Because Sunshine Was Never Really My Thing
London wears its history well – layers of grandeur and grime pressed together like pages of a book that’s mostly bloodstains. I started London Macabre to dig beneath the polished monuments and polite plaques, into the places where the city’s darker stories still linger.
These days, I’m less interested in futile wars and royal decrees, and more in the plague pits, executions, hauntings, and all the gruesome stories this city has tried to forget.
What began as curiosity became a macabre pilgrimage through London’s underbelly. Along the way, I’ve collected ghosts, scandals, and the occasional questionable photograph.
So, welcome to London Macabre – where the cobblestones whisper, the air smells faintly of history and decay, and the dead are far more interesting than the living.
