It wasn’t just any book that fell.

It was The Exorcist—facedown, off the display shelf at Viewpoint Books—the beloved indie bookstore in Columbus, Indiana. And it didn’t fall quietly. The book launched itself just at the edge of her vision—but clearly enough to catch both the attention of her and an employee standing at the register nearby. The moment was strange enough that Beth Stroh, the bookstore’s owner, messaged me immediately. Her text led to another full-blown paranormal investigation of the shop.

Watch the Investigation: The Exorcist Incident at Viewpoint Books!

A coincidence? Maybe. But that’s never quite how it feels when it’s that book.

What followed was a series of events that seemed to flirt with something deeper than residual energy: a strange timing, a provocative gesture, and a communication session where intelligent voices—through a method known as Instrumental Trans-Communication (ITC)—responded to our questions with uncanny precision. One voice, when asked why the book had been knocked down, replied:

“Dirty book.”

Another? “Bowdern.”

It’s a name you rarely hear—unless you’ve studied Father William Bowdern, the Jesuit priest who led the real-life exorcisms that inspired The Exorcist.

The book’s fall, the ITC responses, and the quiet current running through the bookstore’s basement all seemed to converge on not just a haunting—it felt like an answer shaped by awareness.

But rather than letting this strange encounter be reduced to a spooky story, let’s widen the lens. Exorcism is one of humanity’s oldest rituals. It’s been a source of mystery, power, and fear across cultures for thousands of years. Catholicism may have codified the rite, but the impulse to drive out unwanted forces—whether spirits, demons, or madness—is far older and far more universal.

So this isn’t just about a book. Or even a ghost. It’s about what happens when we try to name, fight, and understand the forces we can’t see—those that exist just beyond the veil of ordinary perception. And what it might mean when they talk back.

The Modern Obsession with Possession

Despite being rooted in ancient ritual, the concept of possession has never been more alive in popular culture. Films like The Exorcist (1973) didn’t just terrify a generation—they redefined how the Western world imagines spiritual intrusion. They gave evil a voice, a face, and a cinematic vocabulary: spinning heads, guttural growls, bodies flung by invisible hands.

But long before Regan MacNeil crawled backward down a staircase, the idea that a spirit could inhabit a body—take over the mind, bend the will—was embedded deep in the global human story. The difference now is the frame.

Possession has become entertainment.

We binge demonic thrillers and share “possessed girl on the subway” clips on social media. Exorcism is a meme, a genre, a punchline. Paranormal TV shows dangle it as the final boss—proof that a location has crossed from spooky to serious. Even some ghost hunters now stage dramatic confrontations that resemble low-budget reenactments of The Rite.

But what’s often missing in this spectacle is nuance. The idea that possession might be symbolic, psychological, or culturally specific is often ignored in favor of fear-mongering. And worse, the rise of this obsession often sidelines the voices of those who live in spiritual traditions where spirit influence is real—but not always sinister.

There’s a hunger in our culture to believe in demons—just as much as there’s a hunger to mock the idea. And maybe that’s because the idea of being overtaken speaks to something primal. Something unspoken in our age of overstimulation, fractured attention, and identity crisis.

Possession, in this modern context, isn’t just about ghosts.

It’s about what owns us.

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The Catholic Rite and Its Roots

If possession is the wound, then exorcism is the attempted cure—or, at least, the ritual intervention. And in the West, no tradition has shaped our collective imagination of exorcism more than the Catholic Church.

The Roman Catholic rite of exorcism isn’t medieval pageantry or Hollywood spectacle. It’s a carefully delineated process—codified, updated, and tightly controlled. First formalized in the Rituale Romanum of 1614, the Church’s rite requires strict discernment before any ceremony is approved. Mental illness must be ruled out. Psychological evaluations are expected. And even then, only specially trained priests, operating with explicit episcopal permission, are authorized to perform the rite. (While cultural traditions view possession spiritually, modern medicine often interprets similar symptoms as mental health conditions—consult professionals accordingly.)

In the 20th century, very few Catholic exorcisms were publicly acknowledged—until the case of Robbie Mannheim (a pseudonym for Ronald Edwin Hunkeler) captured the attention of Jesuit circles in the late 1940s (Allen, 2021). His alleged possession and subsequent exorcisms at the hands of Father William Bowdern in St. Louis became the seed for William Peter Blatty’s novel The Exorcist (Blatty, 2011).

Ironically, the Church never intended for this case to be publicized. Father Bowdern and his assistants kept extensive notes, but the records were sealed. Blatty learned of the case years later through academic sources and clergy contacts—not official disclosure.

The Catholic Church walks a strange line. On one hand, it’s cautious to avoid fueling hysteria or validating superstition. On the other, it continues to appoint exorcists around the world, acknowledging that spiritual affliction can be real—and that evil, however we define it, sometimes requires confrontation.

But even here, within one of the most rigid institutions in human history, the definition of possession is far from settled. Is the exorcist battling a literal demon? A manifestation of trauma? A psychosomatic archetype? Or some mix of all three?

The ritual may be standardized. The mystery remains.

Global Rites of Expulsion

The Catholic rite of exorcism, while widely known in the West, is but one thread in a vast global network of traditions that seek to restore spiritual and energetic balance when it is believed to be disrupted. Nearly every culture has developed its own form of spiritual intervention—some dramatic and theatrical, others contemplative and symbolic.

In Islam, ruqyah is recited from the Qur’an to drive out harmful spirits (jinn), often accompanied by physical rituals like blowing or anointing with oil. In Judaism, dybbuk possession is countered through prayers of atonement and sacred naming, occasionally led by a rabbi in structured exorcisms. Hinduism offers manifold paths, from chanting Vedic mantras and invoking deities to specific rites found in the Atharva Veda designed to ward off malign influences (Goodman, 1988).

In African Traditional Religions, particularly among the Yoruba or Bantu peoples, spirit possession is more nuanced—sometimes seen as healing or divinatory, other times as intrusion. Ritual drumming, dance, and invocation are used to restore communal harmony. Likewise, in Vodou and Santería, trance states and possession by loa or orishas are common, but when unwanted spirits arrive, practitioners may employ baths, offerings, and the assistance of powerful intermediaries.

Tibetan Buddhism, though not centered around the concept of demonic possession, acknowledges spiritual interference as part of samsaric suffering. Rather than confronting “evil” head-on, practitioners may engage in rituals such as chod, which invites the practitioner to visualize offering their own body to hungry spirits as a radical act of compassion, or phowa, which guides consciousness at the moment of death. Protective mantras, mudras, and wrathful deity visualizations—like those of Mahakala or Vajrakilaya—are also employed to transmute negative energies rather than expel them violently (Levack, 2013).

These traditions vary widely in tone and cosmology—some depicting spiritual affliction as a moral failing, others as imbalance, ancestral unrest, or a call for attention. What unites them is the impulse to rebalance, to reassert connection between body, spirit, and cosmos, and to do so through a framework deeply embedded in the culture’s view of reality.

Exorcism as Mirror

What if the point of exorcism isn’t just to remove something foreign, but to reveal something hidden? Across faiths and cultures, these rituals often act less like forceful expulsions and more like mirrors—showing us our own shadows, our fears, our projections.

The possessed often become symbols of whatever a society fears most: sexuality, madness, heresy, rebellion, or grief that cannot be metabolized. In this light, the body becomes a stage upon which cultural anxiety plays out. In the West, especially post-Enlightenment, possession is frequently cast as a rare spiritual siege—one that justifies spectacle and secrecy alike. But in other traditions, spirit interaction is not always pathology. It may be communication. It may be calling (Ferber, 2004).

Viewed through this lens, exorcism becomes less about domination and more about discernment. Who gets labeled “possessed,” and by whose authority? Who decides when a voice is sacred or sick? The more we ask these questions, the less tidy the answers become.

We might ask whether exorcisms sometimes serve the ego more than the soul—allowing the practitioner to step into a savior role, or the witnesses to rehearse their belief in evil. The act of driving something out becomes performance: a reaffirmation of the order we think we understand, and the borders we’re terrified to see breached (Turner, 1969).

But if possession is sometimes performance, then so is expulsion. And if spirit communication challenges the boundaries of belief, then so does the act of naming what’s speaking through us.

Instrumental Trans-Communication and the Possibility of Commentary

The incident at Viewpoint Books became more than a quirky haunting the moment we turned to Instrumental Trans-Communication (ITC) to explore it further. As we asked questions about the book incident, we received responses that pointed directly to historical figures and deeper themes tied to the real-life exorcism case that inspired The Exorcist—offering what felt less like ambient echoes and more like intelligent commentary (Macy, 1999).

Among the names to come through was “Bowdern”—a direct reference to Father William Bowdern, the Jesuit priest who led the 1949 exorcism in St.Louis. This wasn’t a name we had mentioned aloud. It surfaced during our ITC session as if the spirits—or “the Others,” as some researchers call them—wanted to highlight their awareness of the story, or their involvement in shaping how it unfolds in human memory.

Another response simply said: “We’re not vicious.” Was this a defense from those responsible for knocking the book off its display? A reminder that not all uninvited presences are malevolent? Or was it commentary on the legacy of The Exorcist itself—a narrative that framed all spirit contact as dark, violent, or demonic?

The clarity of these responses—Bowdern, Robbie, Father Williams—makes it hard to ignore the historical trail they seem to be tracing. But what if these weren’t just acknowledgments? I’ve started to wonder whether they were corrections—a pointed rejection of the dramatized narrative. As if the voices were pushing back on the spectacle. That book, that film, this mythos—it may have made people millions, but maybe to them, it cheapened something sacred or exploited real suffering. Maybe what we heard wasn’t fascination. Maybe it was a quiet protest.

Then came a stranger phrase: “Performing angels.” Was this a veiled reference to theological debates—that so-called angels might be deceivers in disguise, performing roles to influence belief or test faith? Or was it reassurance that protective forces were present and active during our questioning, acting as benevolent performers in a cosmic drama (Rose, 1962)?

Whatever these replies meant, they spoke in riddles. But like any good riddle, their power came not just from what they said—but what they made us consider. The dialogue didn’t offer proof or closure. It offered reflection. Engagement. A nudge to look closer.

And in a way, that’s what ITC at its best has always done. It’s not just about catching a voice. It’s about being willing to listen.

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Echoes, Not Answers

Exorcism, whether practiced in a cathedral, a village hut, or the back room of a bookstore, is never just about spirits. It’s about people. About how we process trauma. About how we assign meaning to suffering. And sometimes, it’s about how we tell stories to keep ourselves from being afraid of the dark (Radin, 2018).

The events at Viewpoint Books—fleeting, unexplained, but real—didn’t affirm or debunk any belief system. They simply happened. The book fell. The names came through. The responses stirred something ancient.

Through the lens of ITC, we glimpsed not just what might linger beyond the veil, but how those presences may respond to what we bring into a space: fear, curiosity, reverence, or cynicism. And perhaps more importantly, we saw how we respond when the unknown stirs back.

Whether the voices we heard were memory, mischief, or manifestation, they acted as guides—pointing not just to Bowdern or Robbie, but to our ongoing human fascination with evil, salvation, and the blurred threshold between (Zimdars-Swartz, 1991).

The Others may speak in riddles. But maybe that’s the point. They don’t hand us truth. They invite us to participate in its uncovering.

So when a book crashes to the floor, when a voice says, “We’re not vicious,” when an unseen whisper names the priest who once battled darkness with prayer and persistence—

It’s not just a haunting.

It’s a conversation.

Postscript

If you’re interested in the true story that inspired The Exorcist, I highly recommend The Devil Came to St. Louis: 2025 Uncensored Edition by Troy Taylor. This updated release includes previously unpublished material, new interviews, and a closer look at the life of Ronald Edwin Hunkeler—the real “Robbie.”

