Ethnographic Story

It had been raining on the morning of Saturday 2^nd October, so I wondered: what better weather to go out and explore a spooky place? I immediately stood up from my chair, closed my books and grabbed my raincoat. I sprinted outside and smelled the oddly soothing and autumn-like odour of wet concrete and soil enter my lungs. The Meadows was deserted because of the rain, so I remembered that nearby, there’s a Salvation Army charity shop which had put up some spooky Halloween decorations. I made my way inside and introduced myself to the cashier, explaining to him what my project consisted of. I got my pencil and notebook out and asked him if it was okay for him to give me his name. He smiled and nodded: his name was Mark. The spookiest place he could think of was Greyfriars Cemetery. He said lots of teenagers like to go there because of the atmosphere and as it’s open 24h, they can get the spooks when the sun has set. I had never been to this cemetery, so I was excited. Because of the rain, I could hear the sound of my shoes squelching on the wet pavement. It was as though I had been catapulted into a cemetery far away from the city, as it was so silent. I could smell the moist grass and my cheeks had become rosy in the cold. After taking a few pictures I decided I would return that same evening and see what it was like at night. It was then that I really got the spine-chilling spooks Mark had told me about. Young people shrieking in the distance, branches creaking and weird-looking shadows. There was even a group of tourists with oil lanterns being showed around and hearing the story behind Greyfriars Cemetery and the old Greyfriars Kirkyard prison. I was on my way out when suddenly, I felt I was being sucked into the ground. I looked behind me and saw my name engraved on a tombstone. That’s when I realised: I was one of the dead.

Reflection on Ethnographic Storytelling

I decided to write in first person so that those who read it could identify themselves with the ‘protagonist’. I tried to put into words the atmosphere that surrounded me when visiting the cemetery, the sounds, and the smells of the wet ground. I think that, when writing about something scary, it is important to make sure to give off the right spooky-vibe and also adding a plot twist at the end, the kind that makes you gasp and widen your eyes.

Photographs of Greyfriars Cemetery