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00:00:04
Cypress Grove Cemetery is peaceful.00:00:06
Mostly beautiful tombs, oak trees with00:00:09
Spanish moss, quiet nights. The only00:00:12
strange thing is the jazz music I hear00:00:14
around 200 a.m. trumpets, trombones,00:00:17
drums playing slow and mournful. The00:00:20
music comes from inside the cemetery,00:00:22
moving between the tombs. Last Saturday,00:00:26
I followed it and found a funeral00:00:28
procession.00:00:29
20 people in black, some with00:00:31
instruments, others holding umbrellas on00:00:33
a dry night following a horsedrawn00:00:36
hearse. Their clothes looked like the00:00:38
1920s.00:00:40
The horse had no eyes, just empty00:00:43
sockets. The people were too pale, moved00:00:46
too stiff, and their necks cracked when00:00:49
they turned. One woman looked at me,00:00:52
beautiful but wrong, with cloudy white00:00:55
eyes and cracked brown teeth. She smiled00:00:59
and raised a finger to her lips. The00:01:02
whole procession turned to face me.00:01:04
"We've been waiting for you," she said.00:01:06
"Every night we add one more. Soon we'll00:01:09
have enough to leave, and you're going00:01:11
to help us." Behind her, the receiving00:01:14
tomb opened, revealing dozens of stapped00:01:17
coffins. One was empty with my name on a00:01:21
brass plate. That was a week ago. I'm00:01:24
writing this down because if something00:01:26
happens to me, someone needs to know00:01:28
what's going on at Cypress Grove. My00:01:31
name is Etien Tibido and I've been the00:01:34
night caretaker here for 3 months. The00:01:37
pay is decent. Better than what I made00:01:39
driving deliveries for Rouse's Market.00:01:42
And the work is simple enough. Lock the00:01:44
gates at dusk, patrol the grounds twice00:01:47
nightly, unlock at dawn. The cemetery00:01:50
sits on Canal Street, just past the00:01:52
fairgrounds, surrounded by shotgun00:01:55
houses and corner stores that sell00:01:56
daquiries and styrofoam cups. I grew up00:01:59
in the ninth ward, so I'm used to odd00:02:02
things. New Orleans has always felt like00:02:05
two cities layered on top of each other.00:02:08
The one tourists see during Mardigra and00:02:10
the one that exists in the spaces00:02:12
between.00:02:14
My mama used to say, "The dead here00:02:17
don't rest proper because there's too00:02:19
much water in the ground. That's why we00:02:22
bury people in tombs instead of graves."00:02:26
The city is built on a swamp. And if you00:02:28
dig deep enough, the dead just float00:02:31
back up. When I took this job, the00:02:34
previous caretaker, an old man named00:02:36
Elside Gidri, left me a set of keys and00:02:40
a handwritten note. The note had six00:02:43
rules on it.00:02:44
I laughed when I first read them.00:02:46
Thought he was messing with me, trying00:02:48
to spook the new guy. I'm not laughing00:02:51
anymore. The rules are real. I know00:02:54
because I've seen what happens when you00:02:55
break them. And now, after that00:02:58
procession, after seeing my name on that00:03:01
coffin, I understand something worse.00:03:05
The rules aren't meant to protect me.00:03:07
They're meant to keep me here long00:03:09
enough to become part of whatever's been00:03:10
waiting in Cypress Grove since 1878.00:03:14
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me00:03:17
tell you how this started. My first00:03:19
night at Cypress Grove was September00:03:21
14th.00:03:23
Hot even after sunset. The kind of heat00:03:26
that makes your shirt stick to your00:03:27
back. And the mosquitoes swarm thick00:03:30
enough to breathe in.00:03:32
Outside met me at the main gates just00:03:34
before 7. a thermos of coffee in one00:03:37
hand and a ring of old brass keys in the00:03:40
other. He was 70some, rail thin, with00:03:44
hands that shook when he poured the00:03:45
coffee into two paper cups. His eyes had00:03:48
that watery look old people get, but00:03:51
they were sharp when they focused on me.00:03:54
"You creole?" he asked. My mama was.00:03:59
Why? Good. You'll understand better than00:04:02
most. He handed me the keys. Six of00:04:05
them. Gate key, office key, tool shed00:04:09
key, and three for the old receiving00:04:11
tombs on the north end. Don't lose them.00:04:14
Replacements cost $200. Comes out of00:04:16
your pay. I nodded, clipping them to my00:04:19
belt loop. Walk starts at 8:00. Gates00:04:23
lock at 7:30, but sometimes people00:04:26
linger. Tourists taking photos, families00:04:29
visiting late. Give them until 7:45.00:04:33
Then tell them politely to leave. Most00:04:35
do. The ones who don't. You call the00:04:38
police non-emergency line. Don't try to00:04:41
force anyone out yourself. Make sense.00:04:44
Second walk isn't 1:00 in the morning.00:04:46
Check all the locks. Look for vandalism.00:04:49
Chase off any kids who hop the fence.00:04:51
There's a flashlight in the office, but00:04:53
the solar path light should be enough00:04:54
most nights. We walked through the gates00:04:57
together. The cemetery stretched out in00:05:00
rows of white stone tombs, some as tall00:05:03
as garden sheds, others smaller,00:05:06
family-sized.00:05:08
Crepe myrtle trees lined the paths,00:05:10
their branches heavy with late summer00:05:12
blooms.00:05:14
The air smelled like rain even though00:05:15
the sky was clear.00:05:18
Beautiful place, I said. Elsie didn't00:05:21
answer right away. He stopped in front00:05:24
of a tomb marked Delqua family, 1874.00:05:29
Someone had left fresh flowers in a00:05:30
metal vase, roses still bright red. It00:05:34
is, he said finally. But it's old, older00:05:38
than you think. Parts of this cemetery00:05:41
date back to before the yellow fever00:05:42
epidemic. 4,000 people died that summer.00:05:46
1,878.00:05:49
They brought them here in wagons,00:05:51
stacked them in the receiving tombs00:05:54
because there wasn't time to build00:05:55
family crypts for everyone. No funerals,00:05:59
no music,00:06:01
just bodies and lime powder. I'd heard00:06:04
about the epidemic in school. Every kid00:06:06
in New Orleans learns about it00:06:08
eventually.00:06:10
The fever came up from the docks, spread00:06:12
through the Irish Channel and the French00:06:14
Quarter, killed rich and poor alike. The00:06:18
city almost didn't recover.00:06:20
That's rough, I said. It is what it is.00:06:24
Als started walking again, slower now.00:06:28
The point is, this place has history,00:06:30
and history doesn't always stay buried,00:06:33
especially here. We passed the potter's00:06:36
field section where people without00:06:38
families ended up. The markers were00:06:40
simple concrete slabs, most of them00:06:43
cracked and overgrown with weeds.00:06:46
Alside paused near a water spigot,00:06:48
turned it on, and filled a plastic00:06:51
bucket. "For the flowers," he explained.00:06:54
"Some of the families don't come by00:06:56
anymore. I keep the ones by the main00:06:58
path fresh. Looks better." He handed me00:07:02
a folded piece of paper from his shirt00:07:04
pocket. The paper was old, edges soft00:07:07
from handling, covered in cramped00:07:09
handwriting. "Six rules," he said.00:07:12
"Previous caretaker gave them to me. I'm00:07:15
giving them to you. Follow them exactly.00:07:18
Don't skip steps. Don't try to be00:07:20
clever. I unfolded the paper. The ink00:07:24
was faded, but readable. Rule one, never00:07:28
acknowledge the jazz music between 2 and00:07:31
2:30 a.m. If you hear it, continue your00:07:34
patrol as normal. Do not look toward the00:07:38
sound. Rule two. If you find fresh00:07:41
flowers on the Komo family tomb, section00:07:44
7, row 12, remove them immediately and00:07:47
burn them in the metal drum behind the00:07:49
office. Do not throw them in the trash.00:07:53
Rule three, the receiving tomb in00:07:55
section 3 must remain locked at all00:07:58
times. If you find the door open, close00:08:01
it without looking inside. Lock it.00:08:04
Leave the area. Rule four, never enter00:08:08
the cemetery between 2:45 and 3:15 a.m.00:08:12
Wait in the office, even if you hear00:08:15
voices calling your name. Rule five, if00:08:19
someone asks you for directions to a00:08:21
funeral, tell them you don't know, and00:08:23
walk away. Do not offer to help. Do not00:08:26
follow them.00:08:28
Rule six. On nights when fog rolls in00:08:31
from the lake, do your second patrol00:08:34
early. Finish before midnight. Lock00:08:37
yourself in the office until dawn.00:08:40
I read through them twice, waiting for00:08:42
Alid to laugh and admit it was a joke.00:08:45
He didn't laugh. These are serious? I00:08:49
asked. Dead serious. He took the paper00:08:53
back, refolded it, handed it to me00:08:55
again. Keep this with you every shift.00:08:59
Read it before your first patrol. What00:09:02
happens if I don't follow them?00:09:04
Alced looked at me for a long moment.00:09:08
His hands weren't shaking anymore.00:09:10
I followed them for 32 years, he said.00:09:14
Never broke one, not once. That's why00:09:17
I'm still here to retire.00:09:20
He walked me back to the gates, showed00:09:22
me how to lock them properly, then00:09:25
climbed into his truck, an old Ford with00:09:27
a rosary hanging from the rear view00:09:29
mirror. "Good luck, Etienne," he said00:09:33
through the open window. "You're going00:09:35
to need it." He drove off down Canal00:09:38
Street, tail lights fading into traffic.00:09:41
I stood there with the keys in one hand00:09:43
and the rules in the other, wondering00:09:45
what the hell I'd gotten myself into.00:09:48
If you like the stories, please hype the00:09:51
videos from a button like this just00:09:52
above the comment section. They helps00:09:55
the videos to get more reach and perform00:09:56
well. It would take just a few seconds00:09:59
and cost nothing, but would help the00:10:01
