I am very excited to announce the inception of a writing prompt and new adventure I am undertaking beginning April 1. It is titled Pen Your Ten and if you’d allow me, I’d like to tell you a bit of its back story and of its purpose.
In 2013 I was on a journey of publishing my first novel and in the throes of having my manuscript edited. To say I learned a lot about my writing within that first edit is an understatement. I discovered quickly by way of what I called the handwriting of the devil (those red love notes on the sidebar my editor would leave me) that I had a love affair with many words. That is, the usage of the same words repeatedly. Words that served absolutely no purpose to move my storyline along. Words that couldn’t even be described as darlings. They were page fillers. Dead zones. Useless.
It is around this time that I discovered the writing community on Twitter. More specifically, the writing and poetry prompts of Twitter. For those of you that might not be familiar with Twitter, each post or “tweet” you create is limited to 140 characters. A lightbulb clicked on. I could totally use this to strengthen my writing. What a great tool to eliminate useless words and get to the point in order to create an interesting story or inspiring piece of poetry.
I instantly fell in love with the idea and connected with several different prompting hosts. One of those prompters was a woman who I formed quite a friendship with and later would dedicate my second poetry book, Delicate Doses to. Her name was Janie and her writing prompt was entitled, HangTenStories, a daily prompt to inspire a story or poem in using only ten words.
On a personal level she reminded me of my grandmother not only in her physical appearance but also in her demeanor. On a writing level, I admired her kindness and support within the writing community and her dedication to hosting a prompt and providing so many with inspiration for years.
Sadly she contracted COVID and it acted quickly, ultimately taking her life. So many of us within the writing community were devastated from her sudden death. I unfortunately found myself with no desire to write. Inspiration had left me. I mourned for a month, unable to participate in any kind of writing nor the desire to do so for in participating with her prompt I learned just how much I loved the concept of simplicity in words. Less became more and I woke every morning to her prompt and nearly every day made it part of my routine. Its absence, her absence became this void I couldn’t fill.
Then slowly slowly I felt a little spark, enough to get me to start reading again. Then slowly slowly that spark became a flame and I found myself writing again. It wasn’t long after this that I began to consider creating my own ten- word prompt to carry on the legacy of what she left behind. With the support and encouragement from friends and fellow writers within the community, I made the decision to begin this new journey.
For now, I plan to only make it available on Twitter but I may carry it over to Instagram in the future. At its inception, I plan to share words twice weekly, on Tuesday’s and Thursday’s where writers can create as they become inspired. No expectations. Simply, a free space to create with the challenge of only using ten words.
I’m walking into the unknown with this and as a Mom that works full time outside of my home, time has always been a challenge for me even to write. However, I felt I needed to do this, for myself and in my small way, a way to honor my friend. I don’t know what the future holds with this, but for now, I’m excited to start this new journey as reading other writers affords me such inspiration and helps strengthen my own writing. If you’d like to participate you can click on the logo below and it will take you to the Pen Your Ten Twitter page where prompts will be penned at the top of the page for that day.
Once upon a time the renowned British author Charles Dickens visited the United States. While his visit ultimately did not leave him with positive thoughts for our country, he did perform one act that to this day remains a mystery.
During his journey across the United States he made his way to Virginia around February or March in 1842. It is documented well that Dickens left with a distaste of Virginia because of its dependency on slavery. However, when a request is made of him, something that ultimately will align Virginia with the only evidence of his visit to the United States, he complies.
Charles Dickens
Deep in the thickets of Cumberland State Forest remains the unique literary gift that Charles Dickens bestowed upon a grieving family. On March 12, 1842, thirteen month old Charles Irving Thornton died and upon the request of a family friend, (thought to be American writer, Washington Irving) Dickens inscribed the epitaph that now rests quietly on the aging tombstone that remains hidden from the world.
the conditions of the area where the tombstone rests
To find it is no easy task as the forest likes to keep its treasures however with careful steps and patience, I was able to find the Thornton Family Cemetery where it remains and is quite literally deep in the shadows of the woods. Without the help of technology by way of my smart compass, I doubt I would have been able to uncover its hiding place.
As you can see from the images I was able to capture, it shows its age, the writing barely legible in some places and the tombstone itself suffering a full horizontal crack along its base. The following is the epitaph that Dickens inscribed upon it:
“THIS IS THE GRAVE
of a Little Child whom God in his goodness Called to a Bright Eternity when he was very young. Hard as it is for Human Affection to reconcile itself to Death In any shape (and most of all, perhaps First In This)
HIS PARENTS can even now believe That it will be a Consolation to them Throughout their lives and when they shall have grown old and grey always to think of him as a Child IN HEAVEN and Jesus Called a little Child unto him, and set him in the midst of them. He was the son of ANTHONY and M.I. THORNTON Called CHARLES IRVING. He was born on the 20 th day of January 1841, and he died on the 12 th day of March 1842. Having lived only 13 months and 19 days.”
in the foreground the home thought to be that of the Thornton’s. In the backdrop the woods where remnants of the family cemetery remains
plaque that hides off to the right of the tombstone honoring its commemoration into National Historic Places
While it was commemorated in the Virginia Landmarks Register and in the National Register of Historic Places in 1980, its remembrance thrives only with the trees within the forest. The family cemetery as a whole which seemed to be about five visible headstones, in its nearly two hundred year old existence has been taken over by nature. It’s significance, however is still very much prominent. This literary gift remains the only one of its kind in the United States and one of only two of existence in the world, the other belonging to that of Dickens’ sister-in-law.
It was a rewarding experience to actually find it albeit sad to see the lack of its upkeep. Its literary significance shall remain and the gift it became to a grieving family shall never die.
