#graveyard gothic

[everydaygothic]

pacific northwest graveyard gothic

The rain soaked soil is turned over and the headstones look as if they have been knocked askew. Between the fog and the rain the rustling you hear in the trees just over there, you cannot make out any of the names. There is no fence around this cemetery, and nothing to hold in any ghosts...or whatever else dug its way out of those graves.

[existential-cryptid]

are you sure thats what you saw?

are you sure you're even real?

don't trust your eyes, they betray you.

[waywardwarlocks]

— unholy

[mispronouncing-michaelangelo]

|| neither lovers nor brothers but drawn together nonetheless ||

[everydaygothic]

southwestern graveyard

Can it be called a graveyard when there is only a single plank of wood propped by rocks because the ground was too hard to dig in? If there was a name, it is long gone now. Can it be called a graveyard if the ghost is leaning against that plank of wood with his hat pulled low over his eyes and snoring softly?

[everydaygothic]

midwestern graveyard gothic

There is space taken from the adjacent cornfields and shaded by trees that were planted at the same time as the first graves were dug. The dozens of stones crumble silently, the names of a few families disappearing into the golden grass that grows up around them. The ghosts in this graveyard will welcome you in past the rusted fence. Whether they will let you back out again depends.

[existential-cryptid]

you find yourself once more in the cemetery that lies next to your house, old as the town itself.

you walk through the headstones and feel the crowd of spirits grow ever larger behind you. you dont mind, they're of no strangers to you.

you stop at a grave, unremarkable from the rest aside from the bouquet of flowers laying on the top of it.

white lilies. freshly plucked.

you stare fondly at the grave, until you notice a stain on the cold stone surface, a brush of fresh mud on the corner of the headstone, still wet from last night's snow.

when you look down to the ground around you, you see a set of mud encrusted boot prints frozen into the ground.

a chill runs through your body as you follow the tracks with your eyes to a grave about 50 feet in the distance, mud and snow pushed up from the dirt as if freshly dug.

turn back to your house, it's best to let sleeping dogs lie.

[mispronouncing-michaelangelo]

@hekatesqueerchild I LOVE YOU