channel grow even faster.00:10:03
Thank you.00:10:05
The first three nights were easy, almost00:10:08
boring. I locked the gates at 7:30,00:10:12
chased off a couple of high school kids00:10:13
trying to take Halloween photos on the00:10:15
third night, and did my patrols without00:10:17
incident. The cemetery was quiet, except00:10:20
for the sound of traffic on Canal Street00:10:22
and the occasional bark of dogs from the00:10:25
neighborhood behind the north fence.00:10:27
I kept outside's rules in my pocket,00:10:30
reading them before each shift like he'd00:10:32
told me to. They felt silly, like00:10:35
something out of a campfire story, but I00:10:38
followed them anyway because the job00:10:40
paid well, and I didn't want to screw it00:10:43
up. The jazz music started on my fourth00:10:46
night. I was halfway through my 1:0000:10:48
a.m. patrol, walking past the Society of00:10:51
the Friends of the Deceased section when00:10:53
I heard it. Faint at first, like someone00:10:56
had left a radio playing in one of the00:10:58
tombs. A trumpet low and mournful,00:11:02
playing something that sounded like just00:11:04
a closer walk with thee. Then a trombone00:11:07
joined in, sliding notes that hung in00:11:09
the humid air. I checked my watch. 20300:11:14
a.m. Rule one flashed through my mind.00:11:19
Never acknowledge the jazz music between00:11:21
2 and 2:30 a.m. If you hear it, continue00:11:25
your patrol as normal. Do not look00:11:28
toward the sound. The music was coming00:11:31
from deeper in the cemetery, somewhere00:11:33
past the potter's field.00:11:36
My first instinct was to investigate.00:11:39
That's what a caretaker does, right?00:11:42
Check out strange noises. Make sure00:11:44
nobody's trespassing.00:11:46
But outside's voice echoed in my head.00:11:50
Follow them exactly. Don't try to be00:11:52
clever. I kept walking my planned route,00:11:56
eyes forward, focusing on the path00:11:58
ahead. The music grew louder. Drums now00:12:02
beating a slow funeral march rhythm.00:12:05
More horns, maybe a whole brass section.00:12:08
The sound moved, shifting from the north00:12:11
end to the west, then circling back00:12:14
around behind me. My shoulders tensed.00:12:17
Every instinct screamed to turn around00:12:20
to see what was making that sound.00:12:23
But I kept my eyes on the path, kept00:12:26
walking at my normal pace.00:12:29
The music followed me for 10 minutes,00:12:31
staying just out of sight before fading00:12:33
away completely. At 2:28 a.m., I00:12:37
finished my patrol with my heart00:12:39
hammering against my ribs, hands slick00:12:42
with sweat despite the cool October air.00:12:45
Nothing else happened that night. I00:12:48
locked myself in the office, drank three00:12:50
cups of coffee, and counted down the00:12:52
minutes until sunrise.00:12:55
The next night, I found fresh flowers.00:12:58
They were on the Komo family tomb,00:13:00
exactly where rule two said bidby.00:13:03
Section 7, row 12, a bouquet of white00:13:06
liies tied with black ribbon, propped00:13:08
against the iron door. The flowers00:13:11
looked expensive, the kind you'd buy00:13:13
from a real florist, not the grocery00:13:16
store bunches wrapped in cellophane. I00:13:18
checked the tomb's inscription.00:13:21
Familo, 1881.00:13:25
No names, just the year. The flowers00:13:28
were fresh, petals still closed, stems00:13:32
still green. Someone had left them00:13:34
recently, maybe within the last few00:13:36
hours. But I had locked the gates at00:13:39
7:30 and I hadn't seen anyone during my00:13:41
8:00 patrol. I picked up the bouquet,00:13:45
careful not to crush the stems, and00:13:47
carried them back to the office. Behind00:13:50
the building sat a rusted metal drum00:13:52
that Alced used for burning leaves and00:13:54
debris. I dumped the flowers inside,00:13:58
doused them with lighter fluid from the00:13:59
tool shed, and dropped in a match. The00:14:02
flames caught immediately, burning hot00:14:05
and fast. The liies blackened and00:14:07
curled, releasing a smell that wasn't00:14:09
quite smoke, something sweeter, thicker,00:14:13
like incense mixed with rotting fruit. I00:14:17
watched until they burned down to ash,00:14:19
then kicked dirt over the embers. My00:14:21
hands smelled like funeral flowers for00:14:23
the rest of the shift. I washed them00:14:26
three times, but the scent clung to my00:14:29
skin.00:14:30
On my sixth night, I tested rule four.00:14:34
Not intentionally.00:14:36
I fell asleep.00:14:38
It had been a long day. I'd worked a00:14:41
morning shift at my cousin's restaurant00:14:43
on Decar Street before coming to the00:14:45
cemetery, and the exhaustion hit me00:14:47
around 1:30 a.m. I sat down in the00:14:51
office chair, told myself I'd just rest00:14:53
my eyes for a few minutes, and the next00:14:56
thing I knew, my phone alarm was going00:14:58
off.00:14:59
2:52 a.m. I was supposed to stay out of00:15:02
the cemetery between 2:45 and 3:15,00:15:06
but I'd left my flashlight near the00:15:08
Delqua tomb during my first patrol. I00:15:11
needed it.00:15:13
The path lights weren't bright enough00:15:15
for a thorough check, and I couldn't00:15:17
afford to miss something important. I00:15:19
stood at the office door, hand on the00:15:21
knob, trying to decide.00:15:25
The cemetery looked normal. Moonlight00:15:27
silvered the tops of the tombs. A breeze00:15:30
rattled the crepe myrtle branches.00:15:33
Nothing moved. Nothing seemed wrong.00:15:36
Just a quick walk, grabbed the00:15:38
flashlight. Come right back. I opened00:15:41
the door and stepped outside. The00:15:44
temperature dropped instantly. Not00:15:46
gradually, not like a cold front moving00:15:49
in, just a sudden plunge, like stepping00:15:52
into a freezer. My breath came out in00:15:55
visible puffs.00:15:56
Frost sparkled on the grass even though00:15:59
it had been 65° 5 seconds ago.00:16:03
Then I heard my name.00:16:07
A woman's voice, soft and familiar. It00:16:11
sounded like my mama, the way she used00:16:14
to call me in from playing when I was a00:16:15
kid. Warm, patient, loving.00:16:21
At the end, baby, come here. I need to00:16:24
show you something.00:16:26
I knew it wasn't her. My mama had been00:16:29
dead for 6 years, buried at St. Louis00:16:31
Cemetery number three on esplanade, but00:16:34
the voice was perfect. Every inflection,00:16:38
every slight creole accent. Whoever was00:16:41
speaking had studied her, memorized her00:16:44
patterns.00:16:45
Etien, please. It's important.00:16:49
The voice came from the potter's field00:16:52
where the unclaimed dead rested under00:16:54
their concrete markers. I could see00:16:56
movement there, a dark shape among the00:16:58
shadows, but I couldn't make out00:17:00
details.00:17:02
I stepped back into the office and00:17:04
slammed the door, locked it, pulled the00:17:07
blinds, sat in the chair with my back00:17:10
against the wall, listening to my name00:17:12
echo through the cemetery for the next00:17:14
20 minutes.00:17:19
Different voices now. My mother, my00:17:23
cousin Cherry, my high school00:17:25
girlfriend. All of them calling,00:17:28
pleading, demanding I come outside.00:17:31
At 3:15 a.m. exactly, the voices00:17:34
stopped. The temperature returned to00:17:36
normal. When I finally opened the door00:17:39
and retrieved my flashlight, there were00:17:42
footprints in the frost near the00:17:43
potter's field. bare feet, dozens of00:17:47
them, all pointing toward the office.00:17:51
I didn't sleep for the rest of that00:17:52
night or the night after. By the end of00:17:55
my second week, I'd encountered four of00:17:58
the six rules. The jazz music had become00:18:01
a regular thing, playing every night00:18:03
between 2 and 2:30. I'd found flowers on00:18:07
the Kimo Tomb three more times and00:18:09
burned them without hesitation.00:18:12
I'd stayed in the office during the00:18:13
forbidden hours, ignoring voices that00:18:16
knew things they shouldn't. Childhood00:18:18
nicknames, private jokes, memories I'd00:18:21
never shared with anyone.00:18:24
But I hadn't seen fog yet. And nobody00:18:27
had asked me for directions to a00:18:29
funeral.00:18:31
I started to think maybe those last two00:18:33
rules were just outside being extra00:18:35
cautious, adding fake rules to make the00:18:38
real ones seem more credible. I should00:18:40
have known better. New Orleans doesn't00:18:43
do anything halfway, especially when it00:18:45
comes to the dead. The fog came on a00:18:48
Tuesday night, 3 weeks into my job. I00:18:51
saw it rolling in from my apartment00:18:52
window around 5 in the evening. Thick00:18:55
gray clouds pushing in from Lake Poner00:18:57
train, swallowing the city block by00:18:59
block. By the time I arrived at Cypress00:19:02
Grove at 6:30, the whole cemetery was00:19:04
wrapped in mist, so dense I could barely00:19:07
see 10 feet ahead. Rule six. On nights00:19:10
when fog rolls in from the lake, do your00:19:13
second patrol early. Finish before00:19:15
midnight. Lock yourself in the office00:19:17
until dawn. I pulled out my phone and00:19:20
texted my cousin Tierry.00:19:22
Might need to crash at your place00:19:24
tomorrow. Bad shift tonight.00:19:27
He wrote back immediately. You still00:19:30
work that cemetery gig? Come stay with00:19:32
me, man. That place isn't worth it. I00:19:35
didn't answer. The money was too good to00:19:37
quit, and I'd followed the rules00:19:39
perfectly so far. Nothing had actually00:19:41
hurt me. Scared me, yes. Confused me,00:19:45
absolutely. But I was still in one00:19:48
piece. I did my first patrol at 7:30,00:19:51
right after locking the gates. The fog00:19:54
turned everything strange. Familiar00:19:56
tombs became hulking shapes that loomed00:19:59
out of the gray. The path lights created00:20:01
halos of yellow that didn't penetrate00:20:03
