A short distance from Howth, overlooking the waters of Dublin Bay, lies Kilbarrack Cemetery — an ancient burial ground whose weathered stones face the sea. The ruins of a medieval chapel, dedicated to St Berach, still stand amid crooked headstones leaning against the wind. Though peaceful by day, locals say that when the tide turns and the mist rolls in, the dead of Kilbarrack are not entirely at rest.

In 1892, the Dublin weekly Irish Society published what it called “one of the truest of true spirit stories.” It told of a traveller walking home from Malahide after missing the last train. Choosing the coast road toward Howth, he passed the old Kilbarrack Churchyard just after midnight. As he drew level with the crumbling wall, an uneasy silence settled over the road. Then came the sound of measured footsteps keeping pace with his own — soft at first, then quickening. Each time he stopped, the unseen walker stopped too. When he dared to glance behind, the road was empty from hedge to sea. Moments later, a faint murmur of voices rose from within the graveyard — low, chanting tones that ebbed and flowed like the surf. The traveller fled down the road, not stopping until the first lights of Raheny appeared ahead. The next day, locals assured him he was not the first to hear such things at Kilbarrack.

Older residents once called Kilbarrack the “healthiest graveyard in Ireland,” because its salty air was said to preserve the dead from decay. Yet, they also warned that the place carried an echo of the sea: whispers and footsteps that seemed to come from nowhere.

Fishermen claimed to hear voices drifting from the church ruins on still nights. Others spoke of a pale figure moving among the headstones at dawn, vanishing as the tide receded. Whether these were spirits of drowned sailors or echoes of old monks who once prayed there, no one could say.

Now partially restored and cared for by the local community, Kilbarrack Cemetery remains one of Dublin’s oldest burial grounds still in use. The ruined chapel of Mone stands as a silent sentinel over centuries of burials — a reminder of the area’s deep Christian and maritime history.