You can order it directly from the publisher via American Hauntings Ink.

But if possible, consider ordering it through Viewpoint Books in Columbus, Indiana—the very place where the book fell, and the veil seemed to ripple.

Works Cited

Allen, David. “What Really Happened to Ronald Hunkeler, Who Inspired ‘The Exorcist.’” New York Post, 20 Dec. 2021, https://nypost.com/2021/12/20/is-the-exorcist-a-true-story-what-happened-to-ronald-hunkeler.

Baglio, Matt. The Rite: The Making of a Modern Exorcist. Doubleday, 2009.

Blatty, William Peter. The Exorcist: 40th Anniversary Edition. Harper, 2011.

Ferber, Sarah. Demonic Possession and Exorcism in Early Modern France. Routledge, 2004.

Goodman, Felicitas D. How About Demons? Possession and Exorcism in the Modern World. Indiana University Press, 1988.

Levack, Brian P. The Devil Within: Possession and Exorcism in the Christian West. Yale University Press, 2013.

Macy, Mark. Conversations Beyond the Light: Communication with the Dead. 1st ed., Three Rivers Press, 1999.

Radin, Dean. Real Magic: Ancient Wisdom, Modern Science, and a Guide to the Secret Power of the Universe. Harmony Books, 2018.

Rose, Eliot. A Razor for a Goat: A Discussion of Certain Problems in the Rationalist Interpretation of Witchcraft and Demonology. University of Toronto Press, 1962.

Turner, Victor. The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure. Aldine Publishing, 1969.

Zimdars-Swartz, Sandra L. Encountering Mary: Visions of Mary from La Salette to Medjugorje. Princeton University Press, 1991.

St. Albans Sanatorium, perched above Virginia’s New River, stands as a haunted landmark where history intertwines with folklore. My two investigations there, foundational to establishing Paraholics, introduced me to Donald—a mischievous spirit—and Jacob, his subdued companion. Their vivid presence—despite no historical corroboration—introduced me to the idea of egregores: thought-forms shaped by collective belief. These experiences transformed my ghost-hunting perspective, merging skepticism with curiosity.

A Glimpse into St. Albans’ Past

George W. Miles, a University of Virginia graduate, founded St. Albans in 1892 as a Lutheran preparatory school for up to 50 boys, emphasizing classical education (The Promus, 1898-99; Lost Colleges). Student nicknames like “Bess” or “Shortie” hint at camaraderie, yet no evidence supports tales of bullying or suicides (Lost Colleges; Radford Historical Society, accessed October 2023). Assertions of student deaths arise from folklore, not facts.

Financial difficulties forced the school’s closure in 1911 (The Roanoke Times, 1911). In 1916, Dr. John C. King converted it into St. Albans Sanatorium, a psychiatric facility featuring a farm and bowling alley. Despite its progressive aims, it employed severe treatments like insulin coma therapy and electroconvulsive therapy (Asylum Projects; Only In Your State, 2015). By 1945, 6,509 patients strained 48 staff, leading to neglect (Virginia Department of Mental Health, 1945). Suicides occurred, including a female patient’s death in the 1950s in the third-floor “suicide bathroom,” though specifics remain vague (Radford Historical Society; The Moonlit Road, 2015). An on-site morgue processed the deceased.

The 1980 murder of Gina Renee Hall, an 18-year-old Radford University freshman, adds a modern layer of tragedy. After disappearing from a nightclub with Stephen Epperly, her blood-stained car was discovered near the Hazel Hollow railroad trestle, near St. Albans (The Roanoke Times, 1980). Epperly was convicted that same year—Virginia’s first no-body murder case. The verdict hinged on forensic evidence (Commonwealth v. Epperly, 1980). Rumors tie Epperly to St. Albans, but searches found no connection (Radford Police Department Case Files). Unconfirmed EVPs whispering “Gina” linger (Association of Paranormal Study, 2016).

In 1960, St. Albans became a general hospital, joining Carilion Health System in the 1990s before closing in 2004. Now owned by the Radford University Foundation, it offers tours and events (Asylum Projects; St. Albans Sanatorium Official Website). Limited records fuel its mystique, though history and legend seldom align.

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First Visit: A Collaborative Effort

My first investigation, detailed in The Ghosts of St. Albans Sanatorium - Radford, Virginia (March 13-15, 2015), brought together D.K.S. Paranormal, Paranormal And Truth Hunters (PATH), and Paraholics.com. We secured the site for 36 hours, using tools like EMF detectors, digital recorders, bells, and a P-SB7 spirit box—each aimed at detecting or capturing potential spirit activity. It crackled with responses as we rested at The Inn at Saint Albans, Dr. King’s reportedly unsettling former residence.

Standout Moments

• Muffin Man Hallway: Named after volunteer Jenny Johnston’s Halloween costume, this corridor pulsed with EVPs, footsteps, and spirit-box activity. Elizabeth sang faintly; the Grumpy Ol’ Man taunted us with curses and laughter.

• Bowling Alley and Boiler Room: The basement’s heavy atmosphere carried stories of a Goat Man and shadows. Investigating Gina Renee Hall’s case with Lt. Andy Wilburn of Radford PD produced no EVP insights (Radford Police Department Case Files).

• But the room that changed everything was just up the stairs… Donald’s Room: Located up the main staircase, Donald’s room proved revelatory. Folklore cast Donald as a maintenance man who raped and murdered Jacob, a boy abandoned at the hospital. Retired detective Mike Culwell elicited a chilling spirit-box confession. Donald’s persona—wry, occasionally hostile—burst forth, nicknaming investigator Damon “Big Baby Biscuit” and delivering a theatrical, operatic display that fed on our attention.

This intense experience, marked by Donald’s dynamic presence, molded Paraholics’ initial direction and sparked questions about historical accuracy.

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Second Visit: Confidence and a Solo Stream

My second trip, chronicled in To Catch a Preternatural Predator: Donald of St. Albans Sanatorium (August 20, 2016) and Shadows of St. Albans: Featuring the Afterlight Box, involved investigators like Mike Culwell, Gene Caswell of Jefferson County Paranormal Society, and D.K.S. members. I returned more confident, kicking off the day with a solo morning session in Donald’s room, streamed on Facebook, before the team arrived. Later, we explored the Afterlight Box, an app generating random audio clips for spirit communication, across the property.

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Dialogues with the Dead

In Donald’s room, I spoke to Donald and Jacob as if their tale were factual. My PRD 1000 and Geobox Afterlight Edition buzzed—Donald’s taunts were sharp and playful yet laced with malice; Jacob’s responses carried sorrow. The solo stream, raw and gripping, highlighted Donald’s humor thriving on my focus. Group sessions mirrored this, though historical clarity remained elusive. The phenomena—voices, flickering lights—seemed performative, drawing strength from our engagement.

The Afterlight Box and “The Master”

Developed by Martin Bellefeuille and Anthony Mark England, the Afterlight Box uses randomized audio sweeps. In the attic, as Gene Caswell sat on a bed, it produced “the bed” and “The Master,” leaving us intrigued (Shadows of St. Albans, 2016). Later, Paraholics researcher Eunice Specter found a 1893-1894 Promus poem, “The Albans Ghosts,” mentioning a headmaster dubbed “The Master” and a student prank (The Promus, 1893-1894). This link—tying Gene’s session to a historical figure—bolstered the Afterlight Box’s reliability, creating a standout moment in my investigations.

The Egregore of Donald and Jacob

While many hauntings tie to history, Donald and Jacob showed how belief alone can spawn vivid phenomena. An egregore is a thought-form empowered by collective belief, akin to a fictional character animated by a group’s shared imagination (Egregores: The Occult Entities That Watch Over Human Destiny, 2018). Grounded in Hermeticism and Theosophy, egregores may account for hauntings lacking historical roots, as expectation births a “spirit” that feels genuine (Journal of Anomalistic Psychology, 2019). Tulpas are individual constructs; egregores draw strength from collective belief.

At St. Albans, Donald and Jacob align with this concept. Searches through The Roanoke Times, Radford Historical Society, and Virginia State Archives uncovered no evidence of them or their supposed crime (Radford Historical Society, accessed October 2023). Their story—Donald’s villainy, Jacob’s tragedy—leans toward folklore. Yet, the encounters were striking: Donald’s sly humor and operatic flair, from “Big Baby Biscuit” jabs to menacing laughs, dominated both visits. Jacob’s gentle presence evoked empathy. Their intensity grew with our attention, a trend noted in ITC work where phenomena amplify with focus.

This gap prompted reflection. If Donald and Jacob lack historical basis, are they products of belief in St. Albans’ aura? This question probes paranormal research: Are we meeting spirits or shaping them? Donald’s showmanship—his need to be seen and heard—suggested the phenomena fed off our focus, like actors craving applause. This realization fueled Paraholics’ evidence-driven approach, balancing skepticism with openness to explore whether we encounter entities or co-create them.

Seeds of Skepticism

These visits underscored a key insight: ghost stories often diverge from history. The first trip, with Donald’s magnetic debut, awakened my scrutiny; the second, with my solo stream and the Afterlight Box’s corroboration, reinforced it. The Donald and Jacob narrative honed my perspective—rooted in evidence, cautious of unverified lore—steering Paraholics’ mission today.

Conclusion

St. Albans Sanatorium revealed that ghost hunting blends belief with evidence. Donald’s theatrical taunts and Jacob’s subtle sorrow, likely egregores born from collective imagination, left a lasting impression. The Afterlight Box’s “Master” reference, tied to a 1893 poem, provided a rare historical anchor. These visits defined Paraholics’ purpose: pursuing truth through skepticism and awe. So if you visit St. Albans, don’t just listen for Donald’s laugh—ask yourself where it’s really coming from.

—Evel Ogilville

References

• Commonwealth v. Epperly, 224 Va. 214 (1980).

• Egregores: The Occult Entities That Watch Over Human Destiny. (2018). Mark Stavish. Inner Traditions.

• Journal of Anomalistic Psychology. (2019). “Thought-Forms and Paranormal Phenomena.”

• Only In Your State. (2015, November 27). “Virginia’s Creepy Abandoned Sanatorium.”

• Radford Historical Society. (Accessed October 2023). Notes on St. Albans Sanatorium history.

• Radford Police Department Case Files. (1980-2016). Gina Renee Hall murder investigation.

• The Moonlit Road. (2015, December 7). “The Tortured Souls of St. Albans Sanatorium.”

• The Promus. (1893-1894). St. Albans School yearbook, “The Albans Ghosts.”

• The Promus. (1898-1899). St. Albans School yearbook.

• The Roanoke Times. (1911). Article on St. Albans School closure.

• The Roanoke Times. (1980, July 2). “Search for Radford Student.”

• St. Albans Sanatorium Official Website. (Accessed October 2023). Facility history.

• Virginia Department of Historic Resources. (2023, March 24). “077-0046 St. Albans Hospital.”

• Virginia Department of Mental Health. (1945). Annual report.

• Association of Paranormal Study. (2016). “Gina Renee Hall: A Paranormal Perspective.”

• Asylum Projects. (2020, February 12). “St. Albans Sanatorium.”

• Lost Colleges. (Accessed October 2023). “St. Albans School.”

The Floyd County Asylum, widely known as the Haunted Poor Farm, looms as a monument to forgotten lives and the crucible that forged Paraholics. As New Albany marks its 200-year bicentennial, this haunted landmark embodies the city’s resilient spirit. Alongside Mike Culwell, a retired New Albany Police Department Chief of Detectives, and an assortment of dedicated investigators, I carved this journey through six unforgettable visits between 2012 and 2016. Those nights tested my resolve, unveiling the raw stakes of paranormal investigation. This narrative weaves together those chilling nights, the asylum’s sorrowful past, and an urgent plea to rally the paranormal community’s fervor to rescue a site teetering on collapse. My aim was never to save the building for its restless spirits alone, but to channel their magnetic draw into a lifeline, harnessing the millions the paranormal world invests in historic sites through tourism and restoration. This is ghost hunting at its most meaningful, and this place—a gritty emblem of Ohio River settlers’ endurance—merits that effort.