more than a few feet. My footsteps00:20:06
sounded too loud, echoing off stone in00:20:08
ways that made me think someone was00:20:10
walking behind me. No one was. I checked00:20:15
multiple times. I finished the patrol by00:20:18
8:15 and went back to the office.00:20:21
According to rule 6, I needed to do my00:20:23
second patrol before midnight, then stay00:20:26
inside until sunrise. That meant00:20:28
starting around 11:00, giving myself00:20:31
enough time to check the whole cemetery.00:20:34
I made coffee, scrolled through my00:20:37
phone, tried to watch a Saints game on00:20:39
the little TV outside had left behind,00:20:42
but the fog interfered with the antenna00:20:44
signal, static and ghost images. At00:20:48
10:45, I grabbed my flashlight and00:20:50
stepped outside. The fog had gotten00:20:53
worse. It pressed against my face like00:20:56
wet cloth, cold and clinging. I could00:20:59
taste it, brackish, like the lake had00:21:02
evaporated and condensed into the air00:21:04
itself. The beam from my flashlight00:21:06
barely cut through, showing me only a00:21:08
tunnel of gray a few feet wide. I00:21:11
started my patrol route, moving00:21:13
carefully, one hand trailing along the00:21:15
tombs to keep my bearings.00:21:18
The cemetery felt different tonight,00:21:21
larger somehow, like the paths had00:21:24
stretched while I wasn't looking.00:21:26
I passed the Delqua tomb. the potter's00:21:29
field, the society section.00:21:32
Everything was where it should be, but00:21:34
the distances between landmarks seemed00:21:36
wrong.00:21:37
I was near the receiving tombs in00:21:39
section 3, the ones outside had warned00:21:42
me about when I heard footsteps behind00:21:44
me, not my echo this time. These were00:21:49
distinct, separate, someone else walking00:21:52
through the fog, their shoes clicking00:21:55
against the concrete path.00:21:58
I stopped. The footsteps continued for00:22:00
two more beats, then stopped as well. I00:22:03
turned around slowly, flashlight raised.00:22:07
The beam showed me nothing but fog and00:22:10
the vague outline of tombs.00:22:13
Cemeteries closed, I called out, "You00:22:16
need to leave."00:22:18
No response, just the sound of water00:22:20
dripping from the oak trees and the00:22:22
distant hum of traffic on Canal Street.00:22:25
I kept walking faster now. The footsteps00:22:28
resumed behind me, matching my pace.00:22:31
When I sped up, they sped up. When I00:22:35
slowed down, they slowed down. "I'm00:22:38
calling the police," I said, pulling out00:22:40
my phone. My hands were shaking. The00:22:43
screen showed no signal, not even one00:22:45
bar. "I'm serious.00:22:48
You need to go." The footsteps stopped.00:22:52
For a moment, everything was quiet. Then00:22:55
a voice spoke from directly behind me,00:22:58
close enough that I felt breath on my00:23:00
neck. Excuse me. I'm looking for a00:23:03
funeral.00:23:05
I spun around. A man stood there, maybe00:23:08
2 feet away, wearing a black suit that00:23:11
looked too formal for New Orleans heat.00:23:14
His face was pale, almost gray, with00:23:17
dark circles under his eyes. He smiled,00:23:21
but the expression didn't reach those00:23:23
eyes. "Can you help me?" he asked. "I00:23:27
was told it starts at midnight. Section00:23:29
7."00:23:31
Rule five. If someone asks you for00:23:34
directions to a funeral, tell them you00:23:36
don't know and walk away. Do not offer00:23:38
to help. Do not follow them.00:23:42
I don't know, I said. The words came00:23:44
out. I can't help you. I turned and00:23:48
walked away, forcing myself not to run.00:23:51
Behind me, the man laughed. It sounded00:23:54
like dry leaves rustling. "You'll know00:23:57
soon enough," he called after me. "We00:24:00
all attend eventually."00:24:03
I didn't look back. I focused on putting00:24:06
one foot in front of the other,00:24:08
navigating by memory since my flashlight00:24:10
barely helped. The fog seemed to resist00:24:13
me, pushing back like I was walking00:24:15
through cotton. My lungs burned.00:24:19
Sweat ran down my back despite the cold.00:24:23
When I finally reached the office, I00:24:25
checked my watch.00:24:27
11:47 p.m.00:24:30
I'd made it with 13 minutes to spare. I00:24:33
locked the door, pulled the blinds, and00:24:36
collapsed in the chair. My shirt was00:24:39
soaked through with sweat. My hands00:24:42
wouldn't stop trembling. I kept seeing00:24:44
that man's face, those dead eyes, that00:24:48
smile that stretched too wide.00:24:51
The knocking started at midnight. Tap00:24:54
tap tap. Slow and steady against the00:24:57
office door.00:24:59
At yen, a woman's voice, different from00:25:02
my mama's. This one was younger,00:25:05
musical.00:25:07
It's me, opened the door.00:25:10
I didn't recognize the voice. I pressed00:25:13
my back against the far wall, as far00:25:15
from the door as I could get. Tap, tap,00:25:18
tap.00:25:20
Don't be rude, Etien. I came all this00:25:22
way to see you. More knocking, joined by00:25:25
others. Multiple hands hitting the door,00:25:28
the windows, the walls. A chorus of00:25:31
voices calling my name. Some pleading,00:25:33
some angry, some singing in French. I00:25:36
grabbed my phone. Still no signal. The00:25:39
screen flickered, showing me random00:25:42
images, old photographs of people I00:25:44
didn't know, all wearing black, all00:25:47
standing in front of tombs. Then the00:25:50
screen went dark completely. The sounds00:25:53
continued until 2:00 a.m. when they00:25:55
stopped abruptly, replaced by the jazz00:25:58
music. But tonight, the music was00:26:00
different, louder, closer. It sounded00:26:04
like it was coming from right outside00:26:06
the office door. I crept to the window00:26:08
and lifted the blind just enough to peek00:26:10
through. The fog had cleared slightly,00:26:14
revealing the cemetery bathed in00:26:16
moonlight.00:26:18
And there, moving between the tombs, was00:26:21
the procession.00:26:23
20 figures in black, some carrying00:26:25
instruments, others holding umbrellas00:26:28
even though the sky was clearing. A00:26:30
horsedrawn hearse led them, the horse's00:26:33
empty eye sockets visible even from this00:26:35
distance.00:26:36
They moved in a line, weaving between00:26:38
the tombs in a pattern that seemed00:26:41
random but felt purposeful. They were00:26:44
heading toward section 7, toward the00:26:46
Kimo family tomb. The woman I'd seen in00:26:49
my vision a week ago walked at the front00:26:50
of the procession. She was beautiful in00:26:52
the moonlight, her face smooth as00:26:54
porcelain, her dress a perfect00:26:56
recreation of 1920s fashion.00:26:59
But when she turned her head, I saw the00:27:02
wrongness. the cloudy eyes, the teeth00:27:05
that were cracked and brown, the neck00:27:08
that bent at angles. She looked directly00:27:11
at the office window, directly at me.00:27:14
Her mouth moved, forming words I00:27:16
couldn't hear through the glass, but I00:27:19
could read her lips.00:27:21
Soon, the procession continued past,00:27:25
disappearing into the fog near the00:27:26
receiving tombs. The jazz music faded00:27:29
with them, leaving only silence.00:27:33
I stayed in that office until dawn,00:27:35
watching the window, waiting for them to00:27:38
come back. They didn't.00:27:41
But when the sun finally rose and I00:27:43
stepped outside to unlock the gates, I00:27:46
found something.00:27:48
Flowers, fresh white liies tied with00:27:50
black ribbon, sitting on the ground00:27:53
directly in front of the office door.00:27:56
Not on the Komo tomb this time. here00:28:00
where I'd spent the night. And00:28:02
underneath the bouquet, pressed into the00:28:04
damp ground, was a footprint, bare,00:28:09
small, like a child's, pointed toward00:28:13
the door, toward me. I picked up the00:28:16
flowers with shaking hands and burned00:28:18
them in the metal drum. The smoke rose00:28:21
thick and black, smelling like something00:28:23
far worse than rotting fruit. This time,00:28:26
like meat left in the sun too long, like00:28:29
death that wouldn't stay buried.00:28:32
I was starting to understand what Elced00:28:34
had meant. The rules weren't protection.00:28:37
They were a countdown. I called Elced00:28:40
the next morning. His number was on the00:28:42
employee contact sheet in the office00:28:44
filing cabinet, written in the same00:28:46
cramped handwriting as the rules. The00:28:49
phone rang six times before he answered.00:28:52
Gidri, it's Etien Tibido from Cypress00:28:56
Grove. A long pause. I heard a TV00:29:00
playing in the background. Some morning00:29:02
news program.00:29:04
You still alive? He asked. Barely. I00:29:07
need to know what's really going on00:29:09
here. The rules, they're not enough.00:29:12
Something's changing. The procession is00:29:14
getting closer.00:29:16
You saw them last night during the fog00:29:20
and someone left flowers at my office00:29:22
door instead of the Kimo tomb.00:29:26
Another pause longer this time. When00:29:30
Alced spoke again, his voice had dropped00:29:32
to barely a whisper.00:29:35
They're choosing you.00:29:37
Choosing me for what? To join them. The00:29:40
procession.00:29:42
They've been adding people for over a00:29:44
hundred years. Zetien. Every few00:29:46
decades, they find someone who can see00:29:48
them. Someone who works the night shift00:29:51
and follows the rules just well enough00:29:53
to survive, but not well enough to00:29:55
escape. They wore me down for 32 years,00:29:59
but I never gave them what they wanted.00:30:02
What do they want? 4,000. Alced said.00:30:07
That's how many died in the epidemic00:30:09
without proper burials. They need 4,00000:30:12
souls in the procession before they can00:30:14
leave the cemetery. Right now, they have00:30:17
maybe 3,000, give or take. They've been00:30:20
