The Deportation at Bachelors Grove Cemetery Feb 2025

Bachelors Grove Cemetery has been an urban legend in Chicago for decades. Since the late 1950s, strange disturbances plagued the once-forgotten burial ground—graves desecrated, headstones slipped over, and eerie lights flickering through the sparse trees. Paranormal investigators, thrill-seekers, and the occasional criminal prowled the grounds until the police patrolled the area nightly to keep away the curious, the reckless, and those with far darker intentions. The police patrols occasionally would come across something not easily explained away.

Miles away In the Englewood neighbourhood of Chicago, three dark vans rumbled to a stop behind an abandoned house just off East 63rd; several dark vans entered the back of an older home long ago abandoned by the resident and now just another sad foreclosed Chicago property. The vans’ doors swung open, and a dozen figures in dark coveralls moved like shadows, hauling crates and equipment into the house with practised efficiency. In less than fifteen minutes, the vehicles vanished into the night, leaving the house silent again— well, sort of.

On the upper floor, a man in a government-issued dark suit sat at the head of a fine oak desk. He rubbed his temples as thoughts raced through his head. “It is now official, people,” He scanned the agents that stood before him, he could guess why many of them had joined this special task force. “The President signed the executive order two hours ago; it will take at least a day before any smart-ass Democrats or press figure out what we are.”

“Ghost Busters of 2025,” said one female agent with a slight grin.

A tall, broad-shouldered agent replied quickly, “Illegal Spook busters!”

The man behind the desk stood up, “We are much more than that. We are still under the umbrella of I.C.E., but we investigate and make reports and deport on the more unusual cases for the United States of America.” He ran his fingers through his receding hairline as he cleared his throat. “You are all signed to the Secrecy under the penalty of twenty-plus years or death for treason.”

Murmurs rippled through the group. The woman who had a few moments earlier been joking looked much more serious as her dark eyes, scanning the room, leaned forward. “So, what’s our mission?”

From this moment on, first names will no longer exist, “I will be the senior Field Agent known as Agent Cooper. Agent Cooper exhaled slowly, his gaze cold. “We are going into a place known as Bachelors Grove Cemetery. You are all volunteers in this program selected because of certain skill sets or abilities. Agent Allison here is an Ordained Catholic priest on loan from the U.S. Marine Corps.”

Agent Allison stepped out of the shadows, “Actually, the President volunteered me when he signed the Emergency Act on day one.”

“We depart in fifteen minutes; we have three suburban vehicles and two speciality-equipped vehicles arriving in ten minutes. Please take the equipment that appeared on the supply list you signed for this morning.” Said Agent Cooper.

Agent Rosco looked at the rugged-looking cross as he placed it into his pouch. He whispered to Agent Manges.

“In case we meet a Vamp.”

Agent Allison heard this and moved closer, “I have one advantage over you two. I read the briefing notes, and I will keep my cross close at hand. If not, you will wish you had.”

Ten minutes later the vehicles pulled up to the front reinforced doors of the house, the agents drifted out slowly into their assigned units. Two agents were left behind at the house to monitor communications and call for backup as required.

The vehicles drove in close formation toward the cemetery until they neared the old, partially overgrown trail. Recently, the Chicago Police Department with a local historical society, had improved some of the path.

Agent Cooper sat in the back of the van with his headset on and microphone in place, “Alright, everyone, I want a standard two by two entrance into the graveyard. You may encounter a police patrol. I have the paperwork authorizing our entry into these grounds for the next three days. We will be moving toward the central area of the graveyard.”

Agent Rosco and Agent Hintro led the way toward the graveyard's entrance Both were wearing night vision goggles. Their vests each had cameras attached so Agent Cooper could see what they saw. Once they entered the graveyard, several strange things seemed to happen all at once

The gate chain appeared to fly up on its own, nearly striking Agent Allison, following behind Agent Hintro. Agent Rosco observed what appeared to be a male moving amongst the trees just ahead of them. He appeared to be wearing a Korean War-era Marine Sergeants’ uniform. A young woman carrying a child also appeared ahead of the I.C.E. agents.

