Lakewood man’s Halloween boneyard pays homage to relatives, living and dead

When Josh Mueller wants to visit his wife’s tombstone, he heads straight to the family plot.

“In this tomb lies one kind soul whose quest for love did take its toll,” reads the inscription. He wrote it.

His wife, Cassie, finds it amusing. She is very much alive.

Nearby are the grave markers of his parents. They still breath as well.

Mueller’s ever-expanding Styrofoam graveyard is conveniently located on his Lakewood front lawn.

Prominent are three mausoleums, each containing a dozen or so of his ancestors.

Well, their remains are elsewhere. But their names are on each burial chamber.

Two of Mueller’s interests — Halloween and genealogy — come together every October in his own personal cemetery.

The necropolis began a few years ago when Mueller, a graphic artist, researched his family’s origins.

“I just wanted to know the history of my family,” he said.

Turns out looking at names in a database or on paper wasn’t enough.

“I liked Halloween, and I thought it would be fun to put a graveyard in,” he said. “And then I thought it would be fun to do the family and then let’s do all the families!”

He started with his parents. Then he added Cassie, a brother, a sister-in-law, an aunt and others.

“They love them,” Mueller said of his relatives’ reactions. “My dad got a kick out of this. They don’t take any of this to heart.”

The three mausoleums were inspired by the Haunted Mansion at Disney World. Each one is devoted to a different branch of his family.

When Mueller couldn’t locate a bit of information, a year or middle name for example, he’d obscure the missing information with a crack or moss.

Some of the names on the tombs have epitaphs.

“This isn’t bad ... once you get used to it.”

“He loved beer... Oh, and his wife and children too.”

Are the trick-or-treaters impressed?

“We’ve never had trick-or-treaters,” Mueller said, a bit dejectedly. His house sits on a private road, off busy Gravelly Lake Drive.

The postal carrier, delivery men and Cassie’s Bunco ladies are all appreciative, he added. And his two-year-old son, Ridley, seems at home running among the headstones of his ancestors, both living and dead.

“It’s the Halloween spirit,” Cassie said. “You really get into the mood, but it’s not scary. It’s fun.”

Mueller has a grave marker for himself.

He has learned a few tricks of the trade: which paints won’t melt Styrofoam, how to incorporate off-the-shelf products into custom designs.

He estimated he’s spent a few hundred dollars on the display of the dearly departed.

A bas-relief portrait of a young woman on a copper-colored tombstone comes alive when a visitor approaches it. This particular one has a cousin’s name on it.

He estimated he still needs to add 50 family members to the burial ground. At least 10 are living. He has a list.

“My brother’s two kids, my other sister-in-law, my second aunt, her husband ...”

Mueller tries to give his necropolis the feel of a 1930s horror movie rather than the blood-and-guts style popular today.

“It’s just the illusion that something might get you,” he said.

There is one problem with the ever-expanding boneyard. Where to put all those grave markers and mausoleums in the off-season?

“It does take up a lot of the room in garage,” Cassie said.

This story was originally published October 29, 2018 at 8:00 AM.