recruiting since 1878,00:30:23
adding the dead who died angry or00:30:25
forgotten or alone. But it's not enough.00:30:29
They need more.00:30:32
Why me? You're Creole. You have the00:30:36
blood. They prefer people with00:30:38
connections to the old families. people00:30:40
whose ancestors might have been part of00:30:42
the original burials. It makes the00:30:44
binding stronger. He coughed, wet, and00:30:48
rattling.00:30:50
Listen to me carefully. Don't break the00:30:53
rules. Not even once. That's the only00:30:56
thing keeping you separate from them.00:30:58
The moment you step outside the00:31:00
boundaries, they can claim you. What00:31:03
happens if they claim me? You join the00:31:06
procession forever, walking the cemetery00:31:10
every night, playing music for the dead,00:31:12
waiting for enough souls to reach the00:31:14
number. And then he trailed off. Then00:31:18
what? Then they leave. All 4,000 of them00:31:23
out into New Orleans looking for the00:31:26
living who forgot them, who built over00:31:28
their graves, who erased their names00:31:30
from history. They'll take their revenge00:31:33
on the entire city. I sat down in the00:31:36
office chair, phone pressed to my ear.00:31:39
Outside, morning light filtered through00:31:42
the oak trees, making everything look00:31:44
normal and peaceful. Families would00:31:47
visit today, leaving flowers, saying00:31:49
prayers. They had no idea what walked00:31:52
these paths at night. How do I stop00:31:55
them? I asked. You don't. You just00:31:59
survive your contract and quit. That's00:32:01
what I did. There has to be another way.00:32:05
There isn't. El Seed's voice turned00:32:08
bitter. I looked. Trust me, I spent00:32:12
three decades searching for a way to put00:32:14
them to rest. And I found nothing. The00:32:18
only thing you can do is follow the00:32:19
rules and count down the days until you00:32:22
can leave.00:32:23
He hung up before I could ask anything00:32:25
else. I spent the rest of the day in the00:32:28
New Orleans Public Library on Lyola00:32:30
Avenue, searching through old records.00:32:33
The 1878 yellow fever epidemic was well00:32:36
documented. Newspaper articles, death00:32:40
registries, personal journals from00:32:42
survivors.00:32:43
4,000 people dead in just under 400:32:46
months. The city had been overwhelmed.00:32:49
Bodies piled up faster than coffins00:32:51
could be built. Mass burials became00:32:53
common. But one detail caught my00:32:56
attention. A journal entry from a doctor00:32:59
named Emil Bowmont dated October 15th,00:33:03
1878.00:33:05
The jazz funerals have ceased. We no00:33:08
longer have the living to play music for00:33:10
the dead. They go into the ground in00:33:12
silence, wrapped in sheets, stapped in00:33:15
the receiving tombs like cordwood.00:33:18
I fear this silence will have00:33:20
consequences.00:33:22
In our tradition, music guides the00:33:24
spirit to rest. Without it, where do00:33:28
these souls go?00:33:30
I photographed the page with my phone00:33:32
and kept searching. In the city00:33:35
archives, I found a map of Cypress Grove00:33:38
from 1879,00:33:40
just after the epidemic.00:33:42
Someone had marked certain tombs with00:33:44
small red X's. I counted them. 47 tombs00:33:50
scattered throughout the cemetery.00:33:52
The Kimo family tomb was one of them. So00:33:56
was the receiving tomb in section 3.00:33:59
I cross referenced the marked tombs with00:34:01
burial records and found the pattern.00:34:04
These were the tombs where epidemic00:34:06
victims had been buried without funeral00:34:08
rights. No music, no processions, just00:34:13
bodies and silence.00:34:15
The library closed at 6:00. I drove back00:34:19
to Cypress Grove in the fading light, my00:34:22
mind racing through possibilities.00:34:24
If the spirits wanted a funeral, wanted00:34:27
the music and recognition they'd been00:34:29
denied, maybe that was the answer. Maybe00:34:32
that was how to put them to rest. But00:34:35
4,000 souls,00:34:37
how do you give a funeral to 4,00000:34:39
ghosts?00:34:41
That night during my first patrol, I00:34:43
tested something. I pulled up a jazz00:34:46
funeral recording on my phone. A00:34:48
traditional New Orleans second line00:34:50
recorded at a real funeral in the French00:34:52
Quarter. I played it softly as I walked00:34:55
past the Como tomb. The air shifted00:34:58
immediately. Got colder. The path lights00:35:02
flickered. A shape materialized in front00:35:04
of the tomb. The woman from the00:35:06
procession, her cloudy eyes fixed on me.00:35:10
She didn't speak, just stood there, head00:35:13
tilted, listening to the music playing00:35:15
from my phone. When the song ended, she00:35:19
smiled.00:35:21
Not the horrible cracked tooth grin from00:35:23
before, something softer, sadder.00:35:28
Then she vanished. I stood there for a00:35:31
long moment, heart racing, trying to00:35:33
understand what I had just seen. The00:35:36
music had done something, changed00:35:38
something.00:35:40
But what? I checked my watch. 9:47 p.m.00:35:45
Still early in the shift. I made a00:35:48
decision that probably broke every rule00:35:50
of common sense, but felt right in my00:35:53
gut. I went to the office, grabbed the00:35:56
speaker system outside used for00:35:58
announcing closing time, and hauled it00:36:00
out to the potter's field. I set my00:36:03
phone to play a full jazz funeral00:36:05
playlist.00:36:07
Just a closer walk with thee. When the00:36:09
saints go marching in, I'll fly away and00:36:13
let it blast through the cemetery at a00:36:15
respectful volume.00:36:17
The response was immediate. Lights00:36:19
appeared between the tombs, not00:36:22
flashlights. These were older,00:36:24
flickering like candles or gas lamps.00:36:27
Shapes moved in the darkness, drawn00:36:29
toward the music. Men in suits, women in00:36:32
long dresses, children holding their00:36:35
parents' hands, all of them translucent,00:36:38
all of them from another era. They00:36:41
gathered in the potter's field, standing00:36:43
among the concrete markers, swaying00:36:46
gently to the music. Some were crying,00:36:48
others smiled. A few mouthed the words00:36:51
to songs they clearly remembered. I00:36:54
watched from a safe distance, afraid to00:36:56
move, afraid to breathe too loud and00:36:59
break whatever spell the music had00:37:01
created. When I'll Fly Away finished, an00:37:04
old man stepped forward from the crowd.00:37:07
He wore a conductor's uniform from the00:37:09
street car line, the kind they used in00:37:11
the 1920s.00:37:13
He looked at me with eyes that were00:37:14
clearer than the woman's, more present.00:37:18
"Thank you," he said. His voice sounded00:37:21
like wind through dry grass. We haven't00:37:23
heard music in so long. You're welcome,00:37:26
I managed, but it's not enough. He00:37:30
gestured to the crowd behind him. There00:37:32
are so many of us, and we're so tired of00:37:35
waiting.00:37:37
The spirits began to fade as the music00:37:39
ended, dissolving back into the00:37:41
darkness. The old conductor was the last00:37:44
to go. "4,000," he whispered. "That's00:37:49
the number. That's what we need. and00:37:52
we're so close now. Then he was gone and00:37:56
I was alone in the potter's field with a00:37:58
speaker playing static.00:38:00
I packed up the equipment and went back00:38:02
to the office, my mind spinning. The00:38:05
music helped. That much was clear. But00:38:08
one phone's worth of jazz funeral songs00:38:10
wasn't going to save 4,000 souls. I00:38:14
needed something bigger, something the00:38:16
whole city would participate in. I00:38:18
needed a real funeral, a massive one.00:38:22
for all of them at once. The question00:38:25
was, "How do you convince New Orleans to00:38:27
throw a funeral for ghosts? I started00:38:30
making calls the next day. First was00:38:32
Father Benois from St. Augustine Church00:38:34
on Governor Nickels Street. He'd00:38:37
baptized me when I was a baby, knew my00:38:39
family, understood the culture. If00:38:42
anyone would believe me about spirits00:38:44
needing a proper funeral, it would be00:38:46
him."00:38:48
4,000 souls," he repeated after I'd00:38:51
explained everything.00:38:53
We were sitting in his office,00:38:55
surrounded by books and photographs of00:38:57
the church's history.00:38:59
"That's what you're telling me. 4,00000:39:03
spirits trapped at Cypress Grove since00:39:05
1878.00:39:07
I know how it sounds. It sounds like00:39:09
you've been working too many night00:39:11
shifts, Etien." But his voice was00:39:13
gentle, not dismissive. However, I also00:39:17
know this city. I know what the fever00:39:20
epidemic did, and I know that music and00:39:22
ritual matter here more than most00:39:24
places. He leaned back in his chair,00:39:27
fingers steepled under his chin. Tell me00:39:30
exactly what you saw. I described00:39:33
everything. The procession, the woman00:39:35
with cloudy eyes, the spirits gathering00:39:37
when I played music, the old street car00:39:40
conductor thanking me. Father Benois00:39:42
listened without interrupting, his00:39:44
expression growing more serious with00:39:46
each detail. When I finished, he was00:39:49
quiet for a long moment. "There's00:39:52
precedent," he finally said. "In the old00:39:56
traditions, when someone dies without00:39:58
proper rights, their spirit can become00:40:01
restless." "The jazz funeral isn't just00:40:04
a party at the ritual. The music is00:40:08
supposed to help the soul transition to00:40:10
celebrate their life while guiding them00:40:12
onward without it. He trailed off, then00:40:16
stood and pulled a book from his shelf.00:40:19
Look at this.00:40:21
The book was old, leatherbound, filled00:40:24
with handwritten notes in French and00:40:26
English. He flipped to a section marked00:40:29