It’s been five years since I’ve released a book as life has taken a big chunk of my imagination and drive and quite simply the time to be able to give this side of me a voice. I’m excited to be able to share these verses that are quite best described as delicate doses. Less to me shall always be more and within these pages, I hope you find lasting memories through a journey of love, hope and change. Today I’m merely showing off its cover as my artist, Danielle Fine at definition, has done it again by bringing my vision alive. You can check out her services and studio here
Hi friends. Do you have any accounts of paranormal activity or experiences that science just hasn’t been able to explain? Want your story published? Read on.
I have always been interested in the study of paranormal activity for as far back as I can remember. As a child I can remember sneaking down late at night whilst my uncles were watching The Fog when I was about seven and being scared to death. But it was that adrenaline that came with that fear that kept me watching those true old school horror flicks. None of that gruesome stuff for me. I wanted to cover my eyes and squeal in fear, waiting for that ghost to reveal himself.
While I cannot recall any childhood experiences, I have had several accounts in my adult life, all starting after I began organized paranormal investigation. My dear friend Jason invited me to “ride along” in an investigation one night with the team that he belonged to at the time. The plan was to simply snap some photographs and do a nice write up as a way to help advertise for the team. It was at Ferry Plantation House, one of the most haunted places in Virginia that has been featured on many YouTube channels, podcasts and investigated by both national and international teams and featured on a UK show.
That night opened up a whole new world for me where I was able to incorporate my love of photography and my intrigue for the paranormal. Over time Jason and I ventured out with our own creative ideas and formed our own team, Portsmouth Paranormal Society (find the YouTube channel here). While I’m not actively investigating with him and the team these days, I still occasionally ride along to capture the solemn beauty in the places they investigate. Him and I share multiple experiences from our early investigations and he continues to experience unexplained occurrences today.
The subject of paranormal investigation has and will always be open for debate. Naysayers will scream science science science, but some things simply cannot be explained. Isn’t it telling that in simply doing a search online it will get you countless stories from people all over the world. Different cultures, different social statures, religions, races and ages. The patterns and similarities are always there. People are experiencing and seeing the same things.
This is where you my dear friends come in. I’d love to hear your stories and in submitting them they’ll be considered for inclusion into the compilation of ghost stories I’m intending to publish. Interested? Read on.
I’d like pieces to be formatted in journal style with an opening of approximate date/time and place of occurrence. You may “sign” your piece with whatever you want to reveal about yourself. Your name, your location, one or both. You may also be anonymous if you’d like.
I’m opening this up now for submissions and ask that you keep your accounts relatively short as I’d like to include as many stories from around the world as possible. If you have multiple experiences, please feel free to send more than one to be considered, just please submit them in separate links so I can easily separate. All submissions should be sent to:
hayutjenny@gmail.com
You will be notified via email if your piece is chosen to be included. I look forward to reading your experiences!
image captured with full spectrum camera as part of investigation at Tuckahoe Plantation
*featured image captured at St Albans Sanitorium as part of investigation
It’s taken me over three years thus far to travel up and down the East Coast in search of the places entwined with the history of poet and writer, Edgar Allan Poe. His works have been such an inspiration to my own pen muse and he birthed my love of poetry. And since I’m OCD about everything, it makes perfect sense to divulge in every place Mr. Poe once lived, visited or has some historical tie to. Right? Right.
Edgar was born in Boston, Massachusetts to David and Elizabeth Poe. He had two siblings, older brother Henry and sister Rosalie. The children at a young age found themselves parentless as their father abandoned them and at the age of three, Edgar’s mother, a then actress in Richmond, Virginia, died of tuberculosis. The children were then separated. Henry was sent to live with his paternal grandparents in Boston, Rosalie to the McKenzie’s of Richmond and Edgar was adopted by John and Frances Allan, also of Richmond, Virginia.
While the places I have visited thus far are all of importance and have their own individual connection to Poe, they are not in historical order and notably the states of New York and Massachusetts I have yet to be visited which I hope to do in the future.
This stop brings me to the home of the Ravens…Baltimore, Maryland. Poe left quite a legacy to this bustling city so much so they honor his memory by naming their NFL team after one of his most popular poems. Poe spent a lot of his life here and fate it seemed was deemed the place for him to die.
My first stop had to be the most notable place that Baltimore offers. His grave.
What more fitting a place for Poe’s final resting place than that of Westminster Hall, a converted gothic style church built above Westminster Burying Ground, creating catacombs. Upon discovering them I was disappointed that time wasn’t allowing me the opportunity to take one of the tours that the church offers.
Not only is Poe buried here but his wife Virginia and her mother Maria Clemm as well. Historically however Poe originally was buried in the back of the church grounds in an unmarked grave that today has a stone memorializing his original resting place. However just like all things Poe, rumors grew of the accuracy of the move. To read more about it, check out http://www.eapoe.org.
Because I’m a geek when it comes to Poe, I already knew this upon entering the church yard and knew exactly where to go hunting for the original memorial. Some other fans that happened to be there at the same time as myself, clearly weren’t as obsessed….errrr prepared as I was and didn’t have this little tid bit of information so naturally I offered to show them. My daughter took a picture of me guiding the tourists so as to memorialize my Poe geek status reaching its all time high. And no, I will not share it. Grrrrr. But I will show you where I took them.
Because I have a natural love for cemeteries, not only was I snapping multiple pictures of the grounds but I found words brewing and wrote this as I came upon this corner with the broken stones.
The church and the grounds were quite lovely and offered a moment of solitude amidst the extremely busy streets of downtown Baltimore that pretty much nearly swallow it.
Located on the same street as the church just a short drive up the road is what is left of the home that Edgar lived in along with his Aunt and wife while in Baltimore.
Operating now as a museum by the Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore, the home was built around 1830 and was originally rented by Edgar’s aunt, Maria Clemm along with her mother, her daughter Virginia and Edgar. Poe left his family here however around August of 1835 moving to Richmond, Virginia where he’d been taken on as editor for the Southern Literary Messenger. Around this same time Ms. Clemm’s mother died resulting in a shortage of money and the family was faced with being unable to cover rent. Another family member having heard of their circumstances offered to take her and Virginia in but Edgar hearing the news and perhaps fearing he would lose his family, wrote a heartfelt letter proposing to Virginia at which she accepted and the family was rejoined in Richmond. Check out the emotional letters here. Good stuff. You won’t be disappointed.
