Freshly Unearthed

I received a request to research Mouth Cemetery, and I’m not going to lie, I got a little excited because what a name for a cemetery! Turns out the name is based on geographical location and not something quirky. Despite this, after doing a bit of research, I discovered that Mouth Cemetery Hauntings have made this remote graveyard one of Michigan’s most eerie locations. The cemetery and surrounding area have a long history of strange occurrences. Mouth Cemetery sits in White River Township, Michigan, near the shores of Lake Michigan. Surrounded by dense trees, its secluded setting only adds to its haunted reputation.

At over 165 years old, Mouth Cemetery has fallen into disrepair and appears mostly overgrown. Based on its remoteness and unkempt appearance, it’s not hard to see how this cemetery has gained the reputation of being one of Michigan’s most haunted locations. Visitors to the cemetery have reported seeing strange mists among the bushes and trees. They also hear the sound of footsteps behind them yet turn and find no one. They have also reported seeing a young girl in an old-fashioned white dress and hearing disembodied sounds of crying and screams. As if all of that wasn’t enough, there is also an urban legend connected to Mouth Cemetery, the cursed chair!

With a name like Mouth….

Located near the mouth of the White River, in White River Township, Mouth cemetery got its name from an old town nickname. Locally the town was often referred to as “the Mouth” or simply “Mouth”. The nickname stuck for the cemetery and also one of its first schools. Long before White River Township existed, there was a large Native American village at the mouth of the White River. According to stories passed down through the years and a few historical records, a great massacre between tribes occurred on the north shore of White Lake in the mid-1600’s. This event most likely occurred during the Beaver Wars.

In 1854, officials established the White River Village post office, and the town thrived as a lumber hub. The earliest tombstone in the cemetery dates to 1851, though historians believe burials began around 1830. In 1859, city officials burned all township records, making it impossible to reconcile the financial accounts. In doing so, they also destroyed all early burial records for Mouth Cemetery.

Spectral Lightkeeper

Captain William Robinson – The Muskegon Chronicle
Sat, May 03, 1969 ·

Time has erased many names at Mouth Cemetery, but one grave still sparks conversation—Captain William Robinson’s. Interestingly, people report seeing and hearing his ghost, not at Mouth Cemetery, but at the nearby White River Light Station. Witnesses claim both Captain Robinson and his wife, Sara, haunt the lighthouse.

Captain Robinson became the lighthouse keeper when it opened in 1875 and maintained the post for 45 years until he died in 1919. At 87, he refused to retire, but authorities eventually forced him to step down due to his age. His grandson took over his duties, but many believed the heartbreak of leaving the lighthouse hastened Robinson’s death. He passed away the day before he was set to leave.

After closing for the night, staff at the White River Light Station hear footsteps and the distinct thunk of a cane echoing through the building. Towards the end of his life, Captain Robinson used a cane to get around. I found mentions of the sounds of his distinct gait. It doesn’t seem that Captain Robinson is alone at the lighthouse, however. Museum staff report seeing dust rags move on their own when left near a specific display case after visiting hours.

While many believe Captain Robinson’s spirit lingers at the lighthouse instead of his grave, Mouth Cemetery holds its own dark lore. Among the many eerie encounters reported by visitors, one story stands out for its chilling reputation — the legend of the cursed chair.

The Mouth Cemetery Hauntings

Many consider Mouth Cemetery one of the most haunted cemeteries in Michigan, and it also holds an eerie urban legend. A teenage boy who sat in a chair in the woods near the cemetery reportedly died in a car accident exactly one year later, according to the Grand Rapids Paranormal Investigations blog. People also call it Sadony’s chair, but we’ll get to that later. So many visitors flocked to the cemetery because of the cursed chair legend that local police removed it. Whether they did this to prevent vandalism or to silence the legend remains a mystery.

Valley of The Pines & Joseph A. Sadony

If Mouth Cemetery wasn’t already eerie enough, it lies near the former estate of one of Michigan’s most enigmatic figures, Joseph A. Sadony. Known as a ‘philosopher-scientist,’ Sadony dedicated his life to studying intuition. He also reportedly possessed an uncanny ability to foresee future events—including his own death. To call him merely interesting greatly understates his fascinating character.

When I first started researching the cemetery I couldn’t understand the connection to Joseph Sadony or events that occurred nearby at his estate, Valley of The Pines to Mouth Cemetery. He died in 1960 and is buried at Valley of The Pines. I read numerous newspaper articles printed during his lifetime about him and Valley of The Pines. I also read many different current websites about his life and beliefs. Most of the articles written about him were very positive. A few articles referred to Valley of The Pines as a cult and painted a less than flattering picture of Joseph Sadony. It was then that I realized that his name is mentioned in connection to Mouth Cemetery. He lived close to the cemetery and was considered a very unusual person.