with a faded ribbon. This is from 1880.00:40:33
A priest named Father Rouso documented00:40:36
what he called the silent dead after the00:40:38
epidemic.00:40:40
People reported seeing processions of00:40:42
ghosts throughout the city, always00:40:44
walking toward the cemeteries.00:40:46
He tried to perform mass blessings, but00:40:49
nothing worked. Eventually, the sighting00:40:52
stopped being reported, but Father Rouso00:40:55
noted that he believed the spirits had00:40:57
simply retreated rather than found00:41:00
peace.00:41:02
"Into the cemeteries," I said. "Into the00:41:05
cemeteries," Father Benois agreed,00:41:08
waiting for something. Waiting for00:41:10
someone to remember them properly.00:41:13
"So, will you help me?" He closed the00:41:16
book and looked at me with tired eyes.00:41:19
What exactly are you proposing?00:41:22
A jazz funeral. A real one for all of00:41:25
them. We organize a procession through00:41:28
the cemetery. Hire brass bands. Invite00:41:31
the whole city. Make it a memorial for00:41:34
the epidemic victims who never got00:41:36
proper burials. Call it a historical00:41:39
commemoration if that makes it easier.00:41:41
But we do it right with all the00:41:43
traditional elements. That would cost00:41:46
money. A lot of money.00:41:49
I'll figure that out. I just need00:41:51
someone from the church to make it00:41:52
official, to give it legitimacy.00:41:56
Father Benois studied me for a long00:41:58
moment. Then he nodded slowly.00:42:01
Let me make some calls. I can't promise00:42:04
anything, but I know people who care00:42:06
about this kind of history. And if what00:42:09
you're saying is true, if those souls00:42:11
really are trapped there, then we have a00:42:13
moral obligation to help them. I left00:42:16
the church feeling something close to00:42:18
hope for the first time in weeks. Next,00:42:21
I reached out to the TMA brass band.00:42:24
They played funerals all over the city,00:42:26
knew the traditional songs, understood00:42:28
the importance of getting the music00:42:30
right. Their leader, a man named Jerome00:42:33
Washington, agreed to meet me at a00:42:35
coffee shop on Rampart Street. Jerome00:42:38
was in his 50s with gray in his beard00:42:41
and hands that showed decades of playing00:42:43
trumpet. He listened to my pitch while00:42:46
drinking chory coffee and eating00:42:48
beignes.00:42:49
"You want us to play a funeral for00:42:51
ghosts?" he said when I finished. "I00:42:54
want you to play a funeral for people00:42:56
who died during the worst disaster in00:42:58
New Orleans history and never got the00:43:00
respect they deserved.00:43:03
The fact that their spirits might still00:43:04
be around is just additional00:43:07
motivation."00:43:09
He laughed at that. You got some nerve,00:43:12
kid. I like it. He wiped powdered sugar00:43:16
off his fingers. But you know how much a00:43:19
full brass band costs for an event like00:43:21
this? We're talking hours of playing,00:43:24
traditional arrangements, multiple00:43:26
musicians. It's not cheap. I know. I'm00:43:30
working on funding.00:43:32
And you think this will actually work?00:43:34
That playing music will put these00:43:36
spirits to rest?00:43:38
I saw them respond to music, Jerome.00:43:40
They gathered. They listened.00:43:43
One of them thanked me. I think they've00:43:45
been waiting for this for over a00:43:47
century.00:43:49
Jerome finished his coffee and stood.00:43:51
Tell you what, you get the permits, the00:43:54
funding, the church's blessing, and I'll00:43:57
get you the best damn brass band this00:43:59
city's ever heard. But I want to come to00:44:01
the cemetery first, see it myself.00:44:05
Tonight, no time like the present. That00:44:08
evening, I met Jerome at the gates of00:44:11
Cypress Grove just after sunset. He00:44:14
brought his trumpet, an old beaten up00:44:16
instrument that he said had belonged to00:44:18
his grandfather.00:44:20
Ground rules, I said as I unlocked the00:44:22
gates. We follow the protocols exactly.00:44:26
If I tell you to do something, you do it00:44:28
immediately. No questions.00:44:32
You're the boss.00:44:34
We walked through the cemetery as00:44:36
twilight deepened into night. I showed00:44:39
him the Kimo tomb, the receiving vaults,00:44:42
the potter's field.00:44:44
He was quiet, taking everything in,00:44:47
occasionally stopping to read00:44:48
inscriptions on the markers. At 2:0500:44:52
a.m., the music started. Jerome's head00:44:55
snapped up. You hear that? The jazz?00:44:59
Yeah. Rule one says ignore it. But00:45:02
Jerome wasn't following my rules. He00:45:05
pulled out his trumpet, pressed it to00:45:07
his lips, and began to play along with00:45:09
the ghostly music. The same song, just a00:45:13
closer walk with thee, matching the00:45:15
invisible band note for note. Jerome,00:45:18
don't. The air around us shimmerred. The00:45:22
fog that had been thin suddenly00:45:24
thickened, and the procession00:45:25
materialized out of nothing. 20 figures00:45:29
in black, instruments gleaming in the00:45:31
moonlight, the eyeless horse pulling its00:45:34
hearse. They stopped when they saw us.00:45:38
The woman at the front stepped forward,00:45:40
her cloudy eyes fixed on Jerome. He kept00:45:44
playing, not missing a beat despite the00:45:46
terror on his face. Sweat ran down his00:45:49
temples. His hands shook, but the notes00:45:53
stayed pure. The woman smiled. This time00:45:57
it reached her eyes. She raised one hand00:46:01
and the ghostly musicians began to play00:46:03
louder, their instruments joining00:46:05
Jerome's trumpet in a harmony. The other00:46:08
spirits in the procession started to00:46:10
sway, some dancing in the slow, formal00:46:13
style of a hundred years ago.00:46:16
Jerome played for 5 minutes straight,00:46:18
then lowered his trumpet, gasping for00:46:20
air. The spirits faded slowly, the woman00:46:24
the last to go before she vanished00:46:27
completely. She mouthed a single word.00:46:31
Soon.00:46:32
Jerome stood there staring at the empty00:46:35
space where the procession had been. His00:46:37
trumpet hung loose in his hand.00:46:40
You believe me now? I asked. Hell yes, I00:46:44
believe you. He wiped his face with a00:46:47
handkerchief.00:46:49
And I'm in. whatever you need. I'll get00:46:52
the band together and we'll play for00:46:54
free if we have to. Those people deserve00:46:57
their funeral. Over the next week,00:47:00
things started falling into place.00:47:02
Father Benois got the church's official00:47:05
support and reached out to the New00:47:06
Orleans Historical Society.00:47:09
They loved the idea of a memorial for00:47:11
epidemic victims and agreed to help with00:47:14
permits and publicity.00:47:16
The story got picked up by the Times00:47:18
Pikaune, framed as a historical00:47:20
commemoration rather than a ghost story.00:47:24
Jerome assembled a coalition of brass00:47:26
bands, not just his own, but musicians00:47:29
from across the city. The Rebirth brass00:47:32
band, the Preservation Hall jazz band,00:47:35
the Dirty Dozen. Everyone who understood00:47:38
the tradition wanted to participate. A00:47:40
local historian named Dr. Patricia00:47:42
Landry volunteered to research the names00:47:45
of as many epidemic victims as possible.00:47:48
She spent days in archives pulling00:47:51
together a list of nearly 3,00000:47:53
confirmed dead from Cypress Grove alone.00:47:56
The city granted us a permit for a00:47:58
procession through the cemetery on00:48:00
November 1st, All Saints Day.00:48:04
The symbolism felt right. A day when New00:48:07
Orleans already honored its dead, now00:48:09
expanded to include those who'd been00:48:11
forgotten.00:48:13
Donations came in from across the city.00:48:16
People who'd lost family members to the00:48:17
epidemic, who'd grown up hearing00:48:20
stories, who just believed in honoring00:48:22
the past. We raised enough to cover the00:48:25
bands, to print programs listing all the00:48:28
names Dr. Landry had found, to buy00:48:30
flowers for every marked tomb from the00:48:33
epidemic.00:48:34
But as the date approached, the activity00:48:37
at Cypress Grove intensified.00:48:40
The jazz music played every night now,00:48:42
not just during the designated hour. I00:48:45
heard it at all times, sometimes00:48:47
multiple bands playing different songs00:48:49
simultaneously.00:48:51
The footsteps multiplied. Voices called00:48:54
my name constantly. Flowers appeared00:48:56
everywhere, not just on the Komo tomb,00:48:59
but scattered throughout the cemetery.00:49:02
black ribbons tied around dozens of00:49:04
markers, and the procession grew larger.00:49:08
I counted 40 spirits one night, 70 the00:49:12
next. By the week before the planned00:49:15
funeral, there were over a hundred, all00:49:18
walking through the cemetery in their00:49:19
endless loop, all waiting.00:49:23
The woman appeared to me every night00:49:24
now. She never spoke, just stood at the00:49:28
edge of my vision, watching, waiting.00:49:32
The receiving tomb in section 3, the one00:49:35
I was supposed to keep locked, had00:49:37
developed a problem. The door kept00:49:40
opening on its own. I'd lock it, check00:49:43
it, walk away, and return to find it00:49:46
standing wide. Inside, I could see the00:49:49
coffins stacked floor to ceiling, and00:49:51
yes, one of them had a brass plate with00:49:53
my name. I stopped looking inside,00:49:57
stopped trying to keep it closed.00:49:59
Some battles you can't win.00:50:02
3 days before the funeral, Alcid called00:50:05
me. I heard what you're planning, he00:50:08
said. The procession, the bands. You00:50:12
really think it'll work? I don't know,00:50:16
but I have to try. I hope you're right,00:50:19
Etien. I really do. Because if you're00:50:23
wrong, if this just makes them stronger,00:50:26