A History Steeped in Sorrow

In 1838, Floyd County acquired 135 acres to establish a poor farm, a 19th-century response to poverty, disability, and societal rejection. A modest log cabin, funded by local taxes, first sheltered New Albany’s desperate. By 1875, a sturdier brick building rose for 60 residents, expanded in 1878 to house over 100. It served as a multifaceted refuge: a workhouse for farming, a hospital for the ailing, and a haven for those labeled “insane” under vague criteria. The Indiana State Board of Charities in 1890 called it a “depressing necessity,” citing overcrowded quarters and scarce resources strained by elderly paupers, unwed mothers, Civil War veterans, and the mentally unwell.

On February 15, 1916, a storm-damaged flue sparked a fire that consumed the wooden attic dormitory, marking the asylum’s darkest chapter. The New Albany Ledger of February 16, 1916, reported five deaths—John Doe, Mary Ellis, Thomas Reed, Sarah Kline, and an unidentified child—though a 2004 Floyd County Historical Society survey suggests a higher toll, with some remains lost in the rubble. The blaze prompted the 1917 construction of the current brick structure, with expansions in 1916 and 1939. By the 1950s, Social Security and welfare reforms rendered poor farms obsolete, silencing its halls.

The grounds host two cemeteries, quiet testaments to forgotten lives. Potter’s Field, within Sam Peden Community Park, bears three headstones—Leslie McCracken (1957), Lerian Neves (1940), and Charles Potter (1933)—but Rich Green’s 2005 survey estimates over 300 unmarked graves beneath sunken earth. A second burial ground, possibly the McCulloch family plot, lies southwest, showing similar depressions. Green notes potential medical waste, like amputated limbs, interred there—a common 19th-century practice. A religious statue, documented in the 2004 survey, marks another suspected resting place, deepening the site’s mournful aura.

The asylum’s records brim with despair. In 1892, Joseph Pierson, aged 34, plunged to his death from a window, per Floyd County Coroner’s Records. Emma Hamilton drowned herself in a cistern in 1870, per the Floyd County Commissioners’ Report of 1871. Matilda Webb, confined since 1822, endured 60 years before dying in 1882, per asylum ledgers. Nellie Mullen, broken by her infant’s 1899 murder, succumbed raving in the “insane ward,” per the New Albany Tribune of August 2, 1899. Lucy Higgs Nichols, an escaped slave and Civil War nurse, died here in 1915, her story preserved by the Carnegie Center.

Other losses weave into this tapestry of sorrow. C.W. Salter, a merchant, died penniless in 1879, per the New Albany Ledger. In 1893, fears of grave-robbing surged when Mrs. Isaacs’ body nearly faced dissection, per the Indianapolis News of March 13. Henry Matthews fell in 1906, struck by a boy’s stone, per the Courier-Journal. Susan McElfresh in 1908 and Nancy Newby in 1910 faded in confinement, per the Courier-Journal. A Civil War veteran, lost to delusion, relived battles, per the Courier-Journal of 1899. Mahala Dorcas, nearing 100, died in 1901 after scavenging glass, per the Courier-Journal of July 7. Yet, in 1874, William Williams and Eliza Vinson wed on-site, a rare joy noted in the Indianapolis News of February 2.

The Asylum’s Decline

By the 1980s, the Floyd County Asylum, once a refuge for the destitute, had shifted to house the Floyd County Youth Shelter and Solid Waste offices. A 2008 redevelopment plan faltered, and by 2012, operations moved to Pine View Government Center, leaving the North Annex vacant, per the News and Tribune of September 28, 2012. Plans in 2021 and 2022 for a government hub dissolved amid rising costs and decay, per the News and Tribune of January 26, 2022. In 2024, New Albany issued code violations, branding the boarded-up building a hazard, per the News and Tribune of April 29, 2024.

As of April 2024, county officials grapple with the North Annex’s fate at 3005 Grant Line Road, now a recycling drop-off site adjacent to Sam Peden Community Park. Commissioner Al Knable envisions a public-private partnership to preserve its iconic status, while Councilwoman Denise Konkle pushes for a sale to ease budget strains from Senate Bill 1’s tax cuts. Commissioner Frank Loop urges demolition, citing its eyesore status. Knable aims to relocate Pine View’s offices and youth shelter by 2026, with North Annex proposals eyed for fall 2024, per the News and Tribune of April 29, 2024. A recycling center atop unmarked graves underscores the site’s neglect—a poignant insult to those buried beneath.

Community Echoes of the Poor Farm’s Haunt

Since sharing the Poor Farm’s tale on my original Paraholics blog, Floyd County residents have poured out memories that resonate deeply. Many spent time there as children when it doubled as a youth center in the late 20th century, a refuge that often left lasting wounds. They speak of a heavy atmosphere, as though the walls themselves clung to persistent echoes of the past. Some recall eerie experiences—whispers drifting through empty rooms, shadows cast by no one, chills defying the drafty corridors—that endure still. These weren’t ghost hunters chasing thrills; they were young people navigating hardship, yet the Poor Farm’s presence marked them indelibly. Their candid stories underscore its potency, not merely as a paranormal enigma but as a force that shaped lives.

Hauntings Rooted in Pain

The Poor Farm’s legacy—scarred by fire, suicides, and neglect—feeds its haunted mystique. Potter’s Field carries a palpable weight, with witnesses describing fleeting shadows, soft cries, and an unsettling calm. Within the walls, investigators report apparitions, disembodied voices, sudden cold, and objects shifting inexplicably, luring seekers to its tormented history.

My findings anchor these accounts. In 2016, Gene Caswell endured a violent basement encounter—an unseen force left him staggered, with growls and slamming doors amplifying the chaos. These aren’t just stories—they’re documented EVPs, ITC sessions, and physical confrontations. The Poor Farm’s unrest flows directly from its tragic past.

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Six Nights, One Evolution

The visits from 2012 to 2016 were my proving ground, each night a step in a visceral journey that birthed Paraholics and exposed the perils of inexperience, particularly with ITC and spirit attachments.

Night 1 – Early 2012

Early 2012: My first foray came in early 2012, invited by PATH (Paranormal and Truth Hunters), Mike Culwell’s initial team. With Todd Smith, Craig Smith, Nick Pennison, and Bill Method of SOUP (Society of Unexplained Phenomena), I arrived armed with DVR cameras, recorders, and EMF meters. We set up experiments across the sprawling Poor Farm. The night was hushed, yielding no standout evidence, yet the site’s sheer presence and historical gravity captivated us. It marked my entry into this storied place.

Night 2 – December 6, 2015

This return visit with Mike Culwell, my daughter Shelby, and sister Beth brought the first real spark of the asylum’s voice. A light switched on without cause, a growl echoed in my ear, and EchoVox called me by name—adding a cryptic nod to Mike’s detective past. In Potter’s Field, a spirit box repeated “372” twice, far outnumbering the field’s three headstones. The evidence was eerie and electrifying—but I left the session wide open, and the consequences followed me home. (See The Hitchhiker Effect.)

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Night 3 – Early 2016

Early 2016: An unexpected spotlight hit when WDRB Louisville, prompted by my 2015 video, invited Mike and me for a news segment. Their cameraman, “Big Country,” a proclaimed skeptic, tagged along to the 2015 hotspot. His professional cameras faltered inside—batteries drained, power severed—yet hummed to life outdoors. Visibly shaken, he had no explanation. The piece aired, stirring local curiosity, though the video has vanished. It wasn’t a full investigation, but it revealed the Poor Farm’s sway.

Night 4 – April 23, 2016

This was my most gripping night. Joined by Mike Culwell, Gene Caswell of the Jefferson County Paranormal Society, and Bobby Rice, we deployed EVPs, spirit boxes, video ITC, apps, and custom devices. A door crashed shut as I crossed the hotspot’s threshold. EchoVox fired back crisp responses, too sharp to dismiss despite my wariness of apps. Gene ventured alone into the basement, only to stagger back, reeling from an unseen assault; his GoPro cut out, leaving only audio as record. Growls, slams, and ITC bursts defined the night’s peak intensity. An EVP session also confirmed the existence of the 2015 hitchhiker and explained why I was trailed home. This night solidified the Poor Farm’s power.

Video:

Night 5 – Mid-2016

Mid-2016: Mike and I teamed up with Christopher Maggard for The Search: Existence Unknown on Roku, alongside James Clarida, Don Clarida of Research Investigators of Paranormal, and my son Charleton. We conducted a swift ITC session in Potter’s Field. My GEOBOX, a tweaked ITC spirit box, synced with their gear to pull “Yes” and names—“Thompson,” “Ashley”—from the graves. It was a tidy night at a historic site, showcasing the Poor Farm’s media pull and simmering energy.

Video:

ITC Session:

Night 6 – October 2016

October 2016: A brief visit with Kristina Goetz of the Louisville Courier-Journal, Mike Culwell, and I spawned a viral USA Today feature, “Chasing Spirits: Ex-Cop Now Hunts the Haunted.” Matt Stone’s vivid photos framed the decay. The night was subtler—a faint “Yes” and “reporters” via spirit box, a nod to Goetz’s presence, joined by overhead moans and footsteps. A temperature plunge and EM spike kept us sharp. Mike urged the spirits to stay put. This moment vaulted Paraholics into broader recognition, catching TV producers’ eyes at paranormal media’s zenith. Article | VR Video | Additional Footage | Facebook Live

The Hitchhiker Effect: When a Haunting Becomes Personal

On that fateful December 6, 2015, I led a pivotal investigation at the Poor Farm with Mike Culwell, my daughter Shelby Jackson, and sister Beth Jackson. The asylum’s chill cut deeper than the December air outside. Armed with EchoVox, Andy’s Box—a custom spirit communication device—and an SLS camera I later tossed for its unreliable stick-figure gimmick, we dove in unprepared. The asylum answered swiftly, its response as unsettling as the night itself.

A light flicked on in a room I entered alone, though the switch hadn’t been touched. A growl hit my ear. EchoVox captured a female voice saying my name and referencing Mike’s detective past with unsettling accuracy. In Potter’s Field, the spirit box repeated “372” as the number of graves—far beyond the three visible markers. The consequences came later.

Within days, exhaustion hit—mental haze, physical drain. While cleaning Andy’s Box, my name rang out unbidden. Something had followed me. A later EchoVox session at a private case revealed two entities: one, claiming to be the homeowner’s late father; the other, a young, curious female presence tied to the Poor Farm. A medium described her as benign, predicting she’d fade if ignored. With that guidance, I pulled my attention away from her—and within days, she dissolved like static. But it was my mistake that let her through in the first place. I’d opened the door and failed to close it.

A follow-up session at the Poor Farm in 2016 confirmed she had trailed me home. That night marked the turning point. The hitchhiker effect—when an energy latches onto you and rides the current of your open channel—isn’t just lore. It’s a consequence of carelessness. It can manifest as voices, tech failures, shadows, or unease. Now, I end every session with intention. I draw the line. I close the door. That night refined my process. And the videos mark the origin—a reminder: if you’re not careful, something will come with you.

A Legacy Left to Rot

At paranormal TV’s height, WDRB’s feature, The Search’s episode, and the Courier-Journal’s USA Today piece drew interest from Ghost Adventures, and Nick Groff’s Paranormal Lockdown. Those pitches promised global reach and funds—paranormal tourism pumps millions into historic preservation, bankrolling repairs. I envisioned that momentum salvaging a shard of New Albany’s essence, a tribute to Ohio River pioneers. Yet this opportunity fell upon deaf ears and dead imaginations—the county council’s investigation ban snuffed out that potential. The irony is tragic.