The tour of the house includes poems and short stories that Poe wrote while in Baltimore, facts about his life and death and features Poe’s chair, lap desk and telescope. The room in which the items are set up is thought to be the room that he would have slept in so yeah of course, I was needing my salts. To think I was in the same room as the macabre master had once laid his head and no doubt dreamt up who knows how many of his short stories humbled me. It was surreal. Well, for me. And yeah, I stood there for a bit soaking the moment in.
Upon leaving his home I went next to the Edgar Allan Poe Room at The Enoch Pratt Free Library and to say I was blown away by the appearance of the library itself is an understatement. The architecture geek in me was bleeding a smile. But I’ll refrain from getting sidetracked and sharing the gazillion pictures I took once inside.
Dedicated to Poe on the 125th anniversary of his birth, The Edgar Allan Poe Room is in essence an exhibit of letters, memorabilia, and a copy of a daguerreotype of Poe by Thomas Corner. It is used as a meeting room and this is where my OCD kicked in when upon arriving I discovered it remained locked unless it was being used and was not typically open to the public. Obviously that wasn’t acceptable. I mean hello. So the determined five foot three inches Poe fiend went searching until I found the biggest security guard I’d ever seen. I smiled and told him without using said words such as geek or stalking or obsessed that I would like to see inside the Poe Room. He gave me a look over, grinned and said “for a just few minutes, follow me.” Ahhhhh and the rebel wins again!
After snapping pictures like a bat out of hell and speed rushing through my oooooh’s and ahhhhh’s I thanked the very kind giant and continued my journey. I couldn’t help but think he was probably saying “another crazy white girl.” under his breath. I giggled. Yep. No doubt I fit that bill.
Although Poe lived quite some time in Baltimore, many of the places that had a connection with him have over the years been demolished, so those places I skipped this trip as their quite a few. But I got them written down in my trusty notebook aka Poe app. Yes. Poe app. Nevermind that. So lots of pictures of what now might be Taco Bell’s and laundry mats is in my future next trip.
I saved the saddest for last. The site where he died. Such a shame I didn’t have any of my paranormal investigation tools back then. Just saying. At his time this was the location of Washington College Hospital where he was brought after being found near dead on a street nearby. Four days later he was dead. Many stories surround the hospital including kidnapping and body snatching. Of course. You can read an in-depth article about it here. http://www.eapoe.org/balt/poechh.htm
Thanks so much for reading and please make sure to check out my other write ups as I journey up and down the East Coast to feed my need. The struggle is real…
Always it seems with me. I never do things in baby steps. I just go right in hard-core, full throttle. Hence why I’m no longer allowed to drive a V8….Grrrr…So when I let a friend beguile me to a certain group of ghost hunters and I meet said ghost hunters and they instantly feel like home, why the hell wouldn’t I join. Even more so, why the hell wouldn’t I let my very first investigation with them be at one of the scariest, most haunted places on the East Coast. Pfft. I got this.
with friend and team member Rocki, the fiend who got me in to this!
Of course I’m talking about my kick ass friends and team members of Coastal Virginia Paranormal. And the big and bad scary place, the uniquely eery, where spirits have run amuck, the notorious St. Albans Sanitorium. And of course I wasn’t quite ready for what I was about to experience. Hell no.
Most people, you know the sane ones, they’d see this sign and peace out.
Yeah, my Daddy always said I didn’t have much common sense.
The six-hour drive to Radford, Virginia where this paranormal playground sits is a pretty one. A scenic drive taking us across mountains into this quaint little town. But then, as one of my team members points towards a hill saying “there she is over there” I turn to get my first glimpse of the asylum and it’s as if the theme song to Psycho starts playing full blast in my head. The weeks of anticipation for getting here was now over and here I was, just minutes away from the creep show starting. I gulped down quietly as we inched closer to the large dilapidated three story abandoned brick building that looked straight up like the perfect backdrop for a horror movie. And let me tell ya, I like horror movies but I ain’t trying to be in one yo…..
Upon arriving and signing waivers (yes waivers) we each were required to sign, one of the co-founders of our group, who had been there once before, said “come on guys I know a short cut in.” Note to self, don’t let him lead me anywhere short ever never again. (just kidding you know I love ya) “Come this way,” he says. “It’s cool,” he says. “They say a spirit likes to hang out just on the other side of this door” he says. He forgot to mention on the other side of that door was the bottom floor, the basement. Pitch black. As in no windows. As in dude, I couldn’t see nuttin. I gulped down hard when he opened that door and the burst of cold air hit my innocent little non ghost conversationalist self. Armed with my tiny flashlight (because the big ones just ain’t cool) I stepped forward as the door slammed behind me into this now nothingness that was once full of life. A long long sordid history of life….
Before it became notorious for being one of the most active locations for paranormal activity on the east coast, it started off from the ground up, literally. The land from which it sits was once occupied by the Powhatan, Shawnee and Cherokee Indian tribes. Overlooking the New River, this land was host to the infamous Draper’s Meadow Massacre in 1775 where many pioneers suffered tribulations at the hands of the Shawnees. Further in history, during the Civil War, the hill from which the asylum sits was host to several battles.
