Tonight’s vivid series of ghostly activities beneath the blood moon have left my nerves quite unsettled even after decades of peculiar phenomena investigations. Whilst completing my midnight constitutional walk to enjoy the crimson autumn foliage around the cemetery perimeter, I clearly heard a sequence of insistent rapping sounds echo from the abandoned family crypt nearby. Paired with faint yet anguished cries upon the wind disturbing the eerie stillness, the entire atmosphere took on an oppressive air of foreboding.

Warily approaching the weathered granite mausoleum doors tangled round with bare brown vines as if barricading some tormented releases from condemned souls within, I pressed an anxious ear against the rusty iron locks and hinges. Had my senses conjured auditory phantasms sprung from imagination’s restless fertile loam alone or do unquiet entities truly yet stir themselves requesting liberation from chill sarcophagi where all preceding Ravens laid buried centuries hence? But no further unearthly noises disturbed the uncanny shadowed silence save my own heart’s percussive tempo keeping tempo against unvoiced apprehension.

Compelled forward through the swirling scarlet drifts and lichen-speckled headstones towards Great Great Grandmother Josephine's particular memorial now subsiding at an uneven tilt where rain-soaked earth erodes itself constantly, I observed close confirmation of intuition well placed. Whilst most familial plots still stood respectable save creeping wear and tear besieging even marble’s immutability against endlessly hungry elements, Wilhelmina Josephine Antoinette Ravenwood (1858 - 1895) elegant script indeed peered visibly faded and cracked with neglect since annual tending lapsed long ago after my parents’ grievous coach crash that fateful Christmas dusk rending our lineage asunder.

As I labored clearing the fractured grave of obscured debris and placed ruby chrysanthemums wrapped in black lace ribbon before the eroded surname plinth, that distinct invasive chill manifested across my shoulders and exposed neck - unseen eyes observing too closely where only the weeds stand witness...unnerving spine and heartbeat alike in unison reacting to close unearthly presence. No scent of extinguished votives or sanctified incense clung hereabouts, only the uneasy aura of energies uninvited piercing where all lay lines converge upon holy bygone relics and restless remains buried but never fully departed to unreadable realms beyond stone.

Straining vision glimpsed naught else stirring amongst adjacent plots where interred Ravens number five generations before and hence lie blanketed permanently below nature’s seasonal cycles uninterrupted as each came to inevitable earthly ends predestined. But that mounting pressure of unseen spectral attendance persisted swirling counter my corrected course heading back towards the sanctuary of manor’s glowing ruby hearth fires. For even stout occultist hearts quail confronting what immortal shapes fear to fathom skulking about gloomy churchyards once all decent Christian souls retreat safe abed.

Gaining the wrought iron gate ingress ashen where long-fallen leaves plaster the constricting alleyway’s uneven cobbled route, I glimpsed the unaccountable entity assuming greater ectoplasmic solidity by the distant elm grove, wavering distinctly feminine against the silhouetted naked branches before observer approach caused the phantasm dissolve into vaporous dispersal yet again. But what broken spirit indeed still attends its own decaying sepulcher or perhaps seeks new more vigorous tenancy unbodied and untethered where only hallowed vessel remnants lay bound? Restless ghosts oft cannot rest peaceably when improper burials or unfinished aims shackle their ascent skyward. But brighter lanterns must penetrate these shadows further before the mystery unveils meaningfully.

As I reflect now in my observatory tower writing desk candle’s guttering glow, it seems sleep shall provide no ready refuge tonight after such spectral provocation. But forteified brandy stirring the embering hearth at least wafts more substantial upon the air than smoke alone would suggest. Whilst no walls or wardings prohibit determined shade traversing where beloved trod alive under familiar sanctuary, wisps of reason calm nerves unsettled by such untimely graveyard manifestations. For logic dictates if more corporeal feet still tread earthly trails, then insubstantial strides bear not the weight to halt mortal hearts determined safeguarding the veil’s sacrosanct boundaries dividing said realms inexorably. I shall apply keen disciplines honed assessing all seemingly preternatural phenomenon through empirical lens before leaping to conclusions preferring the imagination's unbounded phantasms populate the night's void so easily when shadows encroach oddly. The facts must crystallize further lest false-positive sightings mislead however compelling their immediacy proves spurring curiosity more spectral than scholarly.

Yet intuition continues nagging that still profounder secrets lay buried out amongst those unquiet tombs awaiting the determined spade and salt circle. Why else cry out from chilled eternity where all flesh and worries abandon their earthly anchorings? Tomorrow I shall approach dear Cornelius Crow, London’s foremost expert scholastic of metaphysical phenomena who himself swore documenting Josephine's lingering unrest decades prior. If events paranormal stir abroad this unholy season, let us convene applying wisdom and discernment summoning whatever restless presence makes itself known beyond dismissible doubts that rational men cling when superstitious dread encroaches as the witching hour tolls...

The tale remains unfinished as deeper mysteries abound seeking their resolution despite sparse initial evidence gathered under intuition’s faint glow. But flickering emerald lights stir beacon-like through dreams’ gossamer curtained antechambers where adumbration conceals all distinct corporeal forms. What lingering soul unaddressed attempts manifestation from dimensions beyond piercing? My lantern thus remains lit tonight awaiting the unseen petitioner should they wish earthly conference. Let dialogue carry forth what daylight reason alone cannot convey when every hair prickles alert! These scribbled words prove but prelude I sense towards stranger scripts ahead dictated by hands invisible from furtive realms seldom breached save holidays unhallowed or accidental interstices thin enough permitting hungry ghosts half passage... So mused this All Hallow’s entry foreshadowing longer nights where more ephemeral than clockworks ticks in shrouded halls soon echo. The wormwood awaits brewing its acrid draught against less timid pulsations of unknown provenance be stirred in wee hours before frail dawn's comfort breaks feeble monopoly where dread holds court eternal. L’chaim, unto thee aerial guests and hosts alike! Your move...