Agent Cooper spoke into his microphone,” Unless confronted, ignore the Sergeant and the woman with the child.” Is

“Sir,” said Agent Rosco.

Agent Cooper spoke sternly this time, “Yes ignore them that are or were citizens of the United States.”

“O.K,” said Agent Rosco, not quite believing what he had just heard.

The ghostly marine seemed to glide toward the grove of ageing trees without his feet touching the ground. Staring at the ghostly child in her nearly invisible grasp, she drifted past the twisted trunks and overturned gravestones toward the murky, gurgling stream.

“Stand fast. Rosco, take your squad left. Hintro, move toward your left slightly. Stay sharp everyone

Through the static-laced haze of his night vision, Rosco spotted him—Petro Cruz Delgreha. The man stood just over five feet tall, his gaunt frame wrapped in an antiquated suit, its fabric frayed and moth-eaten.

“Agent Cooper,” Rosco murmured over his microphone, his heart starting to pump faster. “I have the suspect in sight.”

“Hold your positions,” Cooper commanded. “Hintro, circle. Agent Allison, are you prepared?”

Allison had already clutched his rosary tight; the beads slick with sweat. His fingers traced the edge of his worn Bible, its pages flipping in the cold night breeze. “Standing by.”

“Anyone carrying a cross—deploy now.”

At that moment, Petro Cruz Delgreha stood unnervingly still, his face obscured by the shifting shadows. A grin slowly stretched across his face as a set of wolves or cougar-like hangs slowly appeared. Strong belly laughs tore from his throat, echoing through the trees and tombstones.

Petro peered around, shifting his weight from one side of his body to another. “Can I smell and taste mortal fear?” his voice boomed. “No, something a little more.”

Agent Andrew appeared quickly behind the shifting Hispanic Ghoul, “ "In the name of Jesus Christ, I rebuke and break any curses, hexes, spells, demonic activity, or any other evil thing that has been sent against me. Foul Demonic beast bow before the true Lord, Jesus Christ.”

Petro turned around, hissing as his mouth foamed with black gel and blood, and jagged teeth appeared

“Puke Priest and prepared to DIE!” boomed Petro, nearly uprooting the trees and headstones around him.

Agent Cooper remained steady, his tone sharp and controlled. “Encircle him! Crosses up—stand firm! Agent Singh, Agent Matthews, water him up! Agent Andrew, keep up the mojo!”

Agent Singh pulled out what appeared to be a super soaker rifle and started squeezing the trigger. Agent Matthews had two water pistols; he approached Petrol from behind, firing as he went.

The first blasts of Holy Water struck around Petro’s neck, flowing under his collar, and he let out an inhuman shriek. His flesh bubbled as the water seared his rotting skin as it rolled down his neck. The stink of an unholy event filled the graveyard air. In a desperate fury, he spun around his left fist, lashing out like a sledgehammer, striking Matthews’ left jaw, shattering it as he was tossed against a tombstone.

Through blurred vision, Matthews read the name on the tombstone: Rockwell Wright III—born in 1970, died in 1928. A moment later, he, thought he saw a stout man with a bowler hat and fine black suit staring at him. As Matthews passed out, the vision disappeared.

“Good! Good, All Tasers Fire, Wire at the ready.” Agent Cooper said in an excited tone.

Three Taser weapons fired at Petro as his flesh burned and his strength weakened.

As Petro started to shake and fall, one last unearthly cry emerged from his body,” Who are you?”

As masked agents raced forward, wrapping him in the copper wire, Agent Andrews looked at the pitiful demonic beast. “We are the Agents of I.C.E Special Operations.

As Chicago’s police vehicles started to appear, Agent Cooper barked out instructions about what to tell the regular law enforcement officers.