It wasn’t until 1892 that the building was erected and became the St. Albans Lutheran Boys School, named after the famous St. Albans school in London. Meant to be one of the most prestigious schools on the east coast, it soon inherited a terrible reputation for bullying and suicides.
like a twisted disguise
how it rears its three faced eyes,
dancing on them all
the souls of unsuspecting hosts
taunting with fire and brew
whispering callous words
giving them no choice
to rage within
and decide war their only course
-Fragments of Chaos, poetry by Jenny Hayut
The students it seems were separated into two very distinctive groups, the athletic and the worthless. Those that were not worthy of playing a sport on one of the highly competitive teams within the school were often bullied resulting in many suicides and unexplained deaths. After the death of its founder, George W. Miles, in 1903, the school because of its dark reputation suffered a great loss in enrollment and as a result closed its doors in 1911. It sat vacant until 1916 at which time Dr. John C. King acquired the property and opened the doors again to what he’d hoped would be the nation’s first advanced psychiatric hospital….
Dr. John C. King, founder of St. Albans Sanatorium
Much like Miles, King set his expectations high. He wanted a hospital that would not only cure the mentally ill but change the near barbaric living conditions as was the standard practice with other facilities at that time. He’d hoped to have patients live as normal a life as possible, curing them of their sickness. Unfortunately armed only with what was the standard procedures of his time, he wasn’t very successful.
The methods of treatment in the 1900’s were, pardon the pun, insane. Things like insulin-induced comas, lobotomies and shock therapy were not just something you’d see in a horror movie, they were the real deal. And these procedures would leave most patients either brain-dead or literally kill them.
Electroshock therapy
remnants of a electroshock therapy room in St. Albans Sanatorium with reports of paranormal activity
Another horrific treatment was that of hydrotherapy. Patients were made to soak in bathtubs…for days at a time. Or perhaps strapped with ice-cold towels, or naked bodies hosed down with blasts of freezing water.
one of the hydrotherapy rooms at St. Albans Sanatorium with reports of paranormal activity
These various treatments leaving patients in a mummified state or only making their illness worse and wanting to end their suffering, committed suicide. One bathroom on the third floor, where it was known the most ill and dangerous patients were housed, has been nicknamed the “Suicide Bathroom.” It is here that many attempted and or were successful in taking their life. At least four suicides are documented as occurring in this bathroom. On a side note here, this is by far the one room in the whole building that I felt the most uneasy in. While assisting a team member setting up a camera and motion sensor, my chest became heavy and I had a hard time breathing. I would not enter the room again until the end of the night when I assisted again with removing our equipment.
“suicide bathroom” on third floor of St. Albans Sanatorium
did you know with a delicate grasp you held me there,
hanging by an endless memory,
among the fragments of midnight,
among the white noise,
absorbing this me that I have become that floats between
the jagged edges of sanity
and a chaos that I covet
as if my final infusion
-Fragments of Chaos, poetry by Jenny Hayut
By the 1960’s the hospital had over 3,500 patients to an astounding staff of just forty-five. It was impossible to give everyone equally proper care and struggled remaining open until 2004. It was left untouched for years, faced threats of being demolished, suffered vandalism and then the paranormal world began investigating. Countless groups have toured, investigated, made claims, presented evidence and it continues today to be one of the most astounding places to visit….
Five dollar flash light don’t fail me now I silently prayed as I tried to keep up with two of my adrenaline charged team members weaving corners in the dark. That initial moment I seriously was having second thoughts as to whether or not I could do this. The fear was very much present but so was the adrenaline. It was already slowly charging through my veins. I could almost feel it as I looked behind me, beside me, squinting in the darkness. After getting lost weaving around corner after corner into this dark abyss, I silently cursed myself, -something is gonna snatch you Jen and these guys are gonna be so far gone they won’t even realize it-
Thankfully, we finally managed to find the stairs leading up to the first floor to our now waiting team members and I breathed a sigh of relief at sunlight. That is until I began to walk the corridor leading to the main entry. I discovered real quick, even with the daylight, it wasn’t much better up here. I seriously was going to give myself cool points by way of a bottle of booze if I made it through this night.
Upon arriving we had arranged for a proper tour of the building with the docent who relayed the history of how the asylum came to be and of its demise. Taking nearly an hour, we were shown from the third floor where the most disturbed patients were housed as well as an outside caged area the “birdcage” as it is called by some, where they could get limited outside activity.
rooftop “birdcage” as it was called where the most extreme and dangerous of the mentally ill of St Albans could have limited outside time.
dare to imagine a walk beyond this terrace of hopeless hearts,
beyond this bruised sky
where burning tides tease of the devil’s water
that lulls a nefarious thirst without remorse
-Fragments of Chaos-poetry by Jenny Hayut
We also toured the nurses quarters where many reports of laughter, talking, walking, pretty much everyday activity has occurred. Making our way back down to the basement, we toured the areas that were used for electroshock therapy and hydrotherapy. Because the hospital had so many deaths it even had its own morgue which we toured as well. Much activity has been reported in these areas due I imagine to the horrors experienced here and death.
In the daylight walking the halls wasn’t THAT bad. But, beyond the light, turning darkened corners, I felt the presence. We all did. You could almost smell it in the air. These walls were watching us. And we would soon discover they had a lot to say.
Below are images taken by myself as well as my team members as we toured. I have always flocked to abandoned buildings with a certain aura about them so naturally I was beyond excited at the opportunity to photograph St. Albans. Capturing the spirit of the building. The history that seems to remain in remnants here and there, telling us a silent story. From the people who inhabited this place decades ago, refusing to be forgotten, to the history of how far medical technology has taken us with treating the mentally ill, it’s all here and it’s quite a beauty.
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Upon ending the tour, we had decided that we wanted to fuel up on food before offering our energy to Casper. Smart thinking I found from my experienced team members. As we returned and daylight was already starting to diminish,it was time to set up all of our equipment.
We as a group discussed where we wanted to set up cameras and investigate, strategically making sure wires would get where we needed them to be and make the best use out of where we could get equipment in. We organized groups as to who would investigate where and when first. A lot was going on all at once and I was in complete yowza mode. We knew the two places that we all unequivocally wanted to investigate were the bowling alley and the boiler room which of course naturally were both down in the basement. But then aren’t all sinister places after all?
