Noir — whose bronze statue's well-worn anatomy has inspired a fertility legend — all rest within these walls. But Père Lachaise is not entirely peaceful ground. In 1871, 147 Communard revolutionaries were cornered among its tombstones, shot against its eastern wall, and thrown into a mass grave. Memorials to Holocaust victims and three monuments to the fallen of World War One remind visitors that this is not merely a collection of personal sorrows, but a landscape of collective human tragedy. Ghost hunters and wanderers alike report hearing Chopin's Funeral March drifting from his tomb, seeing a smoke-like figure near Morrison's grave, and feeling an overwhelming wave of forgotten memories near Proust's stone. The Communards' Wall radiates a cold despair that no amount of Parisian sunlight seems to reach. An active cemetery with a waiting list for its coveted plots, Père Lachaise is also home to over 5,000 trees, foxes, lizards, and birds — one of Paris's most vital green spaces, where the living and the dead share the same quiet ground. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| A Tango with Death | Recoleta Cemetery, Buenos Aires | 09 sept. 2025 | 00:31:31 | |
In the heart of Buenos Aires, tucked behind neo-classical gates and Doric columns, lies a city built entirely for the dead. Fourteen acres of marble mausoleums, shadowed corridors, and iron doors that groan in the wind — where over 4,600 vaults rise like frozen cathedrals and some descend three levels underground, each drawer holding a casket, each casket holding a story that refuses to end. In this episode of The Grim, host Kristin walks the stone streets of Recoleta Cemetery — one of the most famous burial grounds in the world and one of Argentina's most haunted. Most visitors come for one name. Eva Perón — Evita — rests here in the Duarte family tomb, buried five meters underground beneath steel and concrete, as though even now the living fear she might rise. She died at thirty-three, emaciated and sewn into her dress for her final public appearance. After her death, her embalmed body was stolen by the military, hidden for sixteen years under a false name in Milan, and only returned to Argentina after decades of exile. Her tomb bears no grand statue. The flowers never stop anyway. But Recoleta holds far more than Evita. Rufina Cambaceres was nineteen years old when doctors declared her dead of a sudden heart attack in 1902 and sealed her in the family vault. Days later, a cemetery worker heard strange noises. When the tomb was opened, the coffin lid was cracked, her fingers were bloodied, and deep gouges ran along the inside. She had been buried alive. Her mother commissioned a life-size Art Nouveau statue of Rufina reaching for a door she never opened. Visitors still report hearing soft weeping near her grave during storms. David Alleno spent decades as a humble cemetery caretaker, saving every peso toward a single goal — to be buried among the elite he served. He commissioned an Italian sculptor to carve his own likeness holding the tools of his trade. Then, legend says, once everything was arranged, he went home and took his own life. Visitors still report hearing the faint jangle of keys echoing down the stone paths. Liliana Crociati de Szaszak died in an avalanche on her honeymoon at twenty-six. At the exact moment she died, her beloved dog Sabú began to howl — and then died too. Her parents built her a Neo-Gothic vault where a bronze statue of Liliana stands forever in her wedding gown, her hand resting on Sabú's head, before a door she can never enter. Then there is the Lady in White — seen at dusk, gliding alone through the corridors in mourning lace, always vanishing before anyone can approach. Tour guides swear by her. Groundskeepers lower their voices near the northwest corner after sunset. And in the sealed vaults, cemetery workers still whisper about the lights — candles flickering behind stained glass in tombs that have no doors, no keys, and no living occupants. A city built for the dead and still owned by them. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| One If by Liberty, Two If by Death | Granary Burying Ground, Boston MA | 02 sept. 2025 | 00:32:51 | |
It doesn't haunt with spectacle. It broods. And when the last tourist passes through the gate and the city exhales into sleep, the ground stirs once more. Granary Burying Ground is one of the most visited cemeteries in America — a Freedom Trail landmark, where over 5,000 souls rest beneath crooked elms in the heart of Boston, though barely half that number have a name above ground. Founded in 1660, it holds the architects of the American Revolution and the shadows they left behind. In this episode of The Grim, host Kristin walks the worn slate paths of Granary, tracing the lives of the men and women who built a nation — and the ones history nearly forgot in the process. John Hancock is here — the man who signed his name so boldly on the Declaration of Independence that King George could read it without his spectacles, a signature so large it became a target on his back. Paul Revere rests beneath a modest stone, the silversmith whose midnight ride became legend, though history quietly notes he never finished the journey. Samuel Adams, the man behind the Sons of Liberty, the Boston Tea Party, and the pamphlets that turned frustration into revolution, lies nearby — a radical who later condemned his own kind when farmers rose up in Shays' Rebellion. And Peter Faneuil, whose slave trade profits built the hall that became the Cradle of Liberty, rests here too — a profound and unsettling irony carved into Boston's cobblestones. Then there are the names most textbooks skip. Crispus Attucks — of African and Wampanoag descent, likely once enslaved, later a free sailor — was the first to fall in the Boston Massacre on March 5, 1770, shot twice in the chest, his blood staining the snow red before a war had even begun. James Otis Jr. thundered "taxation without representation is tyranny" in a five-hour courtroom oration that John Adams later called the birth of American independence — then died exactly as he had wished, struck by lightning in 1783. And Samuel Sewall, one of nine judges who condemned nineteen people to hang during the Salem Witch Trials, did something none of the others ever did: he stood before his congregation and publicly repented. He spent the rest of his life atoning — publishing the first anti-slavery tract printed in North America, a document his society largely ignored. The hauntings here are quiet but persistent. Orbs drift between stones at dusk. James Otis Jr. is said to pace his grave at dawn, his mind still loud with revolution. Paranormal investigators have recorded whispers and electromagnetic spikes near his marker. And beneath it all, the weight of more than 5,000 souls — stacked in layers beneath a city that has built itself over and around them, their stories pressing upward through the soil. A cemetery that doesn't cry out. It waits. And if you linger long enough, it may remember your name. Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||
| The Reincarnation | 19 août 2025 | 00:00:43 | |
Shhh… The Haunting Return of Season Two Begins Sept 2. Are you ready to step beyond the veil… and into the history of hauntings once again? Support The Grim by buying a cup of our next Grave Grind! | |||