Resurrection Mary

The CampfireThe openingFree

Southwest of Chicago, there's a long road called Archer Avenue. It runs past old factories, empty lots, forest preserves and cemeteries. A lot of cemeteries. At night it's dark and lonely, and the streetlights are far apart.

On Archer Avenue there's an old dance hall. Back in the 1930s it was called the Oh Henry Ballroom. Later the Willowbrook Ballroom. People came from all over Chicago on Saturday nights to dance to big bands.

And a few miles down the road, there's Resurrection Cemetery.

This is the story people started telling in the 1930s. And they haven't stopped.

A young man is driving home on Archer Avenue late at night. And in his headlights, on the side of the road, he sees a girl.

She's young. Blond. Pretty. Wearing a long white dress, like she's been at a dance. Dancing shoes. She's walking alone on the shoulder, in the dark, miles from anywhere.

He stops. He asks if she needs a ride.

She gets in. She's quiet. A little pale. She says she's been dancing at the ballroom and missed her ride, and she lives down Archer Avenue. Could he take her home?

He says sure.