The dead have roads. They stretch for miles, always in straight lines, and are seldom traveled by the living. These paths can be recognized by their lychgates and coffin stones, periodically marking the way. Or, if traveling by night, you will know them by the luminous presence of corpse candles, commuting between long-vanished destinations.
Known as corpse roads, lych ways, bier roads, or coffin lanes, these unsettling thoroughfares can trace their origins to medieval England. It was customary at the time for the pious to be buried in the churchyard of the congregation to which they belonged. A rise in population led to an increase in churches, often resulting in competition. Churches claimed burial rights over their parishioners to retain their flock (and revenue), resulting in rural communities often having to travel great distances to bury their dead. This, coupled with a crippling array of superstitions regarding the recently deceased, necessitated the construction of corpse roads.
The paths were made as direct and straight as possible. Otherwise, the spirit would become lost. Furthermore, tradition dictated that a body must always be carried with its feet pointing toward the destination, lest the dead be tempted to return home. The fear of revenants and rogue spirits was a constant threat, requiring numerous precautions. Lychgates and bridges were common obstacles, as they could not be navigated without assistance from the living.
Coffin stones were installed at intervals as a convenience to the living. Their purpose was to give those not fortunate enough to possess a carriage a place to set the coffin down so it does not touch the earth. Laying the dead directly on the ground could result in any number of blights. In Scottland, it was believed that fear gortach (hungry grass) would grow wherever a coffin touched the ground. This cursed weed would instill ravenous hunger in anyone unfortunate enough to tread on it.
These superstitions mandated that corpse roads were lonely places by design. Their course needed to be clear of intersecting roads, farmland, or frequently used public spaces. Should they cross a field of crops or livestock, the plants would wither, and the animals would sicken. Similar ill fortune would befall the living should they inadvertently meet. This design must have been impressive to behold from the perspective of the churchyard, where all these morbid paths converged.
Though the living only use them in funerary rites, corpse roads are not entirely untraveled. It is said that ghost lights, called corpse candles or will-o-the-wisps, can be observed floating along them a few feet off the ground. Some legends claim they manifest before funeral processions, guiding the dead to their resting place. Other lore suggests that they are omens of imminent death, appearing above the home of those soon to die or at the site of grave yet undug. European folklore is rife with variations, many outdating the corpse roads themselves.
To that end, corpse roads may be much older than historians believe. Numerous paleolithic burial mounds have been discovered in Britain, connected by long, straight roads. These paths do not connect with known settlement sites and are seemingly exclusive to the dead. Some have speculated that these roads mimic ley lines, marked by ancient people with monoliths and upright stones.
Today, most corpse roads have been lost to time, though not all. Some remnants of faith and tradition remain. Consider the Feast of Saint Mark Eve, observed just before midnight on the 24th of April. Tradition holds that those who stand vigil at the churchyards and corpse roads can catch a glimpse of the spirits of those destined to die that year, walking the lonely roads toward their future graves.
Jason Roberts is a Seattle-based author noted for his acclaimed western horror series The Dead Wind Trilogy as well as other works of cosmic horror infused with historical fiction. His web-based series, Dark Distractions, examines paranormal mysteries, unexplained phenomena, and all things strange.