Taking about an hour, we ended up setting up seven cameras in various areas of the building and it was then lights out. (that’s just what we say cuz um psssst there wasn’t any lights in this place to begin with)
the silence that shall inevitably creep in the darkness,
it digs its nails deep,
fading into a fraction of her soul,
succumbing to the truth
as it slowly unfolds
-Fragments of Chaos, poetry by Jenny Hayut
Naturally I was sent off to the basement first to the bowling alley. But of course! Now the bowling alley. A little bit of history and reported activity first. Quite a few spirits have been reported down in this area. The bowling alley itself came to be by way of a reward for patients. So in all accounts it was a fun place to be I imagined. But they had to put in the basement….
Virginia is home to a legally historical murder trial. The first conviction of a murder without a body. And guess where the suspected murder happened? Right outside the property that led up to the sanitorium. Yep. It is thought that the spirit of that victim, Gina Renee Hall killed by Stephen Epperly lingers in the basement between the bowling alley and boiler room. Other reports of a demonic spirit named “Goat Man” attacks people here as well as “Smokey” the once maintenance man of the facility who would drag women to the boiler room and rape them. He got his nickname as it is thought and reported that he was a smoker and if visitors offer him a cigarette then he will interact with them. Because of his disrespect, women are warned not to investigate the boiler room alone (Of course that didn’t stop us). Disembodied voices, shadow people, bursts of coldness, growling, all these have also been reported between these two rooms within the basement.
Entering the bowling alley, we started our audio recorders, digital video recorders (DVR’S) and settled in for the first EVP (electronic voice phenomenon) session of the night. I should mention that we chose to set up not only an IR (infrared) camera here but an audio recorder as well because of the abundance of activity that has been reported occurring down here.
Now see this is the first thing I learned about ghost hunting. It feels weird as hell initially sitting there in the dark talking to yourself and as my team members would tell you it took me a few times investigating with them before I could get over that weird feeling and once I did it was game the hell on. This particular session included myself, Rocki and Wayne, one of our co-founders. Rocki lead the session while Wayne armed with a DVR was recording and I was recording audio. I will say right now as I learned early on, paranormal investigating is hours and hours of sometimes nothing. Yeah, that wasn’t the case this night. Below is what we captured in that first session. (you will need headphones with the volume turned all the way up for this and all the audio and video evidence I’ve attached)
hear that knock? after I ask that it come closer..
hear the whispering?
What we hear is a “no” a direct answer to Rocki’s question….
I can personally recall throughout our time down there that there were unexplained noises repeatedly coming from the hallway between the bowling alley and the boiler room. We undoubtedly heard disembodied voices and unexplained knocking. The most significant noise I recall however, was the sound of shuffling feet. One particular instance I recall shifting myself away from the doorway onto the other side of my team member as I was certain someone was about to walk in on us from the darkness. The whole time I was down there I was uneasy, of that I’m certain. And it wasn’t going to get any better as the boiler room was next.
Throughout the night my other team members had sessions as well and had their own personal experiences. One being with Mike and Tom, the other co-founder of our team. Upon going through a series of questions it would seem they were getting interaction as with each question that was asked a knock was heard signaling an understanding. They as well distinctively heard a woman’s voice as well as scratching as if someone was trailing their nails along the pipes. The following is their evidence.
The following is what was picked up on the audio that we had set in the bowling alley. No one was down there investigating at this time.
To all of us it sounds like the ball return functioning. Obviously it wasn’t working nor in working order.
To the boiler room we went….
All of us throughout the night had our own individual experiences with the boiler room. I myself did two separate investigations. One this initial time with Rocki and Wayne and the second time with just the women of our group. It without a doubt lives up to its reputation as being the most sinister place in the building. The sordid history of it hits you as soon as you walk in. Bursts of coldness come and go leaving you chilled to the bone. That itself happened several times to many of our team members, myself included.
Initially with that first session in the boiler room I personally experienced a tug upon the bottom of my pants leg. It was sudden but there was no doubt I felt it. Much like while when we were in the bowling alley, shuffling of feet, and knocking continued outside the hallway leading into the boiler room. So much so that we decided to walk outside and stand within the hallway and begin recording. It’s at that time that my team member was knocked with a massive sense of coldness. Below is the recordings from our experiences.
Returning with the women was just as revealing if not more chilling. In trying to provoke “Smokey” we taunted him asking if he just simply couldn’t handle all of us women together in the room. If it pissed him off or turned him on. It didn’t take long for us to get activity from him as you’ll hear below when my team member Heather, captures what she believes a shadowy presence hiding within the corner of the room then suddenly disappears. I waste no time and begin questioning him. What my audio picks up as I listen to much later sends chills down my spine. Listen for yourself…
what we hear amidst me channeling my inner leprechaun, is just before I say “it’s just us girls” is a faint whisper saying “oh yeah” acknowledging he is in fact hiding from us. Now…I took my interpretation a bit further with this one thanks to the erotic writer in me. It’s a bit x-rated so I’ll refrain from mentioning it here but if you are curious drop me a message, I’ll tell you.
Two of my team members, Krystal and Tracey were using K2’s (EMF-electro-magnetic field-detectors) during this session and repeatedly it was as if Smokey or some thing was pacing back and forth around us as they both would continue to light up, as if he was taunting us. A friend of the group investigating with us, Marie, was using a thermal image device and even she was detecting energy aside from us.
Upon hearing what we believed was the sound of a young woman’s voice we decided to begin using the spirit box. (also known as a “ghost box” is a device used to contact spirits through radio frequency) It didn’t take long for us to begin getting interaction but seemed as if the spirits were fighting amongst each other. As if the room was full with entities. One most obvious battle was what we believed the ghost of Gina perhaps with Smokey. She would answer questions that we posed such as “what is your favorite color” and we got the definitive answer “wine” As the questions continued we suddenly heard a male voice and then the sound of the female voice “I have to go” at which time silence ensued. The continued bursts of coldness affected all of us up until we left to return upstairs.