you might have doomed the entire city.00:50:29
And if I'm right, then you'll have done00:50:32
something I couldn't do in 32 years.00:50:35
You'll have set them free.00:50:37
He hung up and I sat in the office00:50:40
watching the procession grow outside the00:50:42
window. Tomorrow was October 31st,00:50:46
Halloween, the night before the funeral.00:50:49
The night everything would either end or00:50:52
begin. Halloween night at Cypress Grove00:50:54
was chaos. I arrived at 6:30 to find the00:50:58
gates already surrounded by people. Not00:51:00
tourists or families, but something00:51:03
else. Men and women in clothes from00:51:06
different eras standing perfectly still,00:51:08
staring at the cemetery. Some wore 192000:51:12
suits. Others had clothing from the00:51:14
1800s. All of them had that same00:51:17
translucent quality, that same wrong00:51:20
pal. They parted silently as I00:51:23
approached, letting me through to unlock00:51:25
the gates. None of them followed me00:51:28
inside. They just stood there, watching.00:51:33
Tomorrow,00:51:34
one of them whispered as I passed. a00:51:37
young woman with ringlets and a00:51:38
high-collared dress.00:51:41
Tomorrow we finally rest.00:51:44
I locked the gates behind me and did my00:51:46
first patrol with my heart hammering.00:51:49
The cemetery felt different tonight,00:51:52
charged like the air before a00:51:54
thunderstorm.00:51:55
The path lights flickered constantly.00:51:58
Shadows moved between the tombs even00:52:00
when nothing was there to cast them. The00:52:03
temperature dropped and rose at random,00:52:05
going from comfortable to freezing in00:52:07
seconds. At the potter's field, I found00:52:10
hundreds of flowers. They covered every00:52:13
concrete marker, spilled out onto the00:52:15
paths, created a carpet of white and00:52:18
black, white liies, all of them, tied00:52:22
with black ribbons. The smell was00:52:24
overwhelming. Sweet decay, funeral00:52:27
perfume, rot disguised as beauty. I00:52:31
didn't burn these. There were too many.00:52:33
And besides, tomorrow was the ceremony.00:52:36
Let them have their flowers tonight. The00:52:39
Como tomb was open, not just unlocked.00:52:43
The iron door hung wide, revealing the00:52:45
dark interior.00:52:47
I approached carefully, flashlight00:52:49
raised.00:52:51
Inside, the walls were covered in00:52:53
writing. names. Hundreds of them00:52:57
scratched into the stone and handwriting00:52:59
that ranged from elegant cursive to00:53:02
desperate scrawls. I recognized some00:53:05
from Dr. Landry's research. Victims of00:53:08
the epidemic, people who died alone,00:53:11
people whose names had been lost to00:53:13
history.00:53:15
At the bottom of the list, in fresh00:53:17
scratches that looked like they had been00:53:19
made with fingernails, was my name,00:53:23
Etien Tibo. I backed out of the tomb and00:53:26
pulled the door shut. The lock clicked,00:53:29
but I knew it wouldn't stay closed.00:53:31
Nothing stayed closed anymore.00:53:34
The jazz music started early tonight,00:53:37
1000 p.m. instead of 2:00 a.m. Multiple00:53:40
bands playing simultaneously, their00:53:42
songs overlapping into a discordant00:53:44
symphony that echoed off the tombs.00:53:47
I recognized some of the tunes. Flee as00:53:51
a bird, nearer my god to thee. Over in00:53:54
the glory land, funeral standards from a00:53:57
century ago.00:53:59
I went to the office and pulled out00:54:02
rules. read them again, even though I'd00:54:05
memorized every word by now. Rule one,00:54:09
never acknowledge the jazz music between00:54:11
2 and 2:30 a.m. Rule two, if you find00:54:16
fresh flowers on the Kimo family tomb,00:54:18
remove them immediately and burn them.00:54:21
Rule three, the receiving tomb in00:54:24
section 3 must remain locked at all00:54:26
times. Rule four, never enter the00:54:29
cemetery between 2:45 and 3:15 a.m.00:54:34
Rule five, if someone asks you for00:54:37
directions to a funeral, tell them you00:54:39
don't know and walk away. Rule six, on00:54:42
nights when fog rolls in from the lake,00:54:45
do your second patrol early. I'd broken00:54:47
all of them one way or another.00:54:50
acknowledged the music, left flowers00:54:53
unburned,00:54:54
let the tombs stay open, walked the00:54:57
cemetery during forbidden hours, helped00:55:00
plan a funeral instead of refusing00:55:02
directions, and yet I was still here,00:55:06
still alive, still myself.00:55:09
Maybe the rules had never been about00:55:11
protection. Maybe they'd been about00:55:13
isolation, about keeping caretakers00:55:16
separate from the spirits so they'd00:55:18
never understand what was needed. Als00:55:21
had followed them perfectly for 32 years00:55:24
and accomplished nothing. I'd broken00:55:27
them all and might actually save these00:55:28
people or damn us all. That was still a00:55:32
possibility.00:55:34
At midnight, the procession arrived. I00:55:36
watched from the office window as they00:55:38
materialized out of the darkness. But00:55:41
this wasn't 20 spirits anymore. This was00:55:44
hundreds, maybe thousands.00:55:47
They filled the cemetery paths, crowded00:55:50
between the tombs, stood00:55:52
shoulder-to-shoulder in the potter's00:55:53
field, all of them in black, all of them00:55:57
holding instruments or umbrellas or00:55:59
nothing at all. All of them waiting. The00:56:02
woman walked to the office door and00:56:03
knocked. Three slow, steady knocks. I00:56:07
considered not answering, staying inside00:56:10
until dawn, letting tomorrow come00:56:12
without confrontation,00:56:14
but that felt cowardly. If I was going00:56:17
to help these people, I needed to face00:56:19
them. I opened the door. She stood there00:56:23
in the moonlight, beautiful and00:56:25
terrible.00:56:26
Up close, I could see the details I'd00:56:29
missed from a distance, the gray tint to00:56:31
her skin, the way her chest didn't rise00:56:34
and fall with breath.00:56:36
the slight transparency around her edges00:56:39
like she was a photograph slowly fading.00:56:42
"Tomorrow," she said. Her voice was00:56:46
clearer than before, less ghostly,00:56:49
almost human. "You promise us tomorrow."00:56:53
"I do. The funeral is planned. The bands00:56:56
are ready. The whole city will come to00:56:59
honor you.00:57:01
And if it doesn't work," she tilted her00:57:04
head, studying me.00:57:06
If the music plays and we're still00:57:08
trapped here, what then?00:57:10
Then we try again and again until we get00:57:14
it right.00:57:16
She smiled and this time I saw sadness00:57:19
in it. We've been angry for so long,00:57:22
forgotten for so long. Some of us don't00:57:25
remember how to let go of that anger.00:57:27
Some of us have become something else,00:57:31
something worse than we were.00:57:34
What do you mean? She gestured to the00:57:36
procession behind her.00:57:38
Most of us just want peace. Want to hear00:57:41
the music we were denied to have our00:57:43
names spoken to be remembered. But00:57:46
others, she pointed to the receiving00:57:49
tomb in section 3. Others have been here00:57:52
too long. The rage has consumed them.00:57:55
They don't want peace anymore. They want00:57:57
revenge. The tomb's door hung open.00:58:01
Shadows moved inside. darker than the00:58:03
surrounding night. Something growled00:58:06
from within, low and inhuman.00:58:09
The thing with your name on its coffin,00:58:12
I said. Yes, it was you once. Or could00:58:17
have been. Every caretaker who ever00:58:19
worked here has a coffin waiting in that00:58:21
tomb. Most of them filled it eventually.00:58:25
Alced was strong. He resisted. But the00:58:28
longer you work here, the more you see00:58:30
us, the more the line blurs between00:58:33
living and dead. She stepped closer.00:58:37
You've already started to change.00:58:38
Etienne,00:58:40
haven't you noticed? I had. The cold00:58:44
didn't bother me as much anymore. I00:58:46
could see the spirits more clearly each00:58:48
night. Sometimes I caught myself humming00:58:51
funeral songs I'd never learned.00:58:53
My reflection in the office mirror00:58:55
looked paler, thinner, like I was slowly00:58:57
fading. "Tomorrow, we'll fix this," I00:59:01
said, trying to convince myself as much00:59:02
as her. "The funeral will give you00:59:05
peace, and I'll quit this job, and00:59:07
everything will go back to normal."00:59:10
"Perhaps,"00:59:11
she reached out as if to touch my face,00:59:14
then stopped herself. Her hand hovered00:59:17
an inch from my cheek. I felt cold00:59:20
radiating from it.00:59:23
Or perhaps tomorrow you'll join us,00:59:25
complete the procession,00:59:28
give us the 4,000th soul we need to00:59:30
leave this place. That's not going to00:59:33
happen. We'll see. She lowered her hand00:59:36
and stepped back. The sun rises in 600:59:40
hours. The ceremony begins at noon.00:59:43
Between now and then, Etien, stay in the00:59:45
office. Don't come outside no matter00:59:47
what you hear. The angry ones will try00:59:50
to claim you before the music plays.00:59:52
Don't let them. She turned and walked00:59:55
back to the procession.00:59:57
They all moved then, flowing through the01:00:00
cemetery like a river of shadows,01:00:02
heading toward the receiving tomb. The01:00:05
darkness there seemed to welcome them,01:00:07
pulling them inside. The door slammed01:00:10
shut. The growling stopped.01:00:13
I went back into the office and locked01:00:15
the door, pushed the filing cabinet01:00:18
against it, turned off the lights, sat01:00:21
in the dark with my phone in one hand01:00:23
and outside's rules in the other.01:00:26
Outside, voices began to call my name,01:00:30
not the pleading voices from before.01:00:32
These were angry, demanding, dozens of01:00:36
them, maybe hundreds, shouting in01:00:38
harmony, etien.01:00:42
