Cemeteries are more than repositories for the dead. Our neighborhood burial ground, Colonel Ledyard Cemetery in the city of Groton, was very much a playground, cleverly disguised as a graveyard.

A recent article in the Times by Groton town historian Jim Streeter offered interesting facts about Colonel Ledyard Cemetery in Groton, stirring long-buried memories.

My childhood back yard bordered the cemetery, and the old boneyard played an important role in our neighborhood culture.

The huge granite arch and front wall served as a common meeting place, from which the cemetery’s entrance road leads past large, stately trees, straight on to the front door of the granite Avery Memorial Chapel. The mysterious building could be seen from my back yard.

Gothic and foreboding at dusk, it fired our young imaginations. We thought for sure it was where vampires stayed when in town.

It was equipped with a lift to move caskets between the church altar and basement, justifying our fears that dead people were in there.

The basement had no windows, only primitive slits in the granite blocks, suspiciously limiting the view inside. We shuddered to think of ghastly rituals being performed on corpses, probably overseen by vampires.

On the rare occasion we’d discover the chapel’s basement lights on at night, shining through the slits, the alarm would go out to all brave souls. The posse would sneak covertly through the dark graveyard and approach the chapel, crawling to peek through the narrow slits.

Not much could be seen, but that didn’t dampen the imagination. Something dark was no doubt going on. Then, at the least noise — a creaking tree branch or night bird’s scream — the courageous group would flee, scared to death, running full speed for home.

Living next to the cemetery was perfect for creative nighttime challenges. One of our favorites was to dare someone to knock on the chapel’s spooky back door at night.

The ominous door was down a long frightening ramp with sides that grew higher as it descended into depths unknown, the very Gates of Hell, a trapped feeling in the black of night. No one returned unchanged.

Aiding the chapel in its fright fest was a drooping, deformed pine, a menacing monster at night, its needled branches waving sinister fingers in the gloom, casting eerie shadows, reaching, reaching. It looked like it was walking.

I’ve broken the 30 mile per hour speed limit on Mitchell Street on foot after being spooked by the creepy tree after dark. It’s still there and just as spooky.

But it wasn’t all ghosts in the night.

The cemetery also provided a great place to bicycle, skateboard, read old gravestones on dull summer days or play football on open grass.

As we grew older, Packer’s Rocks, a stony hill at the rear of the property that we called “the mountain,” was a place for meetings and hanging out.

By that time, there were other spirits at work in the cemetery, most notably during bootleg alcohol parties.

There was a rope swing that swung out from the top of the rock, through the trees and high over the graveyard (or so it seemed then).

Many outings ended by fleeing the police. They thought us vandals or trespassers, yet every escape generated exciting tales of adventure.

I rarely visit Colonel Ledyard Cemetery anymore. But last fall, my sister discovered a Ouija board abandoned hurriedly in a stand of trees near Packer’s Rocks, the seance no doubt aborted to escape some angry, ghoulish presence.

It’s good to know the playground’s still alive.

Decades later, I still want to walk through my old haunt on some dark Halloween night. But not alone. And not over by that spooky tree.

John Steward lives in Waterford. He can be reached at tossinglines@gmail.com.