Little Eureka Cemetery

Little Eureka Cemetery dates back to the earliest years of Eureka Springs' formation in the late 1800s. Before the spas, the hotels, and the mystique of a Victorian health resort, this area was a fledgling settlement. As with any growing town, especially one experiencing an influx of hopeful visitors chasing the promise of healing waters, death came quickly—and often.

Disease, accidents, and hardship claimed many lives in those early days. It was in the valleys and hills just outside of town that families began laying their loved ones to rest. Little Eureka, while never the town's primary burial ground, became a final resting place for dozens of forgotten souls—paupers, children, and those without family to claim them.

You won't find neatly manicured lawns or wrought iron fences here. Instead, expect bramble, crumbling stones, and a sense that something ancient is watching from the trees.

Unlike other historic sites in town, Little Eureka doesn't have brochures or plaques to tell you who's buried where. That's part of its mystery. Locals will tell you stories passed down through generations, tales of Civil War veterans laid to rest far from their homes, or a grieving mother who returned daily to her son's grave until she, too, was buried there. One story claims a traveling preacher met a tragic end nearby and was interred hastily beneath a tree at the cemetery's edge—though no one knows his name.

Because there are so few records, Little Eureka has become a magnet for spiritualists and paranormal investigators. The lack of documentation only fuels the intrigue. If ghosts linger in forgotten places, this cemetery should be teeming with them—and according to many, it is.

Visitors have described strange sensations the moment they step onto the cemetery grounds—heavy air, the feeling of being watched, even unshakable nausea. Some claim to hear whispering voices, particularly at dusk. Others report seeing fleeting figures in the trees: a child darting behind a stone, a woman in white near the fence line.

One local group of ghost hunters swears they recorded the sound of crying on tape. No one else was present. Another claimed their EMF meter spiked wildly near an unmarked grave—far from any power source or structure.

Then there are the lights. Pale orbs are often seen floating low to the ground, especially near the far end of the cemetery where the foliage grows dense and unwelcoming. Skeptics call them swamp gas or fireflies. Believers know better.

Several years ago, a family staying in Eureka Springs took an evening walk near the woods by the cemetery. They hadn't planned to visit a graveyard but were drawn to the quiet path leading uphill. As the sun dipped below the horizon, they paused near a crumbling tombstone when their young daughter asked, "Who is that lady in the tree?"

There was no one there—at least not to the parents' eyes. The girl insisted the woman wore a long gray dress and was "smiling but sad." She even waved back at her. That night at their hotel, the child described the woman again, sketching her in a notebook with remarkable detail.

They later learned that several guests over the years had reported seeing a female figure in that exact spot. Some say it's the grieving mother; others think she's something older—perhaps a spirit tied to the land long before Eureka Springs was settled.

Why would a small, nearly forgotten cemetery like Little Eureka be so active spiritually? Some believe the lack of attention keeps the spirits restless. Without loved ones to remember them, they linger, trying to be seen. Others think the land itself—rich in quartz, limestone, and groundwater—acts as a conductor for paranormal energy.

And then there's the history. The cemetery rests on a patch of land that was once used by Native American tribes, not as a burial ground, but as a spiritual waypoint. That intersection of cultures—Native, pioneer, and modern—could be part of what fuels the haunting.

Unlike cemeteries with defined records and modern caretakers, Little Eureka feels liminal, like a place between this world and the next. That thinness between realms makes it an especially compelling location for those seeking encounters with the unknown.

You won't find Little Eureka Cemetery on most tourist maps. Local directions vary, and the cemetery's entrance is often hidden by vegetation. Those who do find it are encouraged to be respectful. Don't remove objects. Don't provoke. And never go alone at night.

Wear sturdy shoes and bring a flashlight if you're visiting near dusk. This isn't a sanitized tourist attraction—it's raw history, layered with sorrow, mystery, and time.

The spirits here may not be famous, but they are felt. And in a town like Eureka Springs, where the line between legend and truth is paper-thin, Little Eureka Cemetery reminds us that even the forgotten leave an impression that lingers long after the last mourner has gone.

Eureka Springs is full of haunted places that demand attention—the showy, the well-documented, the legendary. But it's the quiet corners like Little Eureka Cemetery that truly capture the essence of a haunted town. Places that were never meant to be attractions, but remain because something won't let them fade.

If you listen closely, you just might hear what they're trying to say.