I need to mention here that while we were having a session in the boiler room, all the men had decided to do their own investigation in the room on the second floor known as Donald’s room. The story of Donald as we know it is he was a janitor of the asylum and lived on site. He was a known homosexual and not an all around nice guy but I’ll get to that in a second. So the guys in all their gander decided they may get more activity if they all went into the room together. Activity was especially reported within the closet of Donald’s room. So naturally they pretty much tried to seduce a spirit in to coming out to play, taking turns in the closet. While none of them got felt up they did manage to get a pretty amazing EVP recording.
what we hear is perhaps Donald acknowledging Mike’s question with a “uh huh”
Upon returning upstairs we paired up differently and went off into what was the nurse’s wing where much activity had been reported as well. Armed still with our audio recorders and digital video recorders we walked the dark halls with flashlights in hand. I personally did not experience anything while here however some of my team members picked up talking and laughing along the empty corridors.
Below are various images that Rocki took throughout the wing as well as other various places within the asylum that after reviewing have questionable orbs within them. They could very well be nothing but it certainly made some of us go hmmmm.
Another team member, Mike, had an interesting experience in the room we pegged the “knocking door” room. It is here that a door that remains padlocked for whatever reason gets a lot of activity as reported by other groups. Mike decided to go and check it out by knocking and even though he didn’t get what he hoped was a knock back, he did hear the distinct sound of shuffling feet just on the other side.
Because of all the activity that had been going on in the bowling alley all night, including what I hadn’t mentioned yet, initially when some of our team members were setting up the camera, Mike was trying to summon the spirit known as “Goatman.” An EVP was picked up very clearly calling him a “dumb ass” which became the joke of the night. So we made our way back down to the dreaded basement where I once again went back into “gotta watch my back” mode. While down here which turned out to be our last time, we continued to hear several sounds, banging, shuffling of feet. There was no doubt in my mind that there was a presence down there. And not all friendly. While none of us ever experienced any kind of attack, it had been reported over and over again that other groups investigating had. But the voices, the banging, the walking, yeah, I was and still am convinced we were not alone down there.
Returning back upstairs nearing 3am our night of investigating was coming to an end. So they always say save the best for last. Seems not of my doing but that is exactly what happened.
Just at the top of the staircase leading to the second floor, is a room scattered with toys about and the shadow of a child painted on the hardwood floor. This is Jacob’s room. As the story goes, Jacob was abandoned just outside the doors of the asylum. The staff decided to take him in, giving him his own bedroom within the staff quarters, across the hall from Donald. I think you may already sense where this is going. Yeah. Turns out Donald had a thing for little boys. Repeatedly raping him to his death.
I really had no intentions of going into this room at all but for the fact that one of our team members, Tracy, really wanted to do a session in it. So I as well as Rocki were asked to go along. Remember that tour I mentioned at the beginning of our visit? I snapped some pictures of Jacob’s room then during the daylight…
The toys and dolls were brought in from various different researchers over the years in hopes of interaction with Jacob as it had been reported that a new toy would excite him, as it would any child. As we filed into the room, each of us armed with a flashlight and recorder, two of us leaned against the wall and begin attempting to summon Jacob. Asking questions like “Jacob are you here?” and “can you sit down and play with us?” When Rocki asked him “show us your favorite toy” that’s when it got very very interesting.
As we leaned against Tracy was crouched to the floor. Within seconds we heard the sound of a coin dropping onto the floor directly behind her. I quickly shined my light at her just as she was picking up a penny off the floor. As you’ll hear in the recording below I ask her if it had perhaps fallen out of her pocket as I shifted my eyes to what she was wearing, and the position of her pockets. From the position she was in there was no way anything could have fallen out of her pockets and she was adamant that she didn’t have any coins in her pocket, adding that she’d being using her bank card the entire day. Obviously we were dumbfounded trying to come up with a logical solution but we couldn’t find one so we were left to believe that it was in fact Jacob. Jacob showing us his “favorite toy”.
Again as you’ll hear in the recording, we thank Jacob and place the coin back on the floor for him. Moments later both my team members experience an overwhelming sense of discomfort resulting in Tracy turning on her light. Walking about her light then shines on a series of pennies in a perfect row to my left, about five feet from Rocki standing next to me. None of us can be certain that those pennies were there when we entered the room. In all honesty they very well could have been. However all three of us heard and saw the penny that dropped. That much we have no doubt about and remains with no explanation.
The session lasted just under twelve minutes and nearing the end it was decided we’d attempt a quick session in Donald’s room as neither of us girls had done so. Within moments of myself entering the room, I was hit with a wave of anxiety. It’s not something that I can easily explain unlike the bowling alley and boiler rooms where I was scared the whole walk down and for the most part the whole time I was investigating. With Jacob’s however my disposition was relatively calm. I truly was relaxed the whole time I was in Jacob’s room unlike my team members. However the moment I entered Donald’s room I tensed up and immediately wanted out. As a result we decided to finish up and return downstairs. Now this is where it gets really interesting…
Upon returning downstairs we discovered that it was time to begin packing up. We were calling it a night. Because the three of us were still standing on that side of the building we offered to return upstairs and pull the cameras and wires from both Jacob and Donald’s rooms. Immediately returning to Jacob’s room Rocki sat his light on the floor while pulling the wires up to break down the tripod and camera. When I heard him say “they’re gone” I was puzzled. “What” I asked him. Pointing into the room he said again “they’re gone, the pennies, all of them, go look.” Now I knew for certain that the three of us remained together from the time we walked out of Jacob’s room until the time we walked downstairs until present and I knew for a fact that no one else had been up the stairs since we’d walked down. Of course my immediate reaction was yeah right so naturally I had to see for myself. I was beyond shocked when I discovered he was absolutely right. Not only was the coin gone that Tracy had tucked just under a toy in the room but the coins that had been perfectly lined up were gone as well. This to me was the most perplexing event of the entire night for me there and still baffles me. Simply because there is no explanation for it. None. It wasn’t until we returned home and the three of us started listening to our evidence that we heard it. I’ll let you listen for yourself to see if you can place it. Just before the penny drops. Listen….
