White Cemetery & Cuba Road

Where Grief Walks Without a Face

Most roads get quieter at night. Cuba Road doesn’t. It behaves like it’s waiting. Just outside Arlington Heights, it loops past White Cemetery, a place too small to justify how many people refuse to speak about it. There are no theatrics here — no guided tours, no docents selling EMF keychains. It’s the kind of haunt that doesn’t perform. It simply exists.

The legend is always simplified as: “There’s a lady in white.” Which is inaccurate. There is a figure that wears white, yes — but she is not porcelain-tragic or poetic. She has no face. Witnesses report a human silhouette but with the facial features scraped clean, like grief erased identity. She doesn’t reach. She doesn’t scream. She watches. And something primordial in the human brain understands: this is not meant to be observed.

Then there’s the phantom car — black, silent, often appearing behind you in the mirror. Tailgating. Matching your speed. No license, no lights. Try to confront it and it evaporates into the treeline like it was never made of matter at all. Paranormal crews have reported footsteps circling them through the gravestones, but no gravel disturbed. One even claimed the cemetery gate opened inward for them — amusing, considering that particular iron gate has no hinges.

There is no once-upon-a-time tragedy here. No named curse. And that is exactly what makes White Cemetery worse than theatrical haunts: there's no narrative to solve. No redemption arc. Just persistence. Cuba Road doesn’t want believers. It wants witnesses.

New haunted hometowns drop every Wednesday.
Want yours dissected? Comment it. Don’t worry — I’ll see it.
Don’t mistake silence for safety. —F.