Photograph courtesy of Tyra Douyon
Every time I’ve visited Oakland Cemetery, I’ve been in costume. I realize that’s a weird flex, but stay with me.
My first visit to the cemetery was during the Run Like Hell 5K race in 2023—what felt like the best and worst day of my life. Entering Oakland’s bricked walls, I was greeted by torrential rain, 20 mph winds, and an unexpected cold front so sharp that each raindrop seemed to pan-fry my skin. Still, I had trained for this. My dog, Mya, and I had spent three solid weeks running untimed 5Ks at a park near my home.
The Run Like Hell race started 18 years ago as a fundraiser for the cemetery. Runners do two laps around the grounds; costumes are encouraged, and dogs are welcome. I admit, I’ve never been much of a runner: My cardio routine usually involves low-impact Zumba or a rushed 15-minute gym warm-up on an inclined treadmill. I signed up because I needed a challenge. To stay motivated, I posted daily training videos on Instagram, where family and friends cheered on me and Mya as if we were prepping via a Netflix docuseries.
Come race day, despite the inclement weather warnings, we suited up. I dressed as a black cat—pointy ears, furry tail, and all—and Mya wore a salmon nigiri costume. We speed-walked to the starting line as I clutched my umbrella and prayed I wouldn’t face-plant across the slippery cobblestoned paths.
But somewhere between jogging past headstones and dodging sinkhole-sized puddles, I fell in love—not just with Oakland’s spooky charm, but also with its fiercely devoted community of Atlantans, ankle-deep in cold rain, still smiling and motivated to pack out this fundraising event.
Mya won the dog costume contest that year, earning me free tickets to an upcoming Halloween event. I showed up as Morticia Addams, in a jet-black “buss down middle part” wig. The next weekend, I came back painted as La Catrina for Oakland Cemetery’s Day of the Dead Festival. I’ve since attended countless events, always surprised that the final resting place for thousands of Atlanta’s dearly departed is also one of the places where I feel most alive.
I know others feel the way I do. How else could a cemetery established nearly 200 years ago be one of the best hangout spots in the city? I’ve watched people gather for sound-bath classes, weddings, and visits from Santa Claus. What began in 1850 as a modest six-acre plot for 2,000 Atlanta residents has expanded to 48 acres of lush gardens, winding paths, and the stories of over 70,000 souls. Thanks to the Historic Oakland Foundation, the cemetery has seen a renaissance in recent years, with the restoration of the 1899 bell tower and the opening of the new visitor center. These efforts ensure that the famous cemetery isn’t frozen in time, but evolving with us.
And that’s exactly the point. Oakland isn’t just a cemetery. It’s a stage, a wellness studio, and a sacred gathering space. Yes, it’s a place for mourning, but it’s also a place where joy lives on. I know I’ll keep returning to this cemetery—to run past the headstones, costumed and breathless, Mya dragging me along. To watch actors breathe life into history during “Capturing the Spirit of Oakland” Halloween tours. I’ll tell friends I’m spending my Saturday at the cemetery, and when they raise an eyebrow, I’ll smile and say, “You have to see it for yourself.”
It’s not what Hollywood horror films say cemeteries are. It’s history with a heartbeat. And lucky for us, it’s very much alive.
This article appears in our August 2025 issue.
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