You hear it? That little faint sound just before the penny drops? Yeah. We did too….
So in short, after spending six plus hours investigating St. Albans Sanitorium I am absolutely convinced that it is haunted. From the decades of history, horror and tragedy it has even before this building was erected. This building is dead yet so very much alive. From the countless EVP’s we recorded, to the images that we captured, to the first hand experiences of sounds and hints of being touched, there is no doubt. This place is the real deal. No friggin doubt. And I’m beyond ready to go back. It’s kind of in my veins now….
Thanks for reading and please check out the video below that shows off an amazing flight view of St. Albans as well as our evidence collected.
So there has been quite a lot of talk about this secluded winding road amidst the many historical battlefields of Yorktown that were center stage for the Revolutionary and Civil Wars. On this road sits a bridge. The bridge itself is on the path of Historical Tour Road which is a driving tour of the memorialized battlegrounds of both the Revolutionary War and Civil War. But this bridge, it has nothing to do with any battles. Nothing but a living urban legend most say, others say they’ve witnessed unexplained events in the dark of the night.
Some say the bridge was used by members of the KKK to hang African-Americans. Others say a woman who found herself in an unfortunate arranged marriage could not bear it and ran from her wedding in her dress and hung herself from the bridge. Others say a “ghost car” haunts the winding road leading up to the bridge. Then yet others talk about once driving under the bridge cars are reported to suffer some sort of mechanical malfunction, shutting off. Others report a disruption in their radio. And as the stories continue, another claims that if your name is spray painted on the bridge then you will die. Then there is yet another story about an abandoned house off the path in the wooded area that people have witnessed “red eyes” staring back at them from within the shadows. That one got my attention…a little. So of course I had to go check it out for myself. Of course!
On a rainy Sunday afternoon I drove down this Crawford Road noting it was in fact quite secluded with only a few houses at the beginning of the turn off. A long winding road with copious amounts of trees allowing for the nature girl in me to pull off and take pictures. I love curvy roads in the middle of nowhere leading up to a scary bridge what can I say.
Continuing my journey about two miles up the road I spot the infamous bridge. Now I had been told from other locals to beware of the still present KKK members in the area as well that the police repeatedly patrol the area because well I forgot to mention this part. Because of its seclusion and the sense of fear that the area has brought over the years it seems to be a hot spot for real life murders. Many have occurred along this road over the years and that’s a documented fact. So I knew I had to work fast and taking it all in, getting pics and getting a feel for it all.
Stopping my car about one hundred feet from the bridge I get out and decide to walk the rest of the way. The closer I got the more I saw just how much graffiti it had. That’s a lot of dead people I chuckled to myself.
So the brave newbie of a ghost hunter I’ve become I plowed right through to walk under it which is when it’s said crazy stuff happens. I heard some birds chirping. That was cool. Read some of the graffiti that covers the street as well. Now I’m not discounting other reports of experiences along this road and surrounding this bridge but for me, I got nothing. So after taking a few more pictures I walked back to my car and sought out the directions to get atop the bridge. Maybe something cool will happen up there?
It did take me a few frustrating turns to finally find the right way towards the bridge which is how I discovered it’s along the Historical Tour Road route which Waze aka my normally kick ass GPS totally didn’t come through for me with.
So once again, I pull up towards the bridge and stop about one hundred feet. Getting out I take more pics, still loving all the scenic beauty. Never mind that this could be the home of brutal killings and despair. If it’s pretty, it’s pretty.
Well…again I was disappointed. But I got some really cool shots of the bridge.
and then there is this that I loved. The behind you just captivated me. I played around with the exposure with this one and like the way it came out.
And then there was this little guy which to be perfectly honest was the most exciting thing for me to see while I was here.
In all, my trip having proven not much of anything I can see myself venturing back in the midnight hour to see what there is to see. Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t….And this bridge and all the legends surrounding it, the events of in history that unfolded before it, and the real life crimes that it witnessed, it absolutely has inspired a story…or two.
It’s taken me over two year’s thus far to travel up and down the East Coast in search of the notable places of poet and writer, Edgar Allan Poe. His works have been a notable muse to my own writing and the birth of my love of poetry. And since I’m OCD about everything, it makes perfect sense to divulge in every place Mr. Poe once lived, visited or has some historical tie to. Right? Right.
Edgar was born in Boston, Massachusetts to David and Elizabeth Poe. He had two siblings, older brother Henry and sister Rosalie. The children at a young age found themselves parentless as their father abandoned them and at the age of three, Edgar’s mother, a then actress in Richmond, Virginia, died of tuberculosis. The children were then separated. Henry was sent to live with his paternal grandparents in Boston, Rosalie to the McKenzie’s of Richmond and Edgar was adopted by John and Frances Allan, also of Richmond, Virginia.
While the places I have visited thus far are all of importance and have their own individual connection to Poe, they are not in historical order and notably the states of New York and Massachusetts have yet to be visited which I hope to do in the future.
My first stop took me to the city of brotherly love, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania where Poe resided for six years from 1838 until 1844. Here he lived with his wife/cousin Virginia and her mother, Maria Clemm. His time spent here is described as the happiest of his life. While most of the homes he lived in while in Philadelphia have been demolished, one still stands. It is the last home he lived in before he decided to leave with his young ailing wife with tuberculosis to the then tranquil outskirts of New York. Today the home located in the Spring Garden section of the city is owned and maintained by the state park service and listed on the registry of historical places.
The home itself has been left to age with murals upon the walls depicting how the home would have looked when Poe lived within its walls.
