St. Augustine Ghost Stories: The Lonely Grave & All Souls’ Night Encounters

If you are even the most casual lover of the supernatural, you know October 31st has a significance. All Hallows Eve symbolizes a time when the veil thins and spirits can roam freely amongst us. That’s partially true. The time beginning with the winter solstice is a slow part of the veil. It thins more with every shift of the moon. Spirits begin to peek out and shift, culminating on that dark evening in October. It doesn’t just end on November 1st. The veil is not a solid door that slams shut as the sun rises. It is fluid, more like a gossamer curtain shifting in and out. Spirit activity often lingers long after trick-or-treaters have settled into sugar-induced slumber. It was the evening two days after Halloween, where our guests may have felt safe from the real spirits, that left both myself and a small group forever changed by what we witnessed. The energy of All Hallows Eve lingers, culminating in sacred moments like All Souls’ Day.

November 2nd is traditionally the Catholic holy day known as All Soul’s Day. It is the day to pray for and remember the souls that have left this mortal coil. On this hallowed day, the Catholics of St. Augustine held a vigil in the oldest cemetery in town, Tolometo Cemetery. Souls have been buried there “from time immemorial” according to Father O’Reilly, a priest active in 1799. There is an energy near these iron gates that was pulsing stronger as the graves were adorned with tealight candles, left to burn until complete. 

As the sacred energy of All Souls’ Day lingered, it set the perfect stage for what would become one of my most unforgettable nights. It had been a long night of tours for both James and I. His group was fascinated by his stories and when I met up with them, I was barraged with a round of questions to confirm some of the experiences he shared. We invited them to join us on our way to the car, as we passed by this beautiful and haunting cemetery to continue our stories off the clock. 

Some joined and a small group walked with us to the cemetery gates. James knew I had just visited the cemetery the week before for the one afternoon they allowed you in. I had so much new knowledge and stories that I could not wait to share. As I took a spot in the center of the gates, I began telling what would become one of my favorite stories. The Tale of the Lonely Grave.

When people think of a grave all alone, they think of Baby James, the five year old buried in isolation near the front of the gates. A few footsteps away, there is a crypt rising against the edge of the cemetery almost abutting the house next door. I had always been curious about this grave. Legends swirled about who was buried there. When I found out the beautiful truth it was something I had to share.

It’s the story of a man who lived before therapy. He fought his depression by going to church daily and having long conversations with the priest, asking for absolution from whatever sin caused this. He anguished daily until one day it became too much and he took his own life. Catholics do not traditionally bury the victims of suicide in the cemetery, but the local priest gave him a burial because in his mind, the man died from an illness. The illness of depression. The compromise was he would be buried far away from the dead who did not commit a mortal sin.  I love to share this story. It's such a comfort that even then, people could recognize depression is not a choice.

As I finished telling that, I began my next tale. As I open my mouth to speak, I catch James out of the corner of my eye. He is looking at his shoes. I thought he may not want to look inside the cemetery. I can feel that electric feeling like before a storm raises all the hairs on my arms. I turned my body to point at the chapel and I saw him. A figure wearing a long white nightshirt. The white color of the almost floor length shirt was clear, but also hazy. I could see the hint of a body beneath, features were blurred, but I could see him walking casually through for a moment before just disappearing from my vision. His steps made no sound and the candles around him flickered undisturbed. It was so clear and quick it felt like no time had passed between him being here and gone. I exclaimed, "who is that?!" At the same time, a woman with us who was listening screamed. She was pointing in the cemetery. I said, "did you see him too?" I look at James and he is looking at me knowingly with a small smile. It entertains him that after all my experiences, they still surprise me. The woman on the tour was shaking and her boyfriend was holding her. She told us she's seen things before, but never so clearly. I look at James as I realize the candles encircling the graveyard, paired with the lingering energy of Halloween, seemed to create a portal. The graveyard teemed with flickering shadows and ethereal lights, bustling with an energy as vivid as a weekend market but infinitely more haunting. The guests were abuzz, Storytime came to an abrupt halt as we all stared into the cemetery, the glow of phone screens adding to the flickering candlelight.

Orbs floated on screens as voices rose, adding to the glow of candlelight—a moment alive with supernatural awe. I leaned on James and watched as we realized we had given these few guests a brief glimpse of what we see every night. I know that night changed lives and perspectives. If anyone there was a skeptic, they were a skeptic no more. I believe it was the man buried in the corner. Since then, at the very least, an orb appears floating near me as I tell his story. He may be grateful he is finally not “The Bride” or some other random legend. He is seen. 

Nights like these are rare, but when the stars align and the moon shines over the darkness, it can pull back the curtain on the afterlife, leaving skeptics and believers alike peering into the veil, forever wondering what truly lies beyond.

Ready to uncover more of St. Augustine’s haunted past? Join Kindred Spirits Tours for an unforgettable ghost tour experience!