“Looked almost like fun,” a voice said to Agent Singh from behind him.

“The best weapon is holy water, and yha it was fun,” said Agent Singh as he turned around.

Standing before the tall agent was a Chicago Police Officer in an ageing black uniform with badge 4558. “Enjoy while you can,” with that, the figure faded into the shadows.

Agent Cooper stood outside his van as two unmarked police vehicles came to a halt.

He flashed his I.C.E. badge, saying, “ Agent Cooper I.C.E. was here to arrest one illegal alien hiding out in the cemetery.

A muscular balding officer waved his badge that hung around his neck, “Inspector Hans Gruther, it would be nice to let us know what you are up to.” He tried to look around Agent Cooper as this interesting, moving, twisted mess of wire and clothing moved into the rear of another vehicle. “Ah, you got any paperwork on this person.”

“We may; it will be forwarded. We must now move this dangerous illegal alien: let me do my job, sergeant.” Said Copper in an arrogant tone.

“That is Inspector Gruther, next time ask?”

“Our unit will not be around very long. Good day.” Said Agent Cooper as he stepped into his vehicle.

The vehicles quickly moved away, and in a short time, a helicopter would meet them on the roof of a trade building, and then a special plane would meet them at the Scott Air Force base. Cooper and half his group would stay with Petro until the end. The others would return to their Chicago special office and prepare for another raid in a few nights.

Agent Cooper looked at Petro closely, “Petro Cruz Delgreha, listen up.”

The vibrating, struggling beast that once may have been a man paid little attention to these words. It wanted and needed to escape and soon, morning would come. Agent Andrews springled a little water on Petro, The beast shrieked, and he looked toward Cooper. His left eye socket was exposed, a thick liquid oozed, and his other eye focused on this human.

"Agent Cooper cleared his throat, “This is for the record, Petro Cruz Delgreha, born in Santa Anna, El Salvador, in January 1942, entered the United States unlawfully at some point in the summer of1954, having neither a valid passport nor appropriate documentation. Official records indicate that you were deceased on January 18, 1959. As such, you are hereby subject to deportation on the grounds of unlawful presence in the United States, both in your prior capacity as a living individual and in your current state as an entity deemed to be of an unlawfully at large demonic being'"

Agent Cooper signed it and jammed a copy of the documents into the wiry mess before him. A moment later, the plane indicated it would be approaching El Salvador's airspace. Ten minutes later, the plane was landing on a small military airfield. Several vehicles raced toward the small plane that bore no military markings,

Agent Cooper had tried to prepare his agents for the next phase.

Several priests stood in silent prayer outside of the plane as it taxied to a halt. A dozen heavily armed men waited on the sunny tarmac.

Petro, still well-packed, was brought outside. He shrieked and begged to be spiked and not end it like this.

“Capitán Aldo Wan Delmare,” said Agent Cooper as he approached the senior-looking officer. The Agent handed the documents to the military officer.

The bundle that Petro was inside was dropped on the tarmac as smoke slowly emerged. A large piece of industrial equipment drove over the bundle.

As the aeroplane returned to U.S. airspace over the Gulf of America, Agent Cooper opened his computer: over an ageing photo on file of a happy young man, the following entry was made.

I.C.E. Special Unit File

0001-1

Petro Cruz Delgreha

Closed Feb 02 2025.

Author’s Notes

My research and fascination led me to Bachelor’s Grove Cemetery, a site shrouded in urban legend for decades. Since the late 1950s, this once-forgotten burial ground in Chicago has been plagued by eerie disturbances—desecrated graves, toppled headstones, and mysterious lights flickering through the sparse trees. Even Police Patrols reported strange occurrences.

Now, imagine a modern twist: President Trump establishes a new I.C.E. Ops Unit with a unique mission—deporting supernatural beings who reside in the United States without visas or proper documentation.

If you like this story let me know, maybe a series could spawn from it,