A room set up like a parlor lends a feel to the macabre feel that was Poe’s legacy. Within it contains many writings and advertisements over the years of Poe’s work. Also on display is a prized possession, a copy of the famous Annabelle Lee poem as written in Poe’s handwriting.
Entering the basement the macabre feel continues with its spooky feel and truly one of my favorites among the whole house. Talk about getting some paranormal ju ju down here. Heck yeah.
So on my pursuit to retrace the steps of Edgar Allan Poe because well I can, I stumbled upon something of epic coolness.
Rock Creek Cemetery.
In the heart of Washington DC, Rock Creek Cemetery is the home to my reason for a visit, the final resting place of Rosalie Poe, sister to Edgar Allan Poe. Established in 1719, it is the home to many dignitaries as well as famous folks and owns the title of the oldest cemetery in the District of Columbia.
Upon entering the grounds with a trusty map in hand that I easily printed off their website, I easily found Rosalie’s headstone. Sadly I easily discovered it was but a small memorial against the beasts of beauty that surrounded the park-like cemetery.
I’ve always been fond of architecture and I don’t shy away from including funerary sculptures into that category. Except for me they take on a whole separate appreciation. The solemnity of them. The personal meaning that lies within each. The clear love and grief of its design that is almost staring back at you. It’s eerily beautiful. And when I began to meander about the well-groomed grounds of Rock Creek I came across many notable and breathtaking mausoleums, sculptures and tombstones that I want to share.
The first one that was more like a secret sanctuary was enclosed by walls of shrubbery that looked well cared for. Walking up the marble steps onto a square marble platform I discover this.
Of course I had to search the internet to find out what this eerily amazing piece was and who is buried here as you see it’s completely unmarked. I do love a good mystery and believe you me I already had a novel half way written.
What I found out was pretty cool. Amazingly enough this unmarked sculpture was built in 1891 and in 1972 was listed on the National Registry of Historic Places. Um, wow. I can see why though. Buried here is notable author Henry Adams and his wife, Clover. Heartbroken when his wife committed suicide, Henry sought out the skills of famed Irish artist, Augustus Saint-Gaudens and architect Stanford White to design a piece fitting for his wife. Over the years it has taken on the name as “Grief” from its many visitors from all over the country. However, Mr Adams left specific instructions in his will that there was never to be an inscription nor was the monument ever to be labeled with a title.
His vision was that of the Buddhist interpretation of nirvana, a state of being beyond joy and sorrow. I was easily in absolute awe of it and found myself sitting on the marble bench that surrounds it, meditating. Sigh. What a beautifully tragic love story. The love this man must have had for his wife and clearly heartbroken to want to make something so beautiful, so unique. I visualized him coming here, sitting, talking to her. I was mesmerized by her solemn beauty and had to get an up close look of her. It should be noted here that the intent of Saint-Gaudens was this not to be male nor female, but I like to imagine that it is her, his wife, trapped in her silent tomb.
Easily my most memorable piece throughout the whole cemetery I spent quite a bit of time here, captivated by the beauty, the meaning and the sadness.
Reluctantly, I continued my exploration, leaving this oasis and it didn’t take long to stumble upon another silent beauty and unlike Adams memorial, this was left to weather which I found remarkably symbolic.
Those eyes so real as if telling me their story, and the face as if covered in grief-stricken tears. Created by sculpture American, Gutzon Borglum “Rabboni” it is meant to depict that of Mary Magdalene and has a bronze marker on the back that reads:
THE END OF BIRTH IS DEATH
THE END OF DEATH IS LIFE
WHEREFOR MOURNEST THOU
This next one was a close second to the Adams Memorial and is simply titled “Memory” and designed by American sculpture William Partridge. The bronze panels along the granite bench that the mourning woman sits depicts Shakespeare’s “Seven Ages of Men.”
The only information I could get on this next one was that it was designed by artist Jules Dechin so I call it “The Raised Hand”
This one, the Frederick Keep Monument, I couldn’t find much information on other than it is designed by artist, James Earle Fraser.
Remaining are other images I captured throughout the grounds of various tombstones, monuments and intricate mausoleums.
Finally, the reason that brought me to this secret oasis, the tombstone of Rosalie Poe, which will undoubtedly be included in an upcoming post of my travels along the East Coast in search of Poe Places.
I thoroughly enjoyed the time I spent in this oasis amidst the bustling streets of Washington DC . If you like history and are a fan of funerary sculpture or simply want to adventure somewhere off the beaten path, I would highly recommend a visit to Rock Creek Cemetery.
the ominous walk down the path to Ferry Plantation House
Another Friday night has found me at the historically rich home of the Ferry Plantation House investigating with Coastal Virginia Paranormal. Except tonight was a little special. Tonight I was asked to officially join the group and I am estatic! I knew I fit in with these guys right away upon meeting them last week. If ever there was a no judgement zone, “we’re nerds and proud of it” group, these guys are it and I am the newly crowned nerd.
What I love about this group and what makes them unique is they as well as myself appreciate the history of a home or place. They embrace that with any investigation that they may do. Whether it be a public place or a private residence, they respect the “heart” of the subject under investigation.
And further their headquarters or home base is a home of historical importance as well as listed as one of the top 25 most haunted places in Virginia. The executive director to the house and docent, Heather Moore, is a member of CVP so she has full access to undergo investigations at any given time. This I think is resourceful especially in conducting experiments with new equipment as well as training new members.
the bare necessities of a paranormal investigator …
I look forward to investigating with these guys and becoming a part of their family.
As if asking me to join them was not exciting enough, they also informed me where the next investigation shall take them…St. Albans Sanitarium, noted as the most haunted place on the east coast and most haunted asylum in the country! Go big or go home…these guys clearly ain’t afraid of no ghosts.
Click on the pic below to learn more about this seemingly sinister sanitarium who’s history begins with the land from which is built upon.