A Call to Preserve the Past

The Scott County Heritage Center & Museum in Scottsburg, Indiana, shows how to save the Poor Farm. Housed in the former Scott County Poor Farm, it became a museum in 2001 through a Community Focus Fund grant, a USDA loan, and volunteer efforts, now listed on the National Register. With $25 family memberships, donations, and exhibits like the Pigeon Roost Massacre, it thrives without tax dollars, even drawing paranormal enthusiasts to its haunted halls. The Floyd County Poor Farm, with its spectral pull and bicentennial weight, could follow, using tourism and grants to restore its halls and cemeteries as a New Albany landmark.

Restoration faces hurdles—2024 code violations, sagging ceilings, tight budgets. Yet Scottsburg’s model proves it’s possible: start with investigations to fund repairs, seek grants as Scott County did. Demolition erases history; community action saves it. If the Poor Farm falls, we lose Lucy Higgs Nichols’ courage, Matilda Webb’s endurance, and the child in Potter’s Field—stories etched in New Albany’s 200-year soul. Envision a restored Poor Farm: a bicentennial museum of Ohio River grit, where visitors probe haunted corridors and honor graves. The paranormal community, like Scottsburg’s volunteers, can drive this. Let’s unite to preserve these voices.

—Evel Ogilville

Join the Pursuit

Connect with Paraholics on X, Facebook, and YouTube. Share this story and dive into videos and photos from all six visits, courtesy of the Courier-Journal and Matt Stone. Explore more at Paraholics.com.

Sources

Beam, Amanda. “New Albany Bicentennial: Floyd County Poor House.” News and Tribune, 12 Aug. 2013. https://www.newsandtribune.com/news/floyd_county/new-albany-bicentennial-floyd-county-poor-house/article_67b9f7a8-cce6-5a52-9b5f-352889c84090.html

Carnegie Center for Art and History. Lucy Higgs Nichols: A Life of Service. Exhibition Catalog, 2015.

“Life at the Poor Farm.” Courier-Journal, 3 Aug. 1899.

“Mahala Dorcas, Aged Nearly 100, Dies at Asylum.” Courier-Journal, 7 July 1901.

“Henry Matthews Killed by Stone.” Courier-Journal, 15 June 1906.

Floyd County Commissioners’ Report. Floyd County Archives, New Albany, IN. 1871.

Floyd County Coroner’s Records. Floyd County Archives, New Albany, IN. 1892.

Floyd County Historical Society. “Archaeological Survey of Floyd County Asylum Grounds.” 2004.

Green, Rich. “Review of Literature and Historical Documentation of the Floyd County Infirmary, New Albany, Indiana.” Aug. 2005.

“Dispute Over Asylum Body.” Indianapolis News, 13 Mar. 1893.

“Poor Farm Marriage: Williams and Vinson.” Indianapolis News, 2 Feb. 1874.

“C.W. Salter, Pauper, Dies at Asylum.” New Albany Ledger, 12 Sept. 1879.

“Fire at County Asylum Claims Five Lives.” New Albany Ledger, 16 Feb. 1916.

“Obituary: Nellie Mullen.” New Albany Tribune, 2 Aug. 1899.

“Floyd County’s North Annex Future in Question.” News and Tribune, 28 Sept. 2012. https://www.newsandtribune.com/news/floyd-county-s-north-annex-future-in-question/article_8f9b1e8a-09b6-11e2-9f7b-0019bb2963f4.html

“Floyd County Leaders Consider Possible Uses for North Annex Building.” News and Tribune, 26 Jan. 2022. https://www.newsandtribune.com/news/floyd-county-leaders-consider-possible-uses-for-north-annex-building/article_7b8b3c8a-7e7f-11ec-a7c7-874e0f7c1b0b.html

“Floyd County Officials Consider Future Possibilities for North Annex, Pine View.” News and Tribune, 29 Apr. 2024. https://www.newsandtribune.com/news/floyd-county-officials-consider-future-possibilities-for-north-annex-pine-view/article_4d9e8c12-e7f2-11ef-b8e6-6b9d9e8b1c7d.html

“Floyd County Poor Farm.” AsylumProjects.org. https://www.asylumprojects.org/index.php?title=Floyd_County_Poor_Farm

“Floyd County Home Cemetery (Potter’s Field).” Find a Grave. https://www.findagrave.com/cemetery/86329/floyd-county-home-cemetery

State Board of Charities and Corrections. “Annual Report on County Asylums and Poor Farms.” 1890.

“Scott County Heritage Center & Museum.” https://schcam.org

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Waverly Hills Sanatorium in Louisville, Kentucky doesn’t just beckon—it grips you. I’ve roamed its cracked halls over ten times, each step charged with something raw. A full-bodied apparition once crossed my path, fading into shadow. Footsteps trailed me in the quiet. A ball rolled to my feet from nowhere.

But two nights—2013 and 2016—still pulse with fear. Both marked by choking. Both caught on tape. Both still shake me. Waverly’s ghost tales hum, weaving through my story, but its history—heavy with loss—demands respect.

My last visit, though, sparked something else: loathing. A betrayal of its soul that might keep me away for good.

Let me explain.

Waverly Hills Haunting: A History of Hurt

Waverly opened on July 26, 1910, as a tuberculosis hospital—built for 40 patients but swelling to over 400 by the 1920s. TB ravaged Louisville, killing one in five at its peak. Patients coughed blood, wasting away in open-air wards through snow and wind, hoping fresh air would heal them. Some endured brutal treatments—balloons inflating lungs, rib removals—often fatal.

Death came relentlessly: one per day, sometimes one per hour. The “body chute,” a 500-foot tunnel, discreetly moved supplies and corpses, shielding the living from despair. No exact death toll survives—1937’s flood destroyed most records—but estimates range from 6,000 to 9,000 lives lost. In 1945 alone, 152 patients died. Not the 63,000 some ghost-chasers still tout.

By June 1961, antibiotics cleared the wards. In 1962, Waverly reopened as Woodhaven Geriatric Center for the elderly and disabled. But by 1982, neglect—overcrowding, bedsores, filth—shut it down. Despite rumors, Waverly was never an “insane asylum.” It was a house echoing with suffering, etched into every peeling wall.

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Ghost Lore of Waverly Hills: Shadows and Growls

Waverly’s walls whisper stories. Room 502 is said to house the spirit of a nurse who died by suicide in 1928—some say due to an unwanted pregnancy, others say despair. The body chute creaks with phantom slams and groans, tied to morgue carts used for state-mandated autopsies.

Shadow People drift through the halls. The Creeper slinks along walls, prickling skin. Big Black—a suffocating, light-devouring presence—swallows hope. I recorded growls in 2016 I’d credit to it. And then there’s Timmy, the mischievous child spirit of Waverly lore, who makes several appearances in my footage.

These aren’t my inventions. They’re Waverly’s breath—steeped in decades of myth, witness accounts, and dread.

2013: A Spirit Box Choke Unsettles

In 2013, the air turned sharp. Tyra Newsome of In Nomine Paranormal Research brought me along. Mike Flickner, then a guide at Waverly and part of Southern Indiana Ghost Hunters, led us to the first-floor lobby for a spirit box session—a device used in ITC (Instrumental Trans-Communication), a method of attempting to capture voices or messages from nonphysical sources.

He called for “Timmy.” The box crackled—fragments of names and static. Then Tyra began coughing—hard. And the box hissed back one word: “choke.”

Was it dust? Coincidence? Something more? I don’t pretend to know. But my friend Jeff Rocker caught it on tape, and that moment lingers. That night felt like a violation, a dark confirmation. The questions still hang, answers just out of reach.

2016: Choking Shadows Strike Again

On July 26, 2016, fear turned personal.

I was in the old hospital lobby with a small group, running another session with a spirit box. Meanwhile, April Slaughter—psychic medium and respected researcher—led my daughter and others to the second floor.

Our device picked up Timmy’s name again. But upstairs, something stirred. My daughter later described a shadow figure lurching toward her. She froze—and couldn’t breathe. It felt like invisible hands choking her.

Three years after Tyra’s attack. Same building. Same name. Different floor. Different target. Coincidence—or continuation? Timmy’s bad behavior?

As the night deepened, we switched to EchoVox, an ITC app I trust for raw, real-time spirit replies. The concourse lights shut off. Darkness swallowed the hallway. Then came a growl—low, guttural, unmistakable.

EchoVox growled back. Like it knew.

Big Black filled my thoughts, its void-like presence echoing in the responses. Slams. Footsteps. Disembodied voices. Static chaos. But my daughter’s choking—that scar runs deepest.

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Paranormal ITC: Truth Beyond the Noise

If you ever visit Waverly, know this from my years of experience: it speaks clearest when you ditch the gear and sit in the dark. Unplugged. Exposed. Still.

That’s when shadows flicker. That’s when clothes get tugged. That’s when Waverly breathes.

Forget meters. Forget clean recordings. Between planes, trains, critters, and Louisville humidity, Waverly is acoustic bedlam. A “pristine” ghost hunt? A myth. Don’t chase it—or you’ll miss what matters.

What matters is reverence. For the patients. For the pain. For the dead. Honor that, and maybe what lingers will honor you back.

But lately, Waverly’s caretakers seem to have forgotten this.

Waverly’s Fall: Loathing the Carnival

There was a time when walking Waverly’s halls felt sacred—a privilege to tread where so many lives ended. I came to listen. To feel. To bear witness.

But my last visit, in April 2023, broke my heart.

Halloween props now clutter the first floor year-round—no longer reserved for October. Demonic doctors. Tortured mannequins. Rubber limbs splashed with fake blood. The gift shop sells haunted souvenirs like it’s a theme park. The ghosts who linger—patients, nurses, children—deserve better than being props in this mockery.

It’s a bucket of gross.

Disrespectful to those who suffered. Disingenuous to whatever remains. Waverly’s not a carnival. It’s a grave. This shift feels like exploitation, not exploration. A betrayal of every soul that breathed its last here.

That’s why I may never go back.

Gratitude in the Charged Echoes

Tyra’s choking. My daughter’s attack. They’re not evidence. They’re experiences. Threads in Waverly’s haunted weave. The Creeper. Big Black. Timmy. The nurse in 502. They hum beneath each step I’ve taken—fueling questions, never answering them.

Every visit gave me something. Even the fear. Even the bitterness.

Maybe we’re the ones haunting Waverly—calling too loud, too public, too bold.

Till the next whisper,

— Evel Ogilville

Works Cited

“Hauntings of Waverly Hills Sanatorium.” US Ghost Adventures, usghostadventures.com/americas-most-haunted-trending/hauntings-of-waverly-hills-sanatorium/. Accessed 13 Apr. 2025.

“Inside the Haunted Halls of Waverly Hills Sanatorium.” Travel Channel, www.travelchannel.com/interests/haunted/articles/inside-the-haunted-halls-of-waverly-hills-sanitorium. Accessed 13 Apr. 2025.

“The Ghosts of the Waverly Hills Sanatorium in Louisville.” Ghost City Tours, ghostcitytours.com/louisville/haunted-louisville/waverly-hills/. Accessed 13 Apr. 2025.

“The Legend of Louisville’s Haunted Hospital: Waverly Hills Sanatorium.” WLKY, 29 Oct. 2021, www.wlky.com/article/the-legend-of-louisville-s-spooky-waverly-hills-sanatorium/38090750.

“Waverly Hills Sanatorium.” American Hauntings, www.americanhauntingsink.com/waverlytb. Accessed 13 Apr. 2025.

