Exhumations! Shenanigans! Connecticut! Read all about it:
Children playing near a hillside gravel mine found the first graves. One ran home to tell his mother, who was skeptical at first—until the boy produced a skull.
Because this was Griswold, Connecticut, in 1990, police initially thought the burials might be the work of a local serial killer named Michael Ross, and they taped off the area as a crime scene. But the brown, decaying bones turned out to be more than a century old. The Connecticut state archaeologist, Nick Bellantoni, soon determined that the hillside contained a colonial-era farm cemetery. New England is full of such unmarked family plots, and the 29 burials were typical of the 1700s and early 1800s: The dead, many of them children, were laid to rest in thrifty Yankee style, in simple wood coffins, without jewelry or even much clothing, their arms resting by their sides or crossed over their chests.
From the Brothers Grimm, translated by Jack Zipes:
Once upon a time there was a stubborn child who never did what his mother told him to do. The dear Lord, therefore, did not look kindly upon him, and let him become sick. No doctor could cure him and in a short time he lay on his deathbed. After he was lowered into his grave and covered over with earth, one of his little arms suddenly emerged and reached up into the air. They pushed it back down and covered the earth with fresh earth, but that did not help. The little arm kept popping out. So the child’s mother had to go to the grave herself and smack the little arm with a switch. After she had done that, the arm withdrew, and then, for the first time, the child had peace beneath the earth.
“I see a similarity in the way people approach art and death: they know each exists but may feel intimidated to try and understand them. It does not have to be this way.”—From I’m Opening My Own Funeral Home, an article by Austin-based funeral director Sarah Wambold, Order of the Good Death.
Atlas Obscura: Jewett City Vampires: This story has everything: vampires, exhumations, and Connecticut! (That last bit is important because I’m a Nutmeg State native.) (Actually, I don’t really give a shit about vampires; I only care about the exhumation and Connecticut parts.)
“I clumsily fumbled for the key to the back entrance of the funeral home. Blindly searching for the light switch inside, I became aware of a low whisper. Upon flipping the switch, I realized the noise was coming from the occupied stretcher. Frightened, yet intrigued, I unzipped the bag on the stretcher and found a tape recorder playing a chant. Relief swept over me; everything was as it should be.”—From “First Buddhist Death Rites,” by Jenn Park-Mustacchio on The Order of the Good Death’s blog.