A Return To Brooklyn for Undead Action

I've always been a weird one, and I say that with the utmost affection for my own eccentricities. Recently, an old, morbid fascination crept back into my mind—one that has me itching for a trip back to Brooklyn. Not for the pizza, but for the cemeteries.

It all started with a memory. A nostalgic little moment from my reckless youth, when truancy was just about boredom and not "an act of rebellion". Back in the day, an old friend and I made the bold decision to ditch school and embark on a long-overdue expedition—one that had teased us for years as we passed by on the F train. Beneath us sprawled a vast cemetery, a small city of the dead that looked so neatly arranged, so eerily inviting, that it practically begged for exploration.

Bonaventure isn’t just any cemetery; it’s an experience. It has inspired artists, poets, and novelists, most famously featured in Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. The blend of Southern Gothic charm and undeniable mystique makes it a dream destination for someone like me. I want to walk those paths, see the graves of the famous and forgotten alike, and lose myself in the quiet reverence that such a place commands.

One day, I will revisit that pilgrimage. It’s officially on my bucket list, alongside my return to Brooklyn’s cemeteries. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that death tells some of the most fascinating stories—you just have to be willing to listen. Like, seriously, the idea of wandering through those old burial grounds, soaking in the eerie splendor, feels like the perfect outing. The only problem? Finding someone willing to accompany me without demanding a reasonable explanation. Because, let’s face it, “I just want to spend the day exploring cemeteries” isn’t exactly the easiest sell.

Out of curiosity, I would love to reach out to that old friend who had once been my partner-in-truancy, my fellow explorer of the macabre. After all these years, would they still find the idea as thrilling as I do? Unfortunately, life had shifted her onto a much different path, one where our old brand of adventures no longer held the bond. And that’s fair people change. But damn, it would’ve been a hell of a full-circle moment.

So, here I am, searching for a willing accomplice to join me on this morbid little pilgrimage. Until then, I suppose I’ll be the lone wanderer, embracing my peculiar interests like I always have. After all, the dead don’t judge—and if they do, at least they do it silently.

We finally did it. That day, instead of sitting through another dull morning in a fluorescent-lit classroom, we wandered through a different kind of history lesson. The towering mausoleums, the elaborate statues, the intricate headstones that whispered stories of lives long past—it was mesmerizing. There was a peace in that place, a strange kind of beauty that had nothing to do with life yet felt more alive than anything else. Before we knew it, hours had slipped by, and our hooky adventure had turned into an unexpected moment of appreciation for the artistry and quiet dignity of death’s domain.

Fast forward nearly twenty-five years, and here I am, longing to do it all over again. Only this time, I want to go bigger—Calvary, Woodlawn, maybe even head down south to another bucket-list-worthy cemetery that has been teasing me through social media is Bonaventure Cemetery in Savannah, Georgia. It looks like an absolute masterpiece, a sprawling, hauntingly beautiful resting place that’s become a legend in its own right. The Spanish moss draping over weathered tombstones, the detailed ironwork, and the grotesques that seem to watch you as you pass—it’s the kind of place that doesn’t just honor the dead but transforms them into eternal works of art.