“Waverly Hills Sanatorium.” Discover America, www.discoveramericablog.com/post/waverly-hills-sanatorium. Accessed 13 Apr. 2025.

“Waverly Hills Sanatorium.” Kentucky Historic Institutions, kyhi.org/other/tuberculosis-sanatoria/waverly-hills-sanatorium/. Accessed 13 Apr. 2025.

“Waverly Hills Sanatorium.” The Real Waverly Hills, www.therealwaverlyhills.com/. Accessed 13 Apr. 2025.

“Waverly Hills Sanatorium.” Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 9 Apr. 2025, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waverly_Hills_Sanatorium.

“Waverly Hills Sanatorium: A Historical Overview.” Louisville Historical Society, www.louisvillehistoricalsociety.org/waverly-hills-sanatorium. Accessed 13 Apr. 2025.

First, a heartfelt thank-you to Scott Flood for hosting my one and only visit to Octagon Hall. This incredible site, steeped in history and wrapped in layers of ghost lore, continues to intrigue both casual visitors and dedicated paranormal researchers alike.

When I shared my original Octagon Hall post back in the summer of 2020, it sparked more conversation—and controversy—than I anticipated. Looking back, I realize the world was in a very different place, marked by heightened tensions over race, history, and justice. My commentary in the video was informed by the broader cultural climate of that moment, as protests and unrest swept the nation. While my intent wasn’t political or meant to stoke divisions, I felt it was important to acknowledge the legacy of racism embedded not just in places like Octagon Hall but in the larger tapestry of American history. Sites like this serve as stark reminders of the atrocities humanity can inflict upon itself, offering opportunities to reflect and, hopefully, grow.

The tension between history and folklore is also a key part of Octagon Hall’s story. One of the most compelling tales associated with the site is that of Mary Elizabeth Caldwell, the young girl said to have tragically died after her dress caught fire by the basement kitchen fireplace. During our initial research for the 2020 post, we had uncovered conflicting information about this story. Census records from 1860 and 1870 show a Mary Elizabeth Caldwell alive years after the supposed accident. Additionally, notes from the A.J. Caldwell family group sheet, filed with the Simpson County Historical Society, question whether her death as a child was even factual.

In 2020, we reached out to both Octagon Hall and the local historical society for clarification, but to this day, no definitive answers have emerged. Interestingly, this is a recurring theme in the paranormal field: the way stories, whether factually accurate or not, seem to persist and even feed the phenomenon itself. It’s as if the energy of belief and folklore generates its own momentum independent of historical truth. This raises questions about how our minds project onto these experiences—and how the phenomenon, in a trickster-like way, seems to thrive on those projections.

From a paranormal perspective, Octagon Hall continues to fascinate. My two favorite sessions during our investigation were the Geobox session in Mary Elizabeth’s room and the Reverse Speech Box session in the family cemetery. Both yielded responses that were direct, intelligent, and undeniably compelling. The name “Buckner” came through during one session—a name tied to the Civil War history of the site and the Orphan Brigade, which camped on the property. These connections between ITC responses and historical details never fail to captivate me.

I also want to highlight the Reverse Speech Box, which has since blown up and gone to ghost box heaven. That remarkable device consistently delivered responses that defied explanation. Built by Steve Hultay, the device reversed all incoming audio, making it impossible for coherent phrases to naturally occur. Yet, I received clear and contextually relevant replies, raising questions that are as exciting as they are unanswerable. Reverse speech remains an integral component of my ITC experiments.

As always, I’ve preserved the historic timeline and notes from my original post, which provide a detailed look at Octagon Hall’s architectural and cultural significance. The house stands as a witness to a turbulent period in American history, from its ties to the Civil War to its use as a sanctuary for wounded soldiers. These layers of history are what make the location so powerful, both as a site of remembrance and as a hotspot for paranormal activity.

While the mysteries of Octagon Hall remain unresolved, one thing is certain: the stories, whether grounded in fact or not, continue to evoke strong emotions and provoke thought. That, in itself, is a testament to the enduring power of places like this to connect us to the past and challenge us to reckon with its legacies.

— Evel Ogilville

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Conflicting Information Pertaining To Mary Elizabeth Caldwell’s Fireplace-Related Death:

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Octagon Hall

(Also referred to as Octagon House, Mayfair Farm(s), Eight-Sided Mansion, Caldwell-Williams House)

6040 Bowling Green Road

Franklin, KY 42134

Historic Timeline

• Foundation of limestone laid for the three-story brick family home of Andrew Jackson (AJ) Caldwell, a prosperous farmer and leather tannery owner, on plantation site/215-acre farm in 1847.

• Construction of home by slave labor completed 1859-1860.

▪ Edwin Hendricks, contractor; R. F. Haynes, bricklayer; Joe Thomas Ditmore, carpenter (Franklin Favorite, 1/25/2001)

▪ Bricks believed burned on property from red clay of surrounding countryside and lumber hewn from trees on farm.

▪ “Rumored first bricks fired as the cannons roared at Ft. Sumpter.” (Franklin Favorite, 5/21/1992)

▪ “It is said that one slave with a gift for wood carving alone cut and finished all the baseboarding and frame work.” (Courier-Journal, 9/20/1954)

▪ Caldwell relatives noted one of slaves who was skilled and talented craftsman said to have carved eight-sided posts and designs that are part of banisters on main stairwell and doorways. (Franklin Favorite, 5/21/1992; 1/25/2001)

▪ Four large rooms in addition to halls and alcoves on each floor.

▪ Full basement, two small subbasements

▪ Bottom floor considered basement, partially above ground, with kitchen, pantry and cellar; “but legends say also used as a dungeon.” (Franklin Favorite, 5/21/1992)

▪ Caldwell relatives say the sub-cellar “once described as a mystery-chamber was no more than a sweet potato cellar.” (Franklin Favorite, 10/6/1938)

▪ Large octagon-shaped copper lantern once adorned top of house; octagon-shaped chimneys

▪ Cupola hit by lightning and burned in 1920. Caldwell said to have once instructed slave to hide beehive there for safekeeping from Union soldiers.

▪ Rear porch added sometime after construction by Caldwell’s sons. A son also noted the Civil War stopped much of the construction operation and the house remained in that condition until long after Caldwell’s death. “The walls were put up and the inside partially finished.” (Park City Daily News, 2/8/1981)

▪ Old sundial in backyard with inscription: “Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be.” (Courier-Journal, 9/20/1954)

▪ Slave quarters located behind house.

▪ “By 1860, Caldwell had increased his wealth substantially. He had more than doubled his real estate value and was noted as owning $9,500 in personal property, of which a great portion was the value of his now 34-member slave labor force, who lived in three slave quarter buildings.” (explorekyhistory)

▪ Two cemeteries located on property, as well as “mass graves and bone piles.” (Franklin Favorite, 11/1/2018)

▪ Caldwell owned 62 slaves and many were buried on the property near the house. (Park City Daily News, 3/4/2010)

▪ “Many slaves and their children died at the plantation home.” (Franklin Favorite, 10/18/2007)

▪ Grounds also included a slave cemetery, two log slave cabins, smokehouse, carriage shed & barns circa 1862 and 1919.

• Caldwell believed to have died in home of typhoid fever in 1866 at age 47. Buried in Fairview Cemetery in Bowling Green.

▪ First wife Elizabeth Akers said to have died of measles/typhoid fever in June 1851 at age 29, within months of death of 18-month-old son in November 1851.

▪ “Buried in small family cemetery at Octagon Hall with 2 children. The fieldstone surrounding the graves was added later to protect the graves.” (findagrave)

• Linked graves are Mary Elizabeth Caldwell (1847-1854, grave description as buried next to mother) and A.J. Caldwell (1850-1851)

▪ Conflicting stories (age/year) of daughter Mary Elizabeth dying from injuries suffered after dress caught fire by basement kitchen fireplace.

• Mary E., age 11, listed in 1860 Census.

• Mary E. Caldwell, age 23, listed as residing with James and Fannie McElwain (sister) in 1870 Census.

• Record in family bible of Andrew Jackson Caldwell does not indicate death of Mary Elizabeth. Same death year as grave link (1854) for his sister Elizabeth Sutton. (usgenwebsites)

• Dr. Miles Williams, Nashville osteopath, purchased property from Caldwell’s second wife Harriet and restored residence, which had fallen into disrepair, in mid-1900s. Renamed as Mayfair; enjoyed retirement maintaining home and farm, “loved every brick” until death in 1954. (Courier-Journal, 9/20/1954)

▪ Indoor plumbing and electricity installed in 1948.

• Residence received Simpson County’s first historical marker located in front of home in 1962: “an ante bellum landmark.” Original stolen by vandals in 1974.

• Listed on National Register of Historic Places in 1980.

• After Mrs. Williams’ death in 1981, ownership passed through descendants and used as rental property.

• Nonprofit organization Captain David C. Walker Camp 640 Sons of Confederate Veterans acquired in 2001 and opened to public, housing Confederate Studies Archive/Museum. (Franklin Favorite, 4/26/2001) Octagon Hall Foundation formed.

▪ Octagon Hall Museum, ghost hunts currently operated.

Why an octagon?

• During the 1850s, the concept of the octagon in domestic architecture incited the imagination of the country. This movement was given impetus by Orson S. Fowler in his book “The Octagon House: A Home For All,” first published in 1848. Fowler espoused the octagon as the perfect shape for architecture. He introduced to his readers “not merely a new concept of building but a fresh attitude toward housing: “Why continue to build in the same square form of all past ages? Nature’s forms are mostly spherical …” (National Register of Historic Places Inventory, 1980)

• “Caldwell determinedly said Southern Colonials weren’t for him.” (Courier-Journal, 9/20/1954)

• Some believe Caldwell decided on unique shape because of fear of windstorms. Eight-sided homes with 45-degree-angled walls said to have good ventilation and offer protection from strong winds. Caldwell relatives refuted theory, saying he wanted “something different.” Others say desired only octagon-shaped house in the state.

▪ 68 surviving octagon houses included on the U.S. National Register of Historic Places; Octagon Hall one of two in Kentucky.

▪ Deadhouses, structures used for the temporary storage of bodies before burial or transportation, were built in an octagonal shape in the mid-to-late-19th century unique to Ontario, Canada and thought inspired by the fad in U.S. promoted by Fowler (above).

Civil War importance (1861-1865)

Home’s construction completed just prior to Civil War’s start. Throughout Civil War, property used by both Confederate and Union forces as hospital and sanctuary for soldiers. Caldwell known to be staunch-Confederate supporter; relation Confederate Army colonel. Caldwell faced court-martialing if caught harboring Confederates. House’s location between Louisville-Nashville Pike and L&N Railroad, allowed to be used as observation post.

• Because one of tallest structures in area, said Caldwell and family could watch battle of Bowling Green from roof. (Franklin Favorite, 7/7/1983)

• Property utilized by “Orphan Brigade” in February 1862 as overnight encampment after Confederate forces evacuated stronghold in Bowling Green and took refuge at the site.

▪ Caldwell’s nephew Col. John W. Caldwell noted in diary of “camping at Andrew’s strange house six miles from Franklin.” (“Franklin Favorite, 2/22/2007)

▪ Estimated 8,000-12,000 Confederate soldiers camped on the grounds, generals staying inside, before retreating into Tennessee the following morning.

▪ Snow fell overnight on sleeping troops, and when they awoke and pulled back their blankets said to have “looked like the dead rising from the fields.” (Franklin Favorite, 1/25/2001)

▪ Two days later Union army came in pursuit of the Confederates and took occupation of the home.

▪ Buell’s Federal Forces said to have raided Caldwell’s beehives, livestock, food stores and killed Mrs. Caldwell’s pet cow Old Spot/Belle, storing the carcass in the well and leaving the family without water for days.