Joseph Sadony 1960 – MLive

Legends, Lore, and the Power of the Unexplained

Over the years of researching haunted locations and urban legends, I’ve found that even just a little bit of weirdness is often enough to spark an urban legend. Even if he had lived today he would be considered unusual and different. This was especially true during his lifetime (1877-1960). In an interview with his granddaughter, she mentioned how her father told her that people would often see Joseph Sadony walking down the street. They would cross to the other side to avoid getting too close. They were afraid that he could read their minds.

The proximity of the mysterious Valley of The Pines — where Sadony kept his laboratory and wrote his newspaper columns — only added to the eerie lore surrounding the cemetery.

Do you know of a great urban legend or a haunted location that you’d like to learn the real history of? Send me the info and it could be featured in a future Dead History post.

Sources

  1. http://www.genealogymuskegon.com/Databases/Cemeteries/Mouth/mouth.htm
  2. Detroit Free Press, Sun, Jan 16, 1994
  3. http://absolutemichigan.com/michigan/still-on-duty-at-white-river-light/
  4. http://www.lighthousefriends.com/light.asp?ID=192
  5. http://www.coastalliving.com/travel/top-15-haunted-lighthouses/haunted-lighthouses-white-river-light-station

 

0 comments
1 FacebookPinterestRedditWhatsappEmail

While researching local haunted places to write about, I kept finding references to people being buried in the Poor Farm Cemetery in Roy, Utah.  The strange part was that I’m very familiar with the cemeteries in this area and I had never heard of the Poor Farm Cemetery before. Most of the mentions of burials at the Poor Farm were of older people with no family to care for them. There were also mentions of people who got sick and died while passing through town. The poor farm was also sometimes used as a pest house in the late 1800s.

15 comments
1 FacebookPinterestRedditWhatsappEmail

I’ve always been drawn to the cemeteries of New England. Maybe it’s because they’re some of the oldest in the country, or maybe it’s the headstone designs—skulls, cherubs, and hourglasses—that turn death into art. Whatever the reason, I’ve been fascinated with them for years.

Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to visit in person yet, but it’s high on my list. Thankfully, I have friends who don’t mind wandering through old burial grounds and sending me photos of weathered epitaphs and eerie carvings. One cemetery that’s always been on my radar is Granary Burying Ground in Boston.

0 comments
0 FacebookPinterestRedditWhatsappEmail

There are cemeteries, and then there’s Cimetière du Père Lachaise — 110 acres of winding paths, towering mausoleums, and history so thick you can almost hear it whispering. Père Lachaise isn’t just a burial ground; over a million souls rest beneath its elaborate tombs, creating a vast necropolis, a true city of the dead. Some graves are pristine, adorned with fresh flowers, while others crumble into the earth, names fading from stone as if they were never there at all.

I had dreamed of visiting for years, and when I finally made it to Paris, there was only one grave at the top of my list: Jim Morrison.

0 comments
0 FacebookPinterestRedditWhatsappEmail

Normandy American Cemetery

by Jennifer Jones

A few years ago I visited Normandy and was able to pay a visit to the Cimetière Américain de Colleville-sur-mer ( Normandy American Cemetery).  I don’t usually get too emotional at cemeteries, but this one was different. The cemetery is 172.5 acres with 9,387 burials and the names of 1,557 soldiers who are listed as missing in action. It’s located on a bluff overlooking Omaha Beach with a breathtaking view. Most of those buried here were killed during the D-Day invasion, and it’s interesting to note that the cemetery overlooks the sector where the 1st Division landed on D-Day.

While updating this post, I wanted to include early footage of the Normandy American Cemetery. I found a promising WWII Signal Corps film log, but something didn’t add up. The log entry described a burial ceremony on June 10, 1944 at an “American cemetery near Etuville, France.” But there was one problem, Etuville doesn’t exist.

Going Down a Rabbit Hole

At first, I wasn’t sure how to place this footage in my post. The burial site seemed to match historical descriptions of the Normandy American Cemetery’s earliest days, but the log entry calling it “Etuville” made me pause. I didn’t want to assume this was Saint-Laurent-sur-Mer without confirmation. That uncertainty sent me down a research rabbit hole — one that ultimately proved this footage was, in fact, documenting the very first burials at Saint-Laurent-sur-Mer.

