Yeah, I remember Graceland Cemetery. Elvis’ ghost still hovers at the gate, I hear. You may also remember Paul, the caretaker’s son, who one Christmas morning sat and shot out every one of the ornaments on their Christmas tree with his new Red Ryder bb gun. It must have been tough to grow up in a cemetery.
There is one other story about the place that has been around for years, often called The Bride of Graceland Cemetery, authenticity unverified.
One evening a man was driving past the cemetery in the rain and spotted a young woman standing by the gates wearing a wedding dress. He stopped and asked her if she was alright and offered her a ride. Once she was in the car, he gave her his coat to help keep her warm, but when they arrived at the house where she said she lived, she left without returning his coat.
The next day he returned to the house to get the coat and an older woman answered the door. When he told her the story and asked for his coat, she said that was impossible, for her daughter had been dead for years. He didn’t believe her, thinking that she may have been too embarassed about the previous day’s strange events, and that there must be more to the story. Eventually the woman gave him detailed directions to her daughter’s grave and told him to go and see for himself.
When he got to the grave, his coat was draped over the gravestone.
I love stories with a happy ending.