• Because of Confederate ties, Caldwell known to have harbored wounded soldiers from capture by Union forces and hid them in house.

▪ Story of soldier wandering up to house at night and over breakfast learning he was son of Caldwell’s sister in Texas, who had run away at 16 to enlist and was searching for “an uncle who lived in ‘a round brick house near Franklin.’” (Franklin Favorite, 10/6/1938)

▪ Numerous stories of discoveries of secret tunnels, passageways and hiding places on property, as well as soldier deaths.

▪ “Many were badly wounded and did not recover and are buried on the grounds.” (Franklin Favorite, 10/18/2007)

▪ Mrs. Miles Williams said to have told historical society of discovery of boot of Confederate soldier, cut as if taken off the wounded. (Franklin Favorite, 7/7/1983)

▪ One of soldiers put in attic to hide from Union; his foot was wounded and apparently after taking off boot to remove pressure bled to death; similarly another hiding in crawl space said to have died bleeding out from gunshot wound to leg; another found on front steps early one morning who apparently died there after his knocking at door wasn’t heard. (Franklin Favorite, 10/3/2003; 11/1/2018)

Thank you again to Eunice Spector for her impeccable research!

— Evel Ogilville

A Reflection on the Old Benton County Jail

Sometimes, it’s the ghosts of history that speak loudest when the living fail to listen. The Old Benton County Jail, a stunning Italianate limestone structure built in 1876, has silently borne witness to the unfolding of Indiana’s history. My visit on August 17th, 2019, remains one of the most memorable experiences of my paranormal journey.

Investigating this incredibly active location was an honor. Spending time in the old cells, with their cold stone walls and antique locks, provided a chilling yet fascinating connection to the past. The history etched into this building—both tragic and compelling—creates a palpable energy that lingers in every corner.

The Old Benton County Jail is more than just a historic site; it’s a time capsule of justice, tragedy, and humanity. For paranormal enthusiasts, historic preservationists, and anyone who values our shared past, this is your call to action. The spirits of the jail need your help now more than ever. Preserving this building isn’t just about saving a structure—it’s about safeguarding the stories of those who lived, worked, suffered, and, in some cases, died within its walls.

To raise awareness, I’m reposting the video from my investigation, showcasing the remarkable history and paranormal significance of this extraordinary location.

Video:

Preserving a Slice of Indiana’s History

Located at 603-7 East Sixth Street, Fowler, IN, the Old Benton County Jail served the community for 121 years, making it one of Indiana’s oldest-functioning jails until its closure in 1997.

The building’s front housed the sheriff’s family in a Victorian-style residence, while prisoners were confined to the back in small, cold, unlit cells. This dual-purpose design made the jail both a home and a workplace, and its history includes everyday incarcerations as well as extraordinary, dark events like the lynching of Jacob Nelling.

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The Chilling Details of Ada Atkinson’s Murder and Jacob Nelling’s Lynching

The Crime

In 1883, 15-year-old Ada Atkinson was brutally murdered in her upstairs bedroom on the family farm south of Oxford, Indiana. Her throat was slashed, and she was stabbed 28 times in a frenzy of violence. Blood pooled around her body, and the room bore signs of a desperate struggle.

Jacob Nelling, a 50-year-old Civil War veteran and farmhand for the Atkinson family, confessed to the crime. His haunting statement read:

“I went upstairs and I found Ada there. I said to her: ‘Ada, I am going to kill you.’ She said not to do it, that she did not want to die that way. I told her I would do it, but I do not recollect what she said. Then I took hold of her and threw her down on the floor. Then I cut her throat. Then I became frenzied and made the other cuts. It seems I did not care what I was doing.”

The horrific act shocked Ada’s family and the entire community, leaving a scar on the town’s history.

The Mob’s Justice

Nelling was transferred to the Benton County Jail in Fowler, where he awaited trial. However, outrage boiled over. On October 22, 1883, a mob stormed the jail, demanding Nelling’s release. When the sheriff refused, they forced their way inside.

Nelling, fully dressed and wearing an overcoat, reportedly awaited his fate without resistance. The mob dragged him from his cell, transported him to a walnut tree near the Atkinson farm, and hanged him. A card pinned to his coat read, “A Warning to All Murderers.” You'll see at the end of my video I did a brief stop at that property.

Hundreds of townspeople viewed the grim scene. Pieces of the rope were cut and taken as souvenirs, and Ada’s grieving father, Cephas Atkinson, later cut down the walnut tree to carve canes for the mob members.

The Mystery of Nelling’s Body

Rumors swirled after the lynching that Nelling’s body had been stolen from his pauper’s grave and sold for medical dissection. Decades later, the grave was exhumed and found empty, adding an unsettling mystery to this already dark tale.

Why Saving the Jail Matters

The Old Benton County Jail is a vital link to our past. For the paranormal community, it offers an unmatched opportunity to explore a location brimming with energy shaped by decades of justice, tragedy, and resilience. Its stories connect us to the lives of those who inhabited and passed through its walls, both in life and in death.

If this building is lost, we lose not only its physical structure but also the invaluable lessons and history it holds. The ghosts of the past are calling on us to act before it’s too late. If there’s one thing the paranormal community excels at, it’s raising a ruckus to save a location. Let’s not let this piece of haunted history fade into oblivion.

How You Can Help

The fight to save the jail is underway, but it needs your support. Here’s how you can make a difference:

• Sign the Petition: Save the Benton County Jail

• Donate: Contributions will help cover restoration costs and legal fees.

• Spread the Word: Share this story with your networks, especially within the paranormal and historic preservation communities

• Attend the January 21st Commissioners Meeting: Show your support in person and advocate for preserving this piece of haunted history.

The Old Benton County Jail needs us now. Sometimes it takes the ghosts of the past to remind us what’s worth saving. Let’s honor their stories and ensure they continue to resonate for generations to come.

— Evel Ogilville

Historical Timeline and Notes

• 1876: Jail constructed with a front Victorian-style residence and back cell block.

• 1883: Jacob Nelling lynched by a mob after confessing to murder.

• 1903: Epileptic man confined to jail for four years condemned in Board of State Charities report. (The Herald, 2/20/1903)

• 1937: LeRoy Clark, after confessing to murdering his wife, prevented a teen inmate’s jailbreak. (Journal and Courier, 6/18/1937; Kokomo Tribune, 7/29/1937)

• 1977: Jail evacuated due to structural damage caused by thawing ground. (Journal and Courier, 3/4/1977)

• 1997: Jail decommissioned and repurposed as a museum and storage space.

Sources

• Journal and Courier: 2/26/2016, 3/28/1969, 12/27/1984, 3/4/1977, 2/12/1982, 5/22/2005

• Indiana State Sentinel: 10/24/1883

• Fowler Benton Review: 11/22/1883

• South Bend Tribune: 11/15/1900

• The Herald: 2/20/1903

• Star Press: 3/20/1911, 6/25/1918

• Brook Reporter: 1/21/1916

• Kokomo Tribune: 7/29/1937

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In 2016, I ventured into a hidden location, keeping its address a mystery to protect its secrets. Today, however, the veil has lifted on 410 1/2 Washington Street (second floor) in downtown Columbus, Indiana—a building with a rich history dating back to the 1800s, still echoing with hints of its past. Despite being vacant since the late 1940s, something connected to its history may have never truly left.

Reports of Paranormal Activity

• A couple of visitors reported witnessing a closet door slamming on its own.

• A repairman visiting the second floor for a service call saw a “man” moving in the shadows. When he tried to engage him, this “man” dropped to all fours and crawled into an access point under the floor. Alarmed, the repairman called the police, but a sweep revealed no footprints in the dust and undisturbed cobwebs across the access point.

Despite decades of abandonment, something—or someone—still stirs in this unused space.

Our Paranormal Investigation: April 10th, 2016

Hearing reports of mysterious activity, I set out to investigate 410 1/2 Washington Street firsthand. I stepped into the building with Mike Culwell and a couple of friends, equipped with our gear but no specific expectations. From the moment we set up, it was clear this would be no ordinary night. Bangs, footsteps, dragging noises, and unexplained door movements filled the air. With recorders running, we began capturing phenomena that went beyond the typical creaks of an old building settling.

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Historical Background of 410 1/2 Washington Street

The upstairs area at 410 1/2 Washington Street has housed various businesses over the years, creating a long trail of life events. These rooms once hosted notable figures, like Dr. J.F. Wright, a well-regarded physician and surgeon, along with several other significant tenants.

Here’s a breakdown of the businesses that occupied this address over the years:

• Medical Practices:

• Pre-1879? Dr. J.F. Wright, physician and surgeon, ran his practice and lived here for several decades, becoming synonymous with high-quality care in the region.

• 1910: J.E. Rhetts Dentistry took over the space, continuing the tradition of medical care.

• 1911: Dr. Alonzo C. Kelble, an optometrist, set up his practice here.

• Diverse Businesses (1933-1947):

• 1933: John C. Hilger, a local tailor, marked the building’s shift from medical offices to more diverse businesses.

• 1946-1947: This period saw agencies like The Hoosier Agency (real estate), Steenbarger’s Real Estate, Rose’s Beauty Shop, and Morgan’s Aquatronic Foot Therapy occupying the space.

The upstairs also served as a residence. Throughout the early 1900s, apartments were rented, with several deaths recorded here:

• 1912: Matthew Pfeiffer, a tuberculosis victim, passed away here.

• 1913: Daniel Miller died in the apartment of his daughter, Mrs. Ida Anderson.

• 1925: Newton Clark, a custodian who lived here, suffered a heart attack after running up the stairs.

Residents listed in city directories include J.F. Lancaster, C.B. Poffenberger, A.K. McCloskey, Lizzie Brattain, and many others, creating a tapestry of past lives that may still echo in the halls.

Dr. J.F. Wright, M.D. (1827-1906): A Notable History

The life and legacy of Dr. J.F. Wright add a complex layer to this location’s history. A well-regarded figure with ties to the community, Wright’s presence here remains palpable. Dr. John Franklin Wright, a descendant of Benjamin Franklin, was one of the most prominent figures tied to this address. After receiving his medical training at Ohio Medical College and completing his surgical studies in Paris, France, Wright began his practice in Columbus, forming a partnership with Dr. Solomon Jackson. Following Jackson’s death, Wright became the go-to physician in Bartholomew County and beyond.

Known for his charitable work, Wright provided free medical care to soldiers’ families during the Civil War. His reputation for “unflinching moral courage and indomitable will” (Biographical Record of Bartholomew County Indiana, 1904) made him beloved in the community. Even while suffering from chronic rheumatism, he advised patients to “lead an active life and never become disheartened.”

Outside medicine, Wright was a yachtsman, a trotting horse owner, and a chess enthusiast. One account mentions he carved a chess set out of elephant ivory that was “unsurpassed in America” (Biographical Record of Bartholomew County Indiana, 1904). Wright married Adelia Irwin in 1857 and, after her death, married Eugenia Mayfield in 1875.

Possible Connection to the Bishop Family Dispute

In 1908, after Wright’s death, a legal battle over his estate began. A woman named May B. Bishop claimed to be his granddaughter and contested his will, which left the estate to his second wife, Eugenia, and niece, Zoe Cook. Though her claim was dismissed, Bishop settled for a cash payment of $5,000. Intriguingly, the name “Bishop” surfaced multiple times during our EchoVox session (an experimental electronic voice phenomenon method), hinting at a possible connection between this unresolved family drama and lingering spirits.

Paranormal Encounters: What We Experienced

The night began with typical sounds but escalated when an interior door—a sealed door with no draft or vacuum pressure—moved on its own before our eyes. Later, my infrared camera captured a movement across the ceiling that resembled someone walking upside down. Initially, I thought it might be a reflection from passing vehicle lights, but reviewing the entire video, I saw the sequence never repeated. While reflections remain a possibility, further visits haven’t replicated what I captured.

