After a wonderful visit to the Cornwell Museum and downtown Sour Lake, I headed a few blocks north to the old Jackson Cemetery. Although it is small, Jackson Cemetery is filled with some of the area’s founders and is a veritable who’s who of historic Sour Lake. Truth be told, I frequent cemeteries quite often. And this day, like so many others, I wanted to take a few photos of the old gravestones. But today would be different. Yes, I did get a couple of good photos as the ever-present churning of an oil well sounded in the background, but it wouldn’t be till later that night that I would discover something odd and inexplicable.

Whether you are a believer in the paranormal or not, there are some things that you just can’t really explain. I will do my best to play devil’s advocate, but you cannot ignore the spooky aspects of my two visits to Jackson Cemetery. I will try to document these here as best as I can.

As I sifted through the prized photos of my day’s journey, I came across this photo:  

It’s a bit innocent until you enlarge it, and then the fun begins. My first impression of the photo was that a silhouette had formed from a late afternoon sunray on the back of a historical marker. In the next moment I realized that it could possibly be a ghostly side-view image of a woman staring downward. But then I wondered: could it be a former resident returning for some unknown reason? I confess that I know little of Sour Lake’s rich history—or of its people. This is why I cannot confirm if the image resembles anyone—or anything. But I will state that it’s pretty darn impressive, and it makes me want to delve into these families’ histories.

My next venture into Jackson Cemetery was a week later. I took many photos but was unsuccessful in matching my last non-awarding-winning pic. But being the spiritual, amateur, paranormal investigator and unsuspecting historian that I am, I did take what is called a ghost vox. After using this instrument, I personally think that they are a waste of time, but even a broken clock has its moments. As I walked through the cemetery, the vox provided very little info of who—or what—might be in this solemn place. But then one word broke the silence.

“Daniel.”

The vox blurted out this single word, then fell quiet.

As I looked up, I saw that I was in front of Tas and Celia Daniels’ graves. Make of that what you will, but I believe it’s a huge coincidence all the same.

Whatever lurks in Jackson Cemetery I cannot be certain, but there was definitely something in the cool October air.

Do you have a similar story to tell? Do you know of any history that goes bump in the night? I would love to hear your story.