What I found in the footage — fresh graves, sandy terrain, gliders in the background, and even French civilians assisting in burials — matched up with historical records and photographs from the temporary cemetery at Saint-Laurent-sur-Mer. This wasn’t some forgotten burial site; it was the very beginning of what would become the Normandy American Cemetery.

From Temporary Resting Place to Permanent Memorial

The U.S. military established the Saint-Laurent-sur-Mer site as the first American cemetery in Normandy, but they never intended for it to be permanent. As the war continued and officials planned a lasting memorial, they chose a new site just east of the original burial ground. On July 18, 1956, they dedicated the Normandy American Cemetery, consolidating remains from ten temporary cemeteries nearby. Workers placed the

Upon entering the cemetery you see a semi-circular memorial made out of limestone and engraved with the names of the 1,557 missing in action. Rosettes have been placed next to the names of those who have since been identified.It really hit me walking into the cemetery and just seeing all the names of those lost, and the rows and rows of graves.  Maybe it was because I had just been on a D-Day Tour that covered important locations during the invasion, or because I had recently watched Saving Private Ryan, but this cemetery made me so incredibly sad. Standing among the endless rows of white crosses, each one marking a life cut short, was sobering. These were men who had stormed the beaches, who had faced unimaginable horrors — and here, all that remained were their names, etched in stone.

Among the 9,387 graves, some stories stand out. Of these, 307 are unknown soldiers, four belong to women, and 38 sets of brothers lie side by side. The father and son buried here serve as a reminder of the families forever changed by war.  The brothers who inspired Saving Private Ryan (Preston and Robert Niland) are also buried here.1https://www.warhistoryonline.com/war-articles/american-cemetery-at-omaha-facts-we-didnt-know-but-you-did.html

The Women of Normandy: The Story of the Three B’s

Among the 9,387 graves at Normandy American Cemetery, only four belong to women. People rarely tell their stories, but they sacrificed just as much as the men they served alongside. Three of them, Pfc. Mary J. Barlow, Pfc. Mary H. Bankston, and Sgt. Dolores M. Browne—belonged to the 6888th Central Postal Directory Battalion, the only all-Black Women’s Army Corps unit to serve in Europe during World War II. The fourth, Elizabeth Richardson, was a Red Cross volunteer who spent her final days bringing comfort to war-weary soldiers, only to lose her own life before she could return home.

The Six Triple Eight had a mission that was both simple and staggering: clear the mountains of undelivered mail that had been piling up since D-Day. They worked in cold, dark warehouses, sorting millions of letters and packages meant for soldiers spread across the European theater. Their motto—“No mail, low morale”—was a blunt truth. A letter from home could mean the difference between hope and despair.

In July 1945, with the war in Europe over, military leaders sent the battalion to Rouen, France, to clear yet another backlog. But tragedy struck when a jeep accident killed Barlow, Bankston, and Browne. Their fellow soldiers, some with experience in mortuaries, prepared their bodies for burial. The unit even raised money for funeral services, ensuring their friends received a proper farewell.

Elizabeth Richardson: A Life Lost in Service

Elizabeth Richardson’s story is just as heartbreaking. She was a Red Cross worker, part of the famed Clubmobile Service, where women ran mobile canteens and delivered coffee, donuts, and conversation to battle-weary troops. More than that, they were a piece of home—a reminder of normalcy in a world that had become anything but.

On July 25, 1945, just two months after VE Day, Richardson boarded a small military plane headed for Paris. It crashed en route, killing everyone on board. She was 27 years old.

Today, these four women rest among the thousands of men they served beside. Society segregated them in life, but here in Normandy, people honor their sacrifice equally with all others. Their stories may not be as well-known, but their place in history—and in this cemetery—is just as earned.2“No mail, low morale”: the importance of the 6888th Central Postal Directory

Theodore Roosevelt Jr.: The Oldest Man to Storm the Beaches

One of the most sought after graves here is that of Theodore Roosevelt Jr, son of President Theodore Roosevelt and Medal of Honor recipient. When I visited the cemetery and took the picture below, I didn’t yet realize just how extraordinary he was..

Brigadier General Theodore “Ted” Roosevelt Jr was one of the most remarkable figures of D-Day. He was 56 years old, making him the oldest man in the invasion, and the only general to land with the first wave at Utah Beach on June 6, 1944. He was also the only one to have his son land that day, Captain Quentin Roosevelt, who was among the first men to land at Omaha Beach. Despite arthritis and a heart condition that required him to walk with a cane, he personally led troops under heavy fire, famously improvising when their landing was off course, saying: “We’ll start the war from right here!”