At the same time, our EMF (electromagnetic field) meters lit up, and our audio recorders captured odd noises that we couldn’t hear with our own ears. Moments later, the door moved again—this time, creaking and dragging across the floor with significant force. This experience exemplifies the corroborative evidence I often emphasize when documenting paranormal activity. We cannot prove ghosts exist, but capturing strange and compelling moments—like this one—is undeniable.

Adding another layer of mystery, the EchoVox repeated the name “Bishop” throughout the night. Research into Dr. Wright’s estate dispute gave new weight to this name’s appearance.

Final Thoughts on 410 1/2 Washington Street

The investigation at 410 1/2 Washington Street was an eye-opener, intensifying my questions rather than providing answers. Whether the phenomena stem from past residents like Dr. Wright or unresolved family tensions, something seems to echo through this old building. From unexplained noises to mysterious door movements, one thing is certain—this location is far from empty.

What do you think? Could these echoes be remnants of past lives, or is there something else at work in 410 1/2 Washington Street?

Thanks for reading and watching! If you enjoyed this post, please share it with others and don’t forget to like and subscribe to my YouTube channel. Follow my social media for healthier perspectives from the world of the paranormal.

— Evel Ogilville

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All historical research was compiled by Paraholics.com researcher, Eunice Specter. Sources include the Biographical Record of Bartholomew County Indiana (1904), The Evening Republican archives, and city directories.

Stepping onto the grounds of the Indiana State Sanatorium (ISS) for the first time on September 18, 2022, was nothing short of overwhelming. This place is massive. I’ve visited plenty of large, haunted locations, but this one stands in a league of its own. Its sheer size instantly made me question if one night would ever be enough to truly grasp the depth of this former medical facility. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t. But that feeling of being in over my head didn’t stop me from diving in. From the very beginning, I knew I’d be coming back for a deeper paranormal investigation.

The Indiana State Sanatorium—formerly the Indiana State Tuberculosis Hospital, later a nursing home, and eventually a psychiatric facility—holds layers upon layers of history within its walls. Each room, hallway, and floor seemed to echo with stories of its past lives. Naturally, I wondered how hauntings might vary between different parts of the building. Would a ghost in the psychiatric wing communicate differently than one from the nursing home? Do spirits from different eras and purposes interact, or are they trapped in the time periods they once inhabited? These thoughts swirled around me as I explored the dark, empty corridors of this extraordinary haunted location.

While a few other investigators, including ol’ Mike Culwell, and I captured some EVPs (Electronic Voice Phenomena) on that first visit, none of them reached the clarity of a Class A EVP. Honestly, that’s almost an impossibility—especially when using the controversial Panasonic RR-DR60 recorder, notorious for producing anomalous sounds that some swear by and others debunk. Still, the EVPs we caught, though faint and often unclear, hinted at something more. It was during that initial visit that we believed we received messages about a spirit named Mary—a discovery that would become the foundation for our return.

From the beginning, I made a deliberate choice not to rely heavily on ITC (Instrumental Trans-Communication) devices during this paranormal investigation. I’ve been refining my methods and protocols for a while now, especially when investigating sites steeped in history. The goal is to avoid false positives and only rely on tools when necessary. For example, if I can’t capture a near Class A EVP in the environment itself, I hesitate to introduce other types of ITC devices that might pick up stray signals (ghost box, app, etc..), which could be misconstrued as paranormal communication. It’s a strategy meant to keep myself grounded in what we’re actually experiencing in the location versus being caught up in the instant gratification of perceived responses.

Though the first visit didn’t yield a perfect EVP, it did produce a few that fit the atmosphere of the sanatorium—which is palpable with potential. That reconnaissance mission left me intrigued, curious, and determined to return.

The Search for Mary: An Emotional Return to Indiana’s Most Haunted Sanatorium

Several months later, on February 12, 2023, I found myself back at the Indiana State Sanatorium, this time with a mission and a clearer sense of purpose. I wasn’t alone, either. I was joined by my good friend and fellow investigator, Mike Culwell, as well as Colin Bonnell and Bridget Howell from Paranormal Cases. But this wasn’t just a typical ghost hunt. For Mike, it was personal.

During our first visit, Mike had an unexpected and emotional encounter with a spirit named Mary—or at least, that’s what the faint EVP suggested. We had been exploring the nursing home section of the sanatorium, an area that carries a heavy sense of sadness and abandonment, where time itself seems to stretch and warp. It was here that Mary made her presence known. In that session, she expressed frustration—almost like a cry for help from the other side—and mentioned Room 120. While we don’t have solid historical proof that a woman named Mary lived, died, or even haunted that room, the nature of the sanatorium’s history suggests that it’s possible. With thousands of patients passing through its doors over the years, it’s not hard to believe that one of them could have been named Mary.

What really struck Mike, though, wasn’t just the name or the room number—it was the feeling of unrest that seemed to cling to her presence. You can’t help but feel something when you connect with a spirit like that, whether they’re communicating from the other side or they’re a projection of something deeper within our own psyche. Mike left that first visit genuinely concerned for Mary, and it was her elusive presence that prompted him to return with the hope of reconnecting and possibly offering her peace.

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The Reality of Paranormal Investigations: A Skeptical Take

So, is the Indiana State Sanatorium haunted? In my gut, I believe it is. But proving that scientifically? That’s where things get tricky—and laughable, especially when you look at how most paranormal investigations are presented today. The idea of applying the scientific method—hypothesis, theory, observation, and fact—to ghost hunting is almost absurd, particularly when you consider what passes for “research” on YouTube and in most ghost-hunting groups.

Most paranormal teams, or para-influencers—you know who I mean, the YouTubers and TikTokers—follow a formula: spooky thumbnails, catchy clickbait titles like I Stared Into Satan’s Butthole, dramatized reactions, and a lot of pseudo-scientific and demonic buzzwords to make viewers feel like something profound is happening. Don’t get me wrong—there’s entertainment value in it, and I watch some of these shows myself—but it’s a far cry from any real attempt to prove the paranormal.

For me, ghost hunting is not about making disingenuous claims or chasing down the supernatural for bragging rights and views. It’s about understanding—or at least, trying to. It’s about empathy—for both the living and the potential of the after-living. It’s about those human connections we stumble upon in the strangest places. Mike’s search for Mary wasn’t just a ghost hunt; it was an attempt to help, to offer some kind of peace to a spirit that may or may not have been trapped between worlds.

As paranormal investigators, we’re emotional archaeologists, sifting through layers of time and memory to make sense of these experiences. We dig into the unknown, not just to document eerie moments but to explore deeper existential questions about life, death, and what might lie beyond.

On this second visit, we spent hours in the nursing home wing, calling out for Mary, trying to pick up where we left off. The air was thick with heavy anticipation. In moments like these, you start questioning everything. Does she remember us? Does she want to be found? Was she even real? We waited, we listened, but as is often the case in this field, the answers were elusive. Haunting is a tricky business, after all.

A Haunting Legacy at Indiana’s Most Haunted Location

In the end, we didn’t leave the sanatorium with all the answers. But we did leave with more questions—and sometimes, that’s enough. The Indiana State Sanatorium is haunted—of that, I’m certain. But whether the spirits are truly stuck here or are simply echoes of the past is a mystery we’ll continue to chase.

As I reflect on my experiences at the Indiana State Sanatorium, one thing is clear: this place is eerily reminiscent of every similar location I’ve ever explored. Its vast corridors hold countless stories—some lost to time, others still hanging in the air, waiting to be told. Whether you believe in ghosts or not, the experience of investigating a haunted location like this leaves a mark on you. And that, in itself, is haunting enough.

So, once again, throw on your headphones, sit back, and enjoy our journey through this labyrinth of history and mystery. Whether it’s science or spirit influencing us—or if this is just me staring into Satan’s butthole—that’s for you to decide. Nevertheless, the truth is still out there, waiting in the dark halls of the Indiana State Sanatorium.

Cheers once more,

— Evel Ogilville

P.S. What do you think—Was Mary reaching out for help, or was it something else entirely? Share your thoughts, and stay tuned for more explorations into the unknown.

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Videos:

Part One:

Part Two:

Historic Timeline:

Indiana State Sanatorium

3838 East Old 36 Road, Rockville, IN

Originally Indiana State Tuberculosis Hospital (Old Indiana State Chest Disease Sanatorium) constructed in 1909-10 after state approved purchase of 504-acre property east of nearby Rockville for institution for treatment of the disease. Opened to patients in 1911, quickly exceeding capacity.

During construction, site known as Camp Trudeau after New York physician who established the first laboratory for study of the tuberculosis. Hospital grounds eventually included men’s, women’s and children’s wards, administration building, staff housing, farm and dairy, school, greenhouse and tunnel system. In 1913, State Sanatorium Covered Bridge built to transport coal across Little Raccoon Creek.

Became known as Indiana State Sanatorium (also later as Parke County Sanitarium) in 1919.

Adams Hall staff residence constructed in 1950s with later conversion to psychiatric hospital after development of successful tuberculosis treatment and decline in patients precipitated repurposing of facility.

After conversion to mental health facility, facility closed in 1968-9 and land and buildings sold by state. Later reopened in 1978-80 as privately owned assisted living facility Lee Alan Bryant Health Care Center. State also transferred patients from other mental institutions, resulting in mixed mental health/nursing home patient/resident population.

A history of more than 4,000 deaths and many tragedies as the health care center were said to have contributed to the poor reputation/decline of the facility – including many allegations of resident abuse and deaths. In 2002, a woman found outside dead of hypothermia, and months later a man hanged himself less than quarter-mile away. Residents again wandered away and died in separate 2006 incidents, one struck by a car and the other found in creek; 2009 murder-suicide of two employees.

Facility closed in 2011 after loss of funding. Property abandoned. Purchased in 2020 by Gregg Larson, founder of the Sanatorium Project property restoration effort.

Today’s Indiana State Sanatorium rests on over 200 acres, and offers complete access to more than 120,000 square feet of the historic tuberculosis hospital, a nursing home, a mental hospital, and supporting buildings, including thousands of feet of steam tunnels, and is available for tours and paranormal investigations.

All historical info graciously harvested by the voracious Eunice Specter.

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425 Washington Street in Columbus, Indiana, has long been a cornerstone of the community, steeped in history and now a focal point for my paranormal investigations. Recently, I had the chance to investigate this space, and what I uncovered was more than just residual energy—it was a tangible link between the past and present. This building, once home to the pioneering Wolf family, is not only a place where history unfolded but also a place where spirits may still linger.

One year ago, I released my paranormal investigation overview of Viewpoint Books, located at 548 Washington Street, called A Haunting Viewpoint. Beth Stroh, owner of the bookstore, wasn’t entirely surprised that I documented some curious recordings there, given reports of unexplainable activity connected to the building’s history. Since then, she has opened a second location right down the street at 425 Washington, cleverly named “Viewpoint Books: Chapter Two.” Having only been there a short time, she sensed a now all-too-familiar feeling that made her curious if maybe those walls had something to say as well. And considering the building’s history, it has a lot to get off its chest.

A  Legacy of Female Entrepreneurs

The building’s story began in 1861 when Michael and Elizabeth Wolf opened a butcher shop. After Michael’s sudden death in 1881, Elizabeth took charge, becoming one of Columbus’ most respected businesswomen. Her strength and leadership sustained the family business for decades, a rarity for women in her time. With the help of her children, particularly her daughters, Elizabeth continued to run the business, ensuring its survival for years. Barbara Wolf, one of Elizabeth’s daughters, played a significant role in maintaining the business and later opened her own women’s shop in the same building, assisted by her sister and niece. This marked the continuation of a tradition of female involvement in the family business that echoed throughout the building’s history.

