Speaking of gangland burials: Among the many tales associated with Bachelor’s Grove is that its pond was a favorite dump for Capone’s victims. Actual recorded crimes were committed here: According to the Tribune, a dead Indiana girl was found in the cemetery in 1966; a woman killed a boyfriend and dumped his body here in the 1980s; in the 1990s, two south suburban men were arrested after banging a stick into a stranger’s ear here. But supernaturally, it’s a veritable encyclopedia of urban legend: a ghostly lady in white cradling an infant (hence the gifts left at graves), orbs of light, giant dogs, Satanic sacrifices, hook-handed killers, phantom farmhouses. Paranormal researchers call it one of the most haunted spots in the country. Certainly, it’s evocative — small, secluded, founded by pioneers in the 1830s, it hasn’t been an active burial site since the ’60s. It’s only reached by a trail at 143rd Street. It’s closed after sunset, but then why go after sunset?
One of the most passed-by graves in Chicago, and probably one of the least noticed. On the south end of the park, near the Chicago History Museum, Couch Tomb was erected in the 1850s for hotel magnate Ira Couch and his family. Its architect, John Van Osdel, also designed Couch’s landmark hotel, the Tremont House, as well as Chicago City Hall. When the tomb was constructed, Lincoln Park doubled as Chicago City Cemetery. After the 1871 fire, the only memorial still standing here was Couch’s stone tomb. (Most had been made of wood.) It was left in place because the city didn’t want to spend the $3,000 (in 19th century dollars) that it would have cost to move it. (Most, but not all, of the other bodies were moved.) Soon after, the tomb’s occupancy became a mystery. Though it was built to house 11, only “Couch” is inscribed in its stone. Across a century, newspaper stories have claimed that anywhere from one (Ira) to 13 people are buried inside. Yet it’s possible, according to artist Pamela Bannos, who exhaustively documented the former cemetery for a 2019 project, the tomb is empty.
This one is even more confusing. Inside a tall plastic box here is the milky white statue of a girl holding a folded parasol. The inscription claims that Inez Clarke was buried in this spot in 1880, that she was daughter of “J.N. and M.C. Clarke” and only 6 when she died. According to the most widely repeated (apocryphal) tale: Inez had been a naughty kid, so her parents locked her out of the house as punishment. Just then a storm rushed in. Inez was struck by lightning and killed. Her parents told mourners Inez had died of tuberculosis. As legend goes, Inez now leaves her case during storms to play on the grounds. Some claim that on rainy days they’ve seen a child in frilly period clothing; some insist the statue itself vanishes for hours at a time. (Nobody ever thinks to whip out a phone.) The most credible reality here is even stranger: Local cemetery historian Al Walavich (as told by the Sun-Times in 2007) has found no census records for an Inez Clarke who lived in Chicago in the 1880s; furthermore, there are no records for an Inez Clarke buried at Graceland. The cemetery has said Amos Briggs, an 8-year-old boy, is actually beneath that statue. Why then is there an Inez Clarke statue? One answer: It may have been a sample of work from a Rogers Park sculptor — though why the cemetery left it is unclear.
Located between Morris and Minooka, off a wooded trail near I-80, Aux Sable is warm and charming — and overrun by the dead, orbs of light and wandering spirits of ghostly children. (Or so say the generations of teenagers who have gotten stoned here.) Reported supernaturalness includes foggy windows, self-locking car doors and Satan worship. One mainstay is a mysterious girl who reveals herself only if you leave your car. There are also unexpected mists and scrawls of ghoulish graffiti that feed beliefs that this small cemetery is a vacationland for Satanists. (Yes, the gates of hell are here too.) All of this means more than one cemetery’s share of vandalism and police patrols.
Three years after the mobster was buried at Mount Olivet Cemetery in 1947, his remains were moved to Mount Carmel. His grave had been repeatedly vandalized. To confuse the curious, Mount Olivet left a Capone headstone standing (to this day), but the man himself is in Mount Carmel. It’s said he watches visitors and rises from his grave to chase the discourteous. Which makes sense: Capone was said to be haunted for years by those he murdered at the 1929 St. Valentine’s Day Massacre on Clark Street. Not to mention, even in death he may be looking over his shoulder: Mount Carmel holds a veritable gangland, including henchman Frank Nitti, assassin Machine Gun Jack McGurn and Chicago crime boss Sam Giancana. Still, if Capone is watching, he’s doing a questionable job: At least twice since the 1950s, his headstone has been stolen.
There’s not much here, with reason. Ottilie “Tillie” Klimek was a poisoner and alleged serial killer, and though she was convicted of killing only her third husband (with poison), she was linked to the deaths of her previous husbands (both of whom were poisoned). She’s also suspected in the poisoning deaths of children, relatives, neighbors, animals — anyone who got close. Klimek died in 1936 at 70, as a resident of the old Joliet Correctional Center. She now rests in an unmarked grave.
Speaking of gangland burials: Among the many tales associated with Bachelor’s Grove is that its pond was a favorite dump for Capone’s victims. Actual recorded crimes were committed here: According to the Tribune, a dead Indiana girl was found in the cemetery in 1966; a woman killed a boyfriend and dumped his body here in the 1980s; in the 1990s, two south suburban men were arrested after banging a stick into a stranger’s ear here. But supernaturally, it’s a veritable encyclopedia of urban legend: a ghostly lady in white cradling an infant (hence the gifts left at graves), orbs of light, giant dogs, Satanic sacrifices, hook-handed killers, phantom farmhouses. Paranormal researchers call it one of the most haunted spots in the country. Certainly, it’s evocative — small, secluded, founded by pioneers in the 1830s, it hasn’t been an active burial site since the ’60s. It’s only reached by a trail at 143rd Street. It’s closed after sunset, but then why go after sunset?