Ted Roosevelt, Utah Beach

His leadership was crucial in quickly securing the beachhead. Just over a month later, on July 12, 1944, Roosevelt died of a heart attack in France. Recognizing his bravery and leadership under fire, the U.S. Army posthumously awarded Roosevelt the Medal of Honor. One of only four given for actions on D-Day. Today he rests at Normandy American Cemetery beside his younger brother, Quentin Roosevelt, a WWI pilot whom enemy forces shot down over France in 1918. They remain the only pair of brothers buried side by side in the cemetery. Many years later when General Omar Bradley was asked what the most heroic action he witnessed in battle he replied: “Ted Roosevelt, Utah Beach.”3Theodore Roosevelt Jr

Visiting the Normandy American Cemetery is humbling enough on its own, but after uncovering the full story of its origins, from the first burials at Saint-Laurent-sur-Mer to the perfectly aligned rows here today — it feels even more powerful. These young men stormed the beaches below, knowing that for many of them, this was it. Now, their final resting place overlooks the very spot where they fought and fell.

1 comment
0 FacebookPinterestRedditWhatsappEmail

A Mysterious House in the Water

A couple of years ago, I was driving from Ogden to the small town of Spring City, Utah. After passing through Spanish Fork Canyon and turning onto US-89, I rounded a curve and saw the strangest sight. It was the site of the Thistle Utah Landslide.

A decaying house stood half-submerged in water, veiled by tall grass. It wasn’t an easy area to stop in. I was on a tight schedule, so I couldn’t pull over to explore. On a return trip, I finally had time to stop and take a closer look. That’s when I realized the house was one of the few remaining traces of Thistle, Utah. This was a town that once thrived but is now almost entirely erased from the map.

Thistle: A Once-Thriving Railroad Town

Thistle’s first settlers arrived in the late 1840s. It wasn’t until the railroad expanded into the area in 1890 that the town truly began to grow. By 1917, over 1,600 people lived in Thistle, working in its engine house, coaling stations, and railroad shops. Businesses flourished, including three general stores, a saloon, a bakery, a barber shop, and a pool hall. By 1920, it had 417 residents and a thriving town center, complete with a large depot and roundhouse. There were general stores, a saloon, a post office, and a schoolhouse. Life in Thistle was more than just railroad work. Residents gathered for Sunday school plays, lively dances, and even concerts hosted by the Women’s Christian Temperance Union.

By the late 19th century, Thistle had become a key railroad junction along the Rio Grande Western Railroad’s Thistle Branch. The town’s importance grew with the addition of a roundhouse and turntable for trains, a two-story hotel, and bustling businesses. The fertile Thistle Valley stretched for seventeen miles, supporting oat and alfalfa crops, cattle ranching, and horse breeding. Many farmers also worked seasonally for the railroad, making Thistle a thriving, multi-industry town.

However, tensions arose between the Sanpete County government and the railroad over land disputes. The railroad initially agreed to pay for right-of-way land but later refused to formalize the agreement. This led to legal battles. While Thistle persisted through the early 20th century, its reliance on the railroad meant that as train travel declined, so did the town.

Decline and Abandonment

As rail travel declined, so did Thistle. By the early 1970s, the train depot was relocated and converted into a home. Many shops and the post office were torn down. By 1983, only 50 families remained. By the 1950s, Thistle was already struggling to survive. The transition from steam locomotives to diesel engines made the town’s railroad role less essential. Once a bustling stop where helper engines assisted trains up Spanish Fork Canyon, Thistle now found itself increasingly obsolete.

In 1956, only about 150 residents remained. Many feared that Denver & Rio Grande Railroad would eventually relocate workers to Provo, sealing the town’s fate. Frank Leek, a lifelong resident, recalled Thistle’s boom years. The town had machinists, boiler makers, general stores, a dance hall, and a large school. By the mid-20th century, however, businesses had closed. Even the school had been sold, forcing children to ride a bus to Spanish Fork.

Adding to Thistle’s troubles was its long history of flooding. In 1952, a major flood devastated the town, washing away railroad tracks, a bridge, and several homes. Water from Thistle Creek and the Spanish Fork River flooded houses, leaving residents wading through several feet of standing water. The damage totaled over $100,000—a significant sum at the time. While repairs were made, the event foreshadowed the disaster to come.

Despite the declining population and recurring floods, some residents remained hopeful. Leek, an avid fisherman, said he stayed in Thistle because he could sit in his backyard and catch rainbow and German brown trout right from a cool stream.

But nature had other plans.

Thistle’s History of Flooding and Disaster

Thistle’s location in a narrow valley surrounded by steep mountains made it vulnerable to natural disasters. This was long before the catastrophic 1983 landslide. One of the most devastating events occurred on May 31, 1939. A sudden 20-minute cloudburst unleashed a torrent of mud, rocks, and floodwaters onto the town.

