Do you want to hear a personal story of mine?

My wife, let’s call her “Anna”, and I had always been fascinated by history and haunted places. On our trip to Scotland, we decided to visit, among others, the Greyfriars Kirkyard in Edinburgh, known for its dark history and ghostly tales. It was a chilly, end of march, overcast evening when we made our way there, just as the last light of day was fading.

Greyfriars Kirkyard is a historic cemetery dating back to the 16th century, famous for its eerie atmosphere and the stories of restless spirits. Google it for more infos. As we entered through the old iron gates, the place was deserted, adding to the unsettling silence that hung in the air. We walked along the narrow, uneven paths, past ancient, crumbling tombstones and moss-covered mausoleums.

We had heard about the infamous "Mackenzie Poltergeist," said to haunt the Black Mausoleum. George Mackenzie, known as "Bloody Mackenzie" for his persecution of the Covenanters, was buried here in 1691. It is said his spirit is one of the most active and violent in the cemetery. Naturally, we decided to find his tomb.

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The Black Mausoleum was tucked away in a dark corner of the kirkyard, partially hidden by overgrown trees. The air around it felt colder.  Anna held my hand tightly as we stood before the imposing structure, its iron gate rusted and ajar.

Suddenly, a cold wind picked up, rustling the leaves and making the trees creak. Normal. We heard a faint, almost imperceptible whispering, like many voices speaking at once. We took out our flashlight, its weak beam cutting through the growing darkness.

As we stepped closer to the mausoleum, the whispering grew louder. It seemed to be coming from inside. We hesitated at the entrance, peering into the blackness beyond. The air inside was musty and damp, with a  sense of dread.

Then, without warning, the flashlight flickered and died just like in the movies, plunging us into complete darkness. Anna gasped, and I could feel her trembling. We fumbled with our phones, turning on their weak lights. The whispering continued, more distinct now, filled with anger and sorrow.

Suddenly, we heard a loud thud from inside the mausoleum, followed by the sound of scraping stone. My heart raced as we backed away, but curiosity kept us rooted to the spot. The temperature dropped further, and our breath came out in visible puffs.

We watched in horror as a shadowy figure emerged from the mausoleum. It was tall and cloaked, its face hidden in darkness. The whispering voices rose to a cacophony, and the figure moved toward us with an unnatural, gliding motion. The atmosphere was thick with malevolence.

Instinct took over, and we turned and ran, stumbling over graves and tripping on uneven ground. The figure seemed to follow, its presence pressing down on us, filling us with an overwhelming sense of dread. Just as we thought we couldn't run any further, we saw lights up ahead.

We burst into a clearing and almost collided with a group of people. It was a ghost tour, led by a local guide. The guide looked at us with concern as we gasped for breath, trying to explain what had happened.

"I see you’ve met the Mackenzie Poltergeist," the guide said, his voice calm but serious. "You’re not the first, and you won't be the last."

The tour group looked intrigued and a bit frightened. Some people thought we were part of the show. Actors. And that we wanted to scare them. The guide gestured for us to join them, offering safety in numbers. Relieved, we fell in with the group, the guide continuing his tales of the kirkyard’s dark history.

As we walked together, the oppressive feeling lifted slightly, but we couldn't shake the sense of being watched. Every now and then, we glanced back, half-expecting to see the shadowy figure following us. Thankfully, it didn’t reappear.

By the time the tour ended, we were more than ready to leave Greyfriars Kirkyard behind. We thanked the guide and made our way back to our hotel, grateful for the company that had seemingly protected us from whatever haunted the Black Mausoleum.

 Scotland is a land rich with stories, but some are best left untold. Or maybe Not?

have you experienced anything similar? tell me in the comments.

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