The door shook in its frame. The windows01:00:45
rattled. Something heavy hit the wall01:00:48
hard enough to crack the plaster. I01:00:51
closed my eyes and tried to block it01:00:52
out. Tried to think about tomorrow,01:00:56
about the band's gathering, the people01:00:58
coming to pay respects, the ceremony01:01:01
that would finally put these spirits to01:01:03
rest. But part of me wondered if the01:01:06
woman was right,01:01:08
if I was already too far gone, if01:01:11
tomorrow I'd just be adding my name to01:01:13
the list, completing their number,01:01:15
giving them exactly what they needed to01:01:18
escape.01:01:20
The voices grew louder. The walls shook.01:01:24
Something scratched at the door, nails01:01:26
on wood, frantic and hungry.01:01:29
I sat in the dark and waited for dawn.01:01:32
It came eventually, like it always does01:01:34
in New Orleans, slow and golden, burning01:01:38
off the night's terror with familiar01:01:40
warmth. The voices faded. The scratching01:01:43
stopped. The cemetery became peaceful01:01:46
again. Just tombs and trees and morning01:01:49
birds.01:01:50
I stepped outside to find deep scratches01:01:53
covering the office door. Handprints01:01:55
pressed into the ground, dozens of them01:01:58
circling the building. But the spirits01:02:01
themselves were gone, retreated into01:02:03
whatever space they occupied during01:02:05
daylight hours. In 6 hours, the funeral01:02:09
would begin.01:02:11
In 6 hours, I'd find out if I'd saved01:02:14
the city or doomed it. I called Jerome01:02:18
to confirm everything was ready. Called01:02:20
Father Benois to make sure the church's01:02:22
blessing was still in place. Called Dr.01:02:25
Landry to verify she had the list of01:02:27
names.01:02:29
Everyone was prepared. The only question01:02:31
left was, "Would it be enough?" They01:02:35
started gathering at 11 in the morning.01:02:37
First came the brass bands, arriving in01:02:40
vans and trucks, unloading instruments,01:02:43
and setting up near the main gates.01:02:45
Jerome coordinated everything, directing01:02:48
musicians to their positions, running01:02:50
through the set list one final time. The01:02:53
Rebirth Brass Band, the Preservation01:02:55
Hall jazz band, the Dirty Dozen, the01:02:58
Trimm Sidewalk Steppers, over 6001:03:01
musicians total, all dressed in black01:03:04
suits and ties. Then came the people,01:03:07
hundreds of them, maybe thousands.01:03:09
Families who'd lost ancestors in the01:03:11
epidemic. History buffs and01:03:14
preservationists.01:03:15
Jazz enthusiasts who understood the01:03:17
tradition. Locals who simply believed01:03:20
the dead deserved respect. They filled01:03:23
the sidewalks along Canal Street,01:03:25
spilled into the cemetery grounds,01:03:27
created a sea of black clothing and01:03:29
somber faces. News crews set up cameras.01:03:34
The Times Pika Yune sent photographers.01:03:36
A few city council members showed up01:03:39
recognizing good publicity when they saw01:03:41
it. The mayor sent a representative with01:03:44
an official proclamation declaring01:03:46
November 1st as yellow fever remembrance01:03:49
day.01:03:50
Father Benois arrived in his vestment01:03:53
carrying a Bible and a brass sensor01:03:55
filled with incense. He found me near01:03:58
the office where I'd been watching the01:04:00
crowds gather with increasing anxiety.01:04:03
"Are you ready?" he asked. "I don't01:04:06
know. This is either going to work or01:04:08
it's going to be a disaster." "Have01:04:11
faith," he placed a hand on my shoulder.01:04:14
"What you've organized here, Etien, it's01:04:16
remarkable. Regardless of what happens01:04:19
with the spirits, you've brought this01:04:21
city together to honor forgotten dead.01:04:24
That matters.01:04:26
Dr. Landry approached carrying a leather01:04:28
folder. I have the names. 3,21701:04:33
confirmed victims buried at Cypress01:04:35
Grove. I'll read them during the01:04:37
ceremony. At noon exactly, Father Benois01:04:40
raised his hands for silence. The crowd01:04:43
quieted. Even the traffic on Canal01:04:46
Street seemed to fade. "We gather01:04:49
today," he began his voice carrying01:04:51
across the cemetery to honor those who01:04:54
died in the yellow fever epidemic of01:04:56
1878.01:04:58
4,000 souls lost in 4 months, mothers01:05:02
and fathers, children, workers, and01:05:05
immigrants.01:05:07
People who built this city with their01:05:09
hands and their dreams. They died too01:05:11
quickly for proper burial. They left01:05:14
this world without the music that should01:05:16
have guided them home.01:05:18
He paused, letting his words settle.01:05:22
Today we correct that injustice.01:05:25
Today we give them the funeral they01:05:27
deserved. Today we play them home.01:05:32
Jerome raised his trumpet. The other01:05:35
musicians lifted their instruments and01:05:37
on Father Benois signal they began to01:05:40
play. Just a closer walk with thee. The01:05:43
sound was overwhelming. 60 instruments01:05:46
playing in harmony. The traditional01:05:48
melody washing over the cemetery like a01:05:50
wave. People in the crowd swayed. Some01:05:54
sang along. Others just listened with01:05:56
tears on their faces.01:05:59
The temperature dropped. Not suddenly,01:06:02
gradually. Like evening arriving early.01:06:05
I watched my breath start to fog.01:06:08
watched frost appear on the grass01:06:10
despite the November warmth around me.01:06:13
People pulled their jackets tighter,01:06:15
confused but not alarmed. Then the01:06:17
spirits appeared. They materialized01:06:20
between the tombs, translucent in the01:06:22
noon sun. Dozens at first, then01:06:25
hundreds, then thousands. They filled01:06:28
every open space in the cemetery. Stood01:06:31
on tombs and beneath trees and along the01:06:33
paths. All of them dressed in the01:06:35
clothes they died in. All of them01:06:38
watching the living play music for the01:06:40
dead. People in the crowd gasped,01:06:43
pointed.01:06:45
A few pulled out phones to record, but01:06:47
the cameras showed only empty air. The01:06:50
spirits were visible to the naked eye,01:06:52
but not to technology.01:06:54
Old magic, untouched by modern tricks.01:06:58
The woman I'd spoken to stood at the01:07:00
front of the ghostly gathering. She was01:07:02
crying, actual tears on her translucent01:07:05
cheeks. Next to her, the old street car01:07:08
conductor had his cap in his hands, head01:07:11
bowed. Dr. Landry began reading names.01:07:14
Augusta Benois, Marie Duce, Jean01:07:18
Baptiste Tibido, Celestandre, Pierre01:07:21
Kumo.01:07:23
Each name hung in the air for a moment01:07:25
before fading. And with each name, one01:07:28
of the spirits grew brighter, more01:07:30
solid. They smiled or wept or simply01:07:33
stood taller, acknowledged at last after01:07:37
146 years of silence. The bands01:07:40
transitioned into I'll fly away.01:07:43
Then when the saints go marching in, the01:07:47
living and the dead stood together in01:07:49
Cypress Grove, separated by a century01:07:51
and a half, but united by music.01:07:54
Father Benois walked through the01:07:56
cemetery, swinging his sensor, blessing01:07:59
the tombs.01:08:00
The incense smoke twisted and curled,01:08:03
drawn toward the spirits like they were01:08:05
breathing it in. Then the ghostly01:08:08
musicians pulled out their instruments.01:08:10
They joined the living bands, adding01:08:13
their ethereal notes to the brass and01:08:15
drums. The song grew richer, deeper,01:08:19
layered with harmonies no human band01:08:21
could replicate.01:08:23
Past and present merged into something01:08:26
transcendent.01:08:27
I looked toward the receiving tomb in01:08:29
section 3. The door was open. Shadows01:08:33
poured out, but these weren't angry01:08:35
anymore. They were just souls, tired and01:08:39
worn, ready to rest. The coffins inside01:08:42
were empty now. Even the one with my01:08:45
name had crumbled to dust. The01:08:48
procession formed naturally. Living and01:08:51
dead fell into line behind the brass01:08:53
bands, creating a massive second line01:08:56
that wound through the cemetery.01:08:58
They danced the traditional steps, the01:09:01
high stepping, the umbrella twirling,01:09:04
the celebration mixed with grief that01:09:06
defined New Orleans funerals. Dr. Landry01:09:10
kept reading names. 3,21701:09:13
victims, each one called out clearly,01:09:16
each one finally remembered.01:09:19
The spirits began to fade. Not all at01:09:22
once, but gradually, peacefully.01:09:26
They waved goodbye to the living, hugged01:09:29
each other. Some kissed the ground or01:09:31
touched the tombs one last time. The01:09:34
woman caught my eye and mouthed, "Thank01:09:37
you." before dissolving into golden01:09:39
light. The old street car conductor01:09:41
lingered longest. He put his cap back01:09:44
on, straightened his uniform, and01:09:46
saluted me before disappearing.01:09:49
One by one they went, released by the01:09:52
music, freed by being named and honored.01:09:56
The cemetery grew warmer as they left,01:09:59
the frost melting into dew that sparkled01:10:01
in the afternoon sun.01:10:03
By the time Dr. Landry finished reading01:10:05
the last name, Zachary Vois,01:10:09
only a handful of spirits remained.01:10:12
These were the youngest victims,01:10:14
children who died alone and scared.01:10:17
They held hands in a small circle near01:10:19
the potter's field, looking uncertain.01:10:22
Jerome saw them. He lowered his trumpet01:10:25
and walked over, kneeling to their01:10:27
level. "You can go now," he said gently.01:10:31
"Your families are waiting. The music01:10:34
will take you to them." The children01:10:36
looked at each other, then at the living01:10:39
crowd.01:10:40
One little girl, maybe 6 years old, in a01:10:44
stained white dress, stepped forward and01:10:47
