Forget the jump-scare haunted houses. The Bridgeview Park District’s Haunted Archer Avenue Tour is something else entirely — part folklore, part investigation, and part community night out.
Earlier this month, a bus full of believers, skeptics, and first-timers rolled away from the park district lot, ready for four hours of stories that live somewhere between Chicago’s South Side and its spirit world. The route covered the landmarks locals whisper about: Archer Woods Cemetery, Sacred Heart, Maple Lake, Chet’s Melody Lounge, and Bachelor’s Grove Cemetery.
At the front of the bus was Neal Gibbons, founder of Graveside Paranormal, joined by Kylie O’Connell, Bridgeview’s event coordinator and a longtime investigator herself. “We’re not here to chase ghosts,” Gibbons told the group. “We’re here to listen.”
Three Marys, One Legend
Everyone on board knew the story of Resurrection Mary — or thought they did. The white-dressed hitchhiker who vanishes near Resurrection Cemetery has been a Chicago legend for nearly a century. But Gibbons said it’s not that simple.
“There are three women she could be,” he explained. “Mary Baccovie, Anna Maria Norkis, or Mary Miskowski.”
Each of them, he said, died young after a night out, and all along this same stretch of Archer Avenue.
- Anna Maria Norkis (1927) was just 13, a South Side girl who loved to dance.
- Mary Miskowski (1931) was killed on Halloween night, hit by a car while walking to a costume party.
- Mary Baccovie (1934) died after a night out with friends — a story that mirrors the classic Resurrection Mary tale.
Gibbons’ theory: The ghost isn’t one woman, but a blend of all three. “These stories may have merged into a tulpa,” he told the crowd — “a kind of thought-form made real by memory and grief.”
Fieldwork, Not Fright Night
At each stop, staff guided guests through how to use EMF detectors and spirit boxes, the static-filled devices meant to catch faint voices. “We had a lot that night,” she said later. “Names came through, and some photos showed shadows and possibly orbs.”
At Archer Woods Cemetery, Gibbons used the spirit box to ask questions into the dark. “What is your name?” A voice from the static replied, Maria. “How did you die?” Rupture. “How many are here?” Six.
Between sites, Gibbons filled the bus with local lore: the Butcher of Palos Park, the Wailing Lady of Archer Woods, the Miracle Child of Chicago (Mary Alice Quinn), and the Creeper of St. Casimir Cemetery.
“These aren’t campfire stories,” he said. “They’re pieces of history. We just help keep them moving.”
At Chet’s Melody Lounge, across the street from Resurrection Cemetery, the group watched the Estes Method in action. Investigator Jack wore a blindfold and noise-canceling headphones while Gibbons asked questions aloud. When O’Connell approached to tap him on the shoulder to stop, Jack — who couldn’t hear or see her — suddenly said the word “shoulder.”
“That’s what we mean by an intelligent response,” O’Connell said.
One participant whispered, “I thought I’d be scared, but it’s not like that. It’s calm.” Another called it “listening to a memory.”
Faith and Focus Behind the Work
Before the tour wrapped up, I spoke with Gibbons’ wife, who has worked alongside him for about a decade. She said their shared interest in the paranormal started when a friend introduced them to a homemade communication device called the Anahata Spirit Box, which they later used during investigations at Bachelor’s Grove.
“Neil connects with it almost like it’s an electronic Ouija board,” she said. “It takes practice to use, and a lot of people don’t realize that spirits can manipulate responses. That’s why we tell people to be careful with it.”
Their approach, she explained, is deeply faith-based. “Before and after every investigation, he prays and meditates,” she said. “He tells any spirits, ‘You can’t come home with us.’ Most listen — not all. But that faith keeps him grounded.”
With a nursing background, she said she’s seen enough to believe there’s more to life than what’s visible. “We were always told not to talk about it,” she said, “but people are starting to. This kind of work helps them come to terms with the idea that there’s something beyond what we see every day.”
Bachelor’s Grove and Beyond
The tour ended outside Bachelor’s Grove Cemetery, the one place O’Connell shared we couldn’t enter. She pointed through the trees with her flashlight and explained why. The site has long been off-limits after years of vandalism and late-night trespassing.
Still, it carries a reputation that doesn’t need embellishment. O’Connell said investigators have reported “attachments” from the area — energy that seems to cling to people who go looking for too much. “You don’t provoke here,” she said. “You respect it.”
Along Archer Avenue, the past still reaches out, in stories, in memory, and maybe, for some, in something more.
