Mary | A Chicago Ghost Story

Archer Avenue stretched out in front of Emma, a long, dark road cutting through the night. The trees on either side seemed to close in, their shadows merging into a single, impenetrable mass. It was quiet, too quiet, and the only sound she could hear was the soft whir of her bike tires on the pavement. She had taken this route home many times after work, enjoying the peace and solitude. But tonight, something felt different. The air felt heavier, and the darkness seemed thicker, more oppressive.

Emma had just passed the Willowbrook Ballroom, a building that looked like it belonged in another time. Its sign was old and barely lit, flickering weakly in the night. The ballroom had seen better days, but it still stood as a reminder of a bygone era. Emma always felt a strange pull toward the place, though she wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the stories she had heard—stories of a ghostly figure seen along Archer Avenue.

As she continued down the road, she noticed a figure standing on the shoulder ahead. She slowed her bike, squinting to get a better look. It was a young woman, standing alone with her back to the road. Emma’s heart skipped a beat. Who would be out here by themselves at this time of night?

Emma stopped her bike a few feet away, her concern growing. The woman turned to face her, and Emma could see her clearly in the moonlight. She looked to be in her late teens or early twenties, with soft, delicate features. Her blond hair was styled in waves, framing her face in a way that seemed old-fashioned. She wore a simple white dress that looked like something from the 1920s, with a skirt that swished around her knees and dainty shoes that seemed better suited for dancing than walking on a dark road.

“Are you okay?” Emma called out, her voice filled with concern. The woman looked at her with wide, frightened eyes.

“I don’t know where I am,” the woman said, her voice shaking. “I was just at the ballroom, and I knew the way home, but now… everything looks so different.”

Emma frowned, glancing around. The ballroom was behind them now, and there wasn’t much else around except for trees and the occasional old house. “Where do you live?” she asked gently, trying to help.

“Not far,” the woman replied, looking around as if searching for something familiar. “Only a mile or so… but nothing looks the same.”

A chill ran down Emma’s spine. The woman’s clothes were strange, out of place. They looked like something from decades ago. But Emma pushed the feeling aside. “Maybe I can help you find your way. I can walk with you if you’d like.”

The woman nodded, relief softening her features. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Emma got off her bike and started walking alongside the woman. They moved down Archer Avenue together, the road eerily silent. The only sounds were their footsteps on the gravel and the distant hum of traffic from a faraway highway. The moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows that seemed to move on their own.

“I’m Emma,” she said after a moment, hoping to ease the tension. “What’s your name?”

“Mary,” the woman replied quietly. “My name is Mary.”

Emma nodded, the name sparking a vague memory, something she had heard before but couldn’t quite place. “You were at the ballroom? Was there a dance tonight?”

“Yes,” Mary said, a small smile appearing on her lips. “There was. I was with friends, but… I must have lost them. I just wanted to go home.”

Emma glanced at Mary’s shoes—scuffed and worn as if she had been walking for miles. “It’s a good thing I found you,” Emma said, trying to be reassuring. “It’s not safe to be out here alone at night.”

Mary nodded, but her expression grew troubled. “I just… I don’t understand how I got so lost. I’ve walked this road so many times before, but now… everything’s different.”

They continued walking, the silence between them growing heavier with each step. Emma could see the faint glow of streetlights up ahead, but the uneasy feeling in her chest only grew stronger. Something wasn’t right, but she couldn’t just leave Mary alone in the dark.

Soon, they reached a tall wrought-iron gate on the left side of the road. The gate was old, its black bars twisted into intricate shapes. Beyond it lay Resurrection Cemetery, its gravestones barely visible in the dim light. Emma’s heart pounded as she realized where they were. This was the place from the stories—the place where Resurrection Mary was said to roam.

Mary stopped at the gate, staring into the cemetery beyond. She turned to Emma, her face filled with a mix of sorrow and acceptance. “Thank you,” she said, her voice soft. “You’ve been very kind.”

Emma’s breath caught in her throat. “Wait, is this… is this your home?”

Mary nodded slowly. “Yes… I think it is. I’ve been trying to find my way back for so long.”

Emma watched in disbelief as Mary reached out and touched the gate. Her hand passed through the cold metal as if it wasn’t there. The air around them grew thick with mist, rising from the ground and swirling around Mary’s feet.

“I need to go now,” Mary said, her voice sounding distant, as though coming from far away. She stepped toward the gate, her form shimmering in the moonlight. Emma wanted to say something, to call her back, but she couldn’t find the words.

Mary took another step, and her body became less solid, more like a shadow. She looked back at Emma one last time, her eyes filled with deep sadness. Then, with one final, graceful movement, she walked through the gate and into the cemetery.

Emma stood frozen, watching as Mary’s figure dissolved into the mist. The fog thickened, wrapping itself around the gravestones like a ghostly shroud. For a long moment, there was nothing but silence—no wind, no movement, just the stillness of the night.

Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the fog lifted, leaving the cemetery silent and empty. Mary was gone.

Emma remained rooted to the spot, her mind struggling to understand what had just happened. Finally, she forced herself to move, her legs heavy as she walked back to her bike. She climbed on with trembling hands and pedaled away from the cemetery, the cold night air biting at her skin.

As she rode, the memory of Mary’s sad, lost eyes stayed with her, haunting her thoughts. Emma didn’t know exactly what she had witnessed that night, but one thing was certain—she had met Resurrection Mary. And she would never forget it.