Water rushed down from ravines in Spanish Fork Canyon, sweeping through homes, farms, and railroad tracks. The damage totaled $50,000 (nearly $1 million today), with farmers suffering severe losses. Max Dephew lost his entire wheat and hay fields, while A.L. Pace’s 80-acre farm was destroyed. Hail piled 3.5 inches deep, worsening the devastation.

The Denver & Rio Grande Western Railroad struggled to keep up with the destruction. Tracks were washed out, forcing emergency repairs. Rockslides closed U.S. Highway 89 for hours. The impact was so severe that it took weeks for the area to recover—only for more storms to threaten the region in the following years.

These early disasters foreshadowed Thistle’s fate in 1983. The same conditions that caused the flooding and landslides in 1939 ultimately led to the massive landslide that buried the town decades later.

The 1983 Landslide Disaster

By April 1983, the Thistle Utah landslide was already in motion, though its full impact wasn’t immediately clear. The disaster unfolded slowly at first, with subtle warning signs that quickly escalated into a full-scale catastrophe.

On Friday, April 15, 1983, at around 1 a.m., Utah Highway Patrol dispatchers noticed a shift in the mountain above U.S. Highway 6 in Spanish Fork Canyon. The ground was moving at a rate of nearly five inches per hour. By Friday evening, the entire roadbed had been pushed up 15 feet from its original position. Railroad tracks crumbled under the pressure, forcing the cancellation of the final scheduled run of the Rio Grande Zephyr. This was the last private long-distance passenger train in the U.S.

State and highway officials raced against time to prevent further damage. 150 workers were deployed to try and keep the Spanish Fork River from backing up into Thistle. It was a losing battle. The landslide was reactivating an old slide area, and geologists determined that saturated clay beneath the surface was acting as a lubricant, accelerating the movement. Millions of tons of material were shifting toward the valley floor. Despite desperate efforts, workers couldn’t move dirt fast enough to prevent the destruction.

Evelyn Nelson, 73, was among the last to leave. She had lived in Thistle her entire life. She never imagined millions of tons of earth would come crashing down the mountainside.

“We were told not to worry,” said Jim Moore, who lost $100,000 worth of property. Residents were promised that blasting would release the water—but it never happened.

Families fled with only what they could carry, many leaving behind generations of memories. One resident, Bruce Dunn, had just bought a home nine months earlier for $125,000—only to abandon it forever.

The Flood That Buried a Town

By Sunday, April 17, the Thistle Utah landslide had completely reshaped the valley. The Spanish Fork River, dammed by the landslide, had created a 3-mile-long lake. This lake submerged Thistle under 50 feet of water. Only the rooftops of 22 homes could be seen from above.

The town’s 50 residents—many retirees who had lived there for decades—lost everything. They were placed in emergency shelters in Birdseye. Meanwhile, emergency workers raced to prevent the mud dam from collapsing and flooding the town of Spanish Fork downstream.

As the water continued to rise, so did the cost. The disaster had caused more than $1 million in damage to railroads and highways. Central Telephone Co. alone lost $200,000.

The town that had once thrived as a railroad stop and farming community was now nothing more than a ghost beneath the water.

What Remains of Thistle Today

Today, Thistle is nothing more than a memory, a few old photographs, and the ruins hidden beneath the water. Once a bustling railroad stop where trains chugged up Spanish Fork Canyon and families built their lives, it’s now a ghost town in the most literal sense—silent, submerged, and all but forgotten.

The house in the water is the last visible remnant—a decaying relic of a town that nature decided had overstayed its welcome. The school is nothing but rubble, and the lake that swallowed Thistle is still there, calm and indifferent, as if it was always meant to be. Most people driving through have no idea they’re passing over what was once a thriving community. A small historical marker stands near the highway, offering a brief explanation. If you take the old highway route, you’ll find what’s left—crumbling foundations, rusted metal, and the eerie silhouette of that half-drowned house.

Highway 89 was rerouted, the railroad moved on, and the Thistle Utah landslide became one of the most devastating natural disasters in Utah history. But if you stand there long enough, with the wind cutting through the valley, you can almost hear it. It is the faint echoes of a town that fought to survive, only to be wiped off the map.

0 comments
0 FacebookPinterestRedditWhatsappEmail

Haunted History Awaits You!

Your inbox won't be haunted by spam! Read our privacy policy for more info.

-
00:00
00:00
Update Required Flash plugin
-
00:00
00:00