placed her hand on Jerome's cheek. He01:10:50
shivered, but didn't pull away. "Will01:10:53
you remember us?" she asked. "Always,"01:10:56
Jerome promised. "We'll play this01:10:59
funeral every year. We'll say your01:11:01
names. You'll never be forgotten again."01:11:04
She smiled and stepped back. The01:11:07
children joined hands again and together01:11:10
they faded into nothing, their laughter01:11:12
echoing one last time before silence01:11:15
fell. The ceremony continued for another01:11:18
hour. The bands played through their01:11:20
entire repertoire of funeral standards.01:11:23
People shared stories about their own01:11:25
family members who died in the epidemic.01:11:29
Father Benois led prayers in English and01:11:31
French. The mayor's representative read01:11:34
the proclamation, but the spirits were01:11:36
gone. All of them. The cemetery felt01:11:40
lighter somehow, cleaner, like a wound01:11:44
that had finally healed.01:11:46
As the crowd began to disperse, I walked01:11:49
to the receiving tomb in section 3. The01:11:52
door stood open, but the interior was01:11:54
empty. No coffins, no shadows, just01:11:58
barestone walls and dust.01:12:02
I closed the door and locked it. This01:12:04
time it stayed locked. Jerome found me01:12:07
sitting on a bench near the Delqua tomb,01:12:09
exhausted but relieved. He sat down next01:12:12
to me, his trumpet resting across his01:12:15
lap. We did it, he said. We did it, I01:12:19
agreed. You know what this means, right?01:12:22
You're going to have to organize this01:12:23
ceremony every year. It's tradition now.01:12:26
Once you start a jazz funeral tradition01:12:28
in New Orleans, it doesn't stop. I01:12:32
laughed.01:12:33
Actually laughed for the first time in01:12:36
weeks. I can live with that.01:12:40
You should quit this job, though. Get01:12:42
some sleep. Work somewhere with01:12:44
daylight.01:12:46
Already planning on it. My two weeks01:12:48
notice goes in tomorrow.01:12:50
We sat in comfortable silence, watching01:12:53
the last of the crowd filter out through01:12:55
the gates. The cemetery was peaceful01:12:58
now, just tombs and trees and the memory01:13:01
of music.01:13:03
That night, I did my final patrol. No01:13:06
jazz music played. No voices called my01:13:09
name. No spirits walked between the01:13:11
tombs. Cypress Grove was just a cemetery01:13:14
again. Beautiful and quiet and still. I01:13:18
found Elced's rules in my pocket and01:13:20
read them one last time. Then I tore the01:13:23
paper into small pieces and scattered01:13:26
them in the potter's field where they01:13:27
mixed with the wilted flowers and01:13:29
disappeared into the earth. The rules01:13:32
didn't matter anymore. The spirits were01:13:35
at rest. The dead were finally home. I01:13:38
quit my job at Cypress Grove on November01:13:41
3rd. The cemetery director accepted my01:13:44
resignation without questions. Probably01:13:46
relieved to avoid another lawsuit for a01:13:48
caretaker's nervous breakdown. They01:13:51
hired someone new within a week, a01:13:53
college student who needed night work to01:13:55
pay tuition.01:13:56
I thought about warning him, then01:13:58
realized there was nothing left to warn01:14:00
him about. The cemetery was clean now,01:14:03
normal, just another burial ground in a01:14:06
city full of them. I went back to01:14:08
delivering for Rouse's market. The pay01:14:11
was worse, the hours were worse, but I01:14:13
got to work during the day and sleep at01:14:15
night.01:14:17
My mama always said there was value in01:14:19
simple, honest work. She was right about01:14:22
that. But I couldn't leave the story01:14:24
completely behind. The Times Pika Yune01:14:27
ran a feature article about the01:14:29
commemoration ceremony. The headline01:14:31
read, "City honors forgotten victims of01:14:35
1878 yellow fever epidemic."01:14:38
They quoted Father Benois, interviewed01:14:41
Dr. Landry, included photos of the brass01:14:44
bands in the crowds. The reporter, a01:14:47
woman named Michelle Robisho, asked me01:14:49
if I'd seen anything unusual during the01:14:51
ceremony. I told her the truth.01:14:55
I saw a city come together to honor its01:14:57
dead. That's unusual enough these days.01:15:01
She printed the quote. What she didn't01:15:03
print was the part where dozens of01:15:05
people, people who'd been there, who'd01:15:08
stood in that cemetery, reached out01:15:11
privately to tell me they'd seen the01:15:13
spirits, too.01:15:15
A grandmother who swore her great aunt01:15:17
appeared and waved goodbye.01:15:19
A musician who felt invisible hands01:15:21
guiding his trombone slide.01:15:24
A child who said she'd played with ghost01:15:26
kids near the potter's field.01:15:29
New Orleans understands these things.01:15:31
The line between living and dead has01:15:33
always been thinner here than other01:15:35
places. We don't need proof or01:15:37
explanations. We just accept what we've01:15:40
seen and move forward. Father Benois01:15:43
made the annual ceremony official.01:15:46
Every November 1st, All Saints Day,01:15:48
Cypress Grove hosts the jazz funeral for01:15:51
the forgotten. The brass bands donate01:15:53
their time. Dr. Landry updates the list01:15:56
of names with new research. Families01:15:59
bring flowers to honor the epidemic01:16:00
victims. The first anniversary drew even01:16:04
more people than the original ceremony.01:16:06
Over 5,000 attended. The music played01:16:10
for three hours straight. No spirits01:16:13
appeared this time, but that was fine.01:16:16
They'd already gone home.01:16:19
This was for the living now. A reminder01:16:21
to honor the dead before they needed01:16:24
ghosts to get our attention.01:16:27
Jerome asked me to speak at the second01:16:28
anniversary. I stood in front of the01:16:31
crowd with a microphone I didn't want01:16:32
and words I hadn't prepared.01:16:35
I worked here for 6 weeks, I said.01:16:38
That's all. Six weeks of night shifts in01:16:41
a cemetery. But in those six weeks, I01:16:44
learned something important. The dead01:16:46
don't stay quiet if we forget them. They01:16:49
linger. They wait. They try to make us01:16:51
remember. I paused, looking out at the01:16:54
crowd. Thousands of faces all listening.01:16:59
But they don't have to be scary. They01:17:01
don't have to be angry. If we remember01:17:03
them properly with respect and music and01:17:06
love, they can rest. That's what we're01:17:09
doing here. We're giving peace to people01:17:11
who've waited over a century for it. And01:17:14
we're reminding ourselves not to let01:17:16
anyone else wait that long. The brass01:17:18
bands played I'll fly away after my01:17:21
speech. The crowd sang along. I stood01:17:25
near the Komo tomb, flowers freshly01:17:28
placed, door firmly locked, and thought01:17:31
about that woman with cloudy eyes who'd01:17:33
waited so long to hear her name spoken01:17:35
with kindness. I never learned what her01:17:38
name was. That bothers me sometimes, but01:17:42
I know she's at rest now, wherever rest01:17:45
is for the dead. That has to be enough.01:17:49
Alside called me last week. He's 82 now,01:17:53
living with his daughter in Baton Rouge.01:17:56
We talked for an hour about nothing01:17:58
important. The weather, the saint01:18:01
season, his grandchildren.01:18:04
At the end of the call, he said01:18:06
something that stuck with me. You did01:18:08
what I couldn't do at Yen. You cared01:18:11
enough to break the rules.01:18:14
The rules were wrong. I said most rules01:18:17
are. He laughed, dry and raspy.01:18:21
But it takes someone brave to figure01:18:23
that out. I still drive past Cypress01:18:26
Grove sometimes on my delivery routes.01:18:29
The new caretaker waves when he sees me.01:18:32
The cemetery looks beautiful in01:18:34
daylight. White tombs gleaming, oak01:18:36
trees rustling, flowers bright against01:18:39
stone. No music plays there anymore,01:18:43
except what the living bring. And that's01:18:46
exactly how it should be. The dead are01:18:48
home. The forgotten are remembered. And01:18:51
New Orleans keeps playing, keeps second01:18:54
lining, keeps honoring the past while01:18:57
dancing into the future.01:19:00
That's the real magic of this city. Not01:19:03
ghosts or spirits or rules written on01:19:05
aging paper. Just people who refuse to01:19:08
let their dead disappear into silence.01:19:10
Just music that guides everyone home01:19:12
eventually.Description:
" I'm a Caretaker at a Cemetery in Louisiana, There are STRANGE RULES to follow ! " creepypasta 💚 Our New Channel : https://www.youtube.com/@Mr.GrimArchives 💚 Join Our Membership : https://www.youtube.com/@MrGrim_ltd/join 👉If you'd like one of your own stories to be narrated, submit it on: https://www.reddit.com/r/Mr_Grim/ 💕 Disclaimer : This is an Original Narration by Mr. Grim done in the Metalabs Studios. ❤️ Support the Author and Site: 👉 Written by u/Adorable-Mousse5477 🎵 Support the Music: 🎤 Artists: @co.agmusic and @Myuu 📧 Contact: Coagmusic@gmail.com , https://www.facebook.com/unsupportedbrowser 💰Support Them : https://www.patreon.com/u3550597 https://www.patreon.com/myuuji 🔍 Keywords: creepypasta rules creepypasta mrcreeps darksomnium letsread creepypastarules cryptidstories missing411 firetowerstories parkrangerstories governmentscarystories zombiestories ghoststories paranormalstories spinechillingstories aloneatnight gasstationstories somniumstories insomniastories letsnotmeetstories creepyencounters horrorstories scaryhorrorstories truecreepystories darkhighwaystories reststophorrorstories cabinhorrorstories kidnapstories traffickinghorrorstories middleofnowherehorrorstories cophorrorstories policehorrorstories statetrooperhorrorstories desertedroadstories drivingthroughthedesert followedhome 🛑 Tags:
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