Incredibly, the building’s tradition of female-led businesses didn’t stop with Elizabeth and her daughters. Over the years, the space has housed several women-owned ventures. In the 1960s, it became The Village Shoppe, a women’s clothing store, though it wasn’t owned by a woman. By 1978, Joy’s Bridal Shoppe opened, continuing the legacy of businesses catering to women in the space. Most recently in 2020, Katelyn Gosnell Richey opened Ames Mercantile, a home décor shop. Although Ames closed in 2024, Beth and John Stroh then opened Chapter Two, continuing the trend of strong female-led businesses in the building.

The resilience and success of these women over a century after Elizabeth Wolf first laid the foundation feel like a fitting tribute to her legacy. It’s as if the building itself has drawn women of similar strength to carry on Elizabeth’s tradition.

Tragedies at 425 Washington Street

The history of 425 Washington Streetis not without its tragedies. In 1881, Michael Wolf died in the home, which doubled as their store, Wolff’s Old Stand/Wolf’s Meat Market. His funeral was held in the home. In 1911, their son William died upstairs at just 37 years old. In 1921, Elizabeth passed away at age 80 after suffering a stroke and injuries from a fall in the backyard.

Their son Michael continued to live in the rear of the building until his death in 1942. Interestingly, part of the current structure still incorporates sections of the original Wolf residence. Michael remained residing in the back room until his death at the age of 70, marking the end of the Wolf family’s direct presence at 425 Washington Street.

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Paranormal Connections to Downtown Columbus

During my investigation, I conducted several ITC (Instrumental Trans-Communication) experiments using the highly experimental direct voice method called PRISM (developed by Zero-G ITC), as well as EVP (Electronic Voice Phenomena) sessions. ITC allows for communication with spirits, and PRISM’s direct voice method lets me hear their responses in real-time. What I found was truly astonishing. It felt as though the voices of 425 Washington Street’s distant past were speaking, eager to share their stories. Many of the voices that came through during the ITC sessions were clear and friendly—almost as though they had been waiting for someone to listen.

Several EVPs stood out, many of which seemed to be connected to the Wolf family. Interestingly, one EVP question asked the spirits if they visited other locations in downtown Columbus, and a clear response of “Crump” came through. This was a compelling moment, as it referenced The Crump Theatre, another location I had previously investigated and recorded paranormal activity. This correlation between 425 Washington and The Crump could suggest a larger network of spiritual activity, connecting key historical sites all across downtown Columbus. The same thing happened during my recent investigation of the Bartholomew County Library, where The Crump again was mentioned in an ITC session.

Do these discarnate personalities connect to a broader spiritual web that allows them to move freely between historic landmarks? Do these locations provide them with the energy to manifest? Consider the 6th block of Washington Street, which has a long history intertwined with secret societies and a former graveyard associated with the Catholic Church. These elements likely contribute to the paranormal phenomena observed throughout this area. The spiritual energy in downtown Columbus isn’t confined to just one building—it seems to permeate and radiate throughout much of the area, making it a paranormal hotspot.

Video:

The Spirit of 425 Washington Lives On

What’s particularly unique about 425 Washington Street is how the building’s legacy as a business hub for women has mirrored its paranormal activity. The women who have owned businesses here—whether or not they realized it—have been part of something much larger than just running a shop. They’ve continued a tradition started by Elizabeth Wolf, a tradition that may still be curated by her spirit and in her spirit. This lineage of female entrepreneurs is more than a coincidence; it’s an ongoing testament to the strength and perseverance of women in business. As if guided by an unseen hand, the space seems determined to thrive with the same energy that Elizabeth infused into it over 150 years ago.

After my night at 425 Washington Street, it’s clear to me that the spirit of resilience, determination, and entrepreneurship remains alive there. The past and present continue to commingle, creating a space that indeed has presence. Does that make it haunted? Definitely. Haunted not just by spirits, but by the echoes of those who came before—by the legacy of Elizabeth Wolf and those who have followed in her footsteps. And just like a great bookstore, this space fuels consideration, imagination, and appreciation. It’s the kind of haunting that inspires.

— Evel Ogilville

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Historic Timeline

425 Washington Street

Originally residence and butcher shop of German immigrant Wolf family. Small piece of land to rear of building housed barn, smokehouse and other buildings

1861 – Michael and Elizabeth Wolf marry and shortly after live and open meat market, Wolff’s Old Stand/Wolf’s Meat Market, in building Michael built on Washington Street. Couple had eight children: Barbara, Katherine, Ernest, Mattie, Michael, William, Emma, Anna

1881 – Well-known and well-respected city pioneer Michael Wolf dies suddenly at age 56 at home of congestion of bowels and stomach. Funeral held in family home; burial in City Cemetery. Widowed Elizabeth and children continue operating market

1911 – Son William dies at age 37 at his home over the meat market. Funeral at home. Sister Katherine “Katie” suffered nervous collapse at gravesite in City Cemetery

1921 – Elizabeth Wolf, city’s oldest businesswoman, dies at age 80 at the residence of injuries suffered in a fall several days earlier. Believed suffered slight stroke of paralysis as she started from rear of home into yard; discovered bone of right hip painfully penetrated into and through abdomen. Buried City Cemetery. Family had continued to operate meat market and family farm after her retirement about 15 years before her death. Known as efficient and brace businesswoman and devoted mother

1923-4 – Daughter Barbara and son Michael live in rear of building; Barbara opens ladies’ shop for brief time in store room after location has been rented for bazaars and markets. Sister Anna and niece help run. “New store does not only promises to be a profitable business, but it puts into usage a large business room that has stood empty for some time, the room having formerly been used as a meat market by the late Mrs. Elizabeth Wolf, and after her death the Wolf heirs in memory of their mother could not disturb the room which to them all had been so closely associated with their home life.” (The Republic, 4/4/1924)

1925 – Katherine and Mattie die days apart

1928 – Advertisement for Massie Chicken Hatchery

1929 – Bartholomew County Historical Society uses for exhibit of children’s clothing, dolls, toys and antiques

1929 – J.W. O’Bryan remodels and opens jewelry store. Michael retains room as living quarters.

1942 – Son Michael dies at age 70; body found days after death sitting in chair in his room in rear of building. “Wolf property had remained frame dwelling in heart of business district … The home was not remodeled into a modern store until 20 years ago, but Mr. Wolf retained a part of the original house. It was his home and he declined to leave it.” (Columbus Herald, 4/29/1942). Michael never married and was said to have visited the grave of his sweetheart who died then they were young every Christmas Day for 50 years. Well-known eccentric character

1962 – O’Bryan’s Jewelry Store sold to jeweler Malcolm Ross

1963 – Carl Miske opens the Village Shoppe women’s store

1974 – Jim Gupta opens as Jim’s Import Shop

1977 – Advertisement for Mode O’Day sportswear

1978 – Joy Dutro opens Joy’s Bridal Shoppe

2001 – Advertisement for Ristorante Divino

2006 – Tre Biccheri restaurant opens by Glick and DeClue families, closing in 2017

2020 - Katelyn Gosnell Richey purchases and opens Ames Mercantile home décor shop, closing in 2024. Viewpoint Books owners Beth and John Stroh open second location, Chapter 2, in the space

A Stroll Through 425:

Please watch the video below before reading the article. Thanks!

Video:

A Childhood Fascination with Bones and Skeletons

Ever since I was a young boy, I’ve had a fascination with bones. I distinctly remember traipsing the Brown County hillsides with my father finding all sorts of skeletal treasures and trying to determine what I was looking at. Even my mother contributed to my curiosity. I was in the 1st grade when she brought me home a cow's skull, which I still have. Then there were a few experiments — the dead frog I buried in a screen that I’d hoped to exhume to a naturally cleansed skeleton. And lest we not forget, the dead bird I accidentally liquefied in my mom’s microwave in hopes of harvesting the skeleton — let’s just call that one fucked up. I like to think that my parents reflect on raising me as the adventure they probably deserved.

William Lantry: My First Skeleton Crush

Undoubtedly, though, my first true skeleton crush (we never forget our first, right?) was on William Lantry. Lantry is the character in Pillar of Fire, part of the short story collection S is for Space by Ray Bradbury. The basic premise is that Lantry is a resurrected mess of decomposition in the year 2349 and has been dead for 400 years. He wakes up to a world where all horror has been elim­inated, and he is the last corpse to exist — all other graves having been incinerat­ed. When he awakens, he feels such hatred for what the world has become that William decides to kill people so he won't feel so alone. This murderous plot puts him into the role of what people would consider to be a rigor terrorist. In the end (spoiler alert), Lantry allows himself to be killed while he exclaims that he is the last of Poe, Lovecraft, and all horror that ever existed.

Some people will find Lantry the villain, and some will find the opposite. Like many people who feel they do not belong in their society, Lantry didn’t ask to be what he is or part of a world that dislikes it. The story asks the read­er to think about a world with no fear and no mor­bidity and whether that is genuinely a world worth living in.

The Knights of Pythias Skeleton: A Real-Life Encounter with Secret Societies

Which brings me to my other skeleton crush. The skeleton I found 11 years ago tucked away in an old Knights of Pythias lodge shrouded by mystery and secrecy. The impact this find had on me still lingers to this day. The Pythian society itself played into it, too. What was the purpose of needing human bones for your club? It definitely gives an arcane feel to the intentions behind it. Or, as I look at it now, maybe it was more about member hazing versus magick? But this is all coming from a guy who escaped a cult, and I don’t see value in fraternities, sororities, Freemasonry, Odd Fellows, or the Knights of Pythias. But, then, I once microwaved a dead bird, so…

The Mystery of the Skeleton: Whose Bones Are These?

Let’s drop the metaphysical hat for a minute — the bigger mystery remains. Let’s not consider this skeleton (affectionately nicknamed William) a haunted object. Let’s think about it as being someone’s family member. It is reminiscent of my finding animal bones in the woods as a kid and wondering what they belonged to. I see a human skeleton and cannot help but wonder who it belongs to. Is there any way to determine its age (it’s very old) or gender? And with the advances of forensic science in 2020, maybe even find its descendants? It also wasn’t uncommon for Pythian members to voluntarily donate their skeletal remains to their group, which, in theory, is a great way to hang with the boys in perpetuity. So, if anyone has the contact or resources to help me with this project, please don't hesitate to let me know!

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Is There a Paranormal Connection?

Now slap back on that paranormal cap for a second. Not to say conclusively one way or the other if there’s any mojo attached to my fragile friend here, but much like William Lantry, people who research the paranormal often find themselves pondering matters on the fringe of society’s comfortable norm — such as, how would it feel to be hidden away in darkness if you had a consciousness? Like the last articulated skeleton on earth hidden away from the eyes of all passers-by who cower when presented with reminders of mortality? Maybe you’d develop a chip on your clavicle? Of course, I’m just being creative and speculative — secret society or not, I think the way America manages and reacts to death is generally abysmal. But maybe that was the objective of the Knights of Pythias with their use of skeletons in their ceremonies. A stark reminder of your pending doom — so don’t be an asshole with the time you have left and the gifts you have wrapped up in your mortal coil.

What’s Next for the Skeleton?

It’ll be interesting to see if anything ultimately develops from my new bony tenant. Weird or not, I’d love to see it have a respectable conclusion. Regardless, I don’t see this as a long-term relationship, but who knows? And I’m happy to report it’s not illegal to own one and that remaining groups like the Pythians no longer use the natural kind in their rituals. Maybe they feel haunted by that practice, too?

— Evel Ogilville

The 2024 Postmortem Postscript:

I’m thrilled to report that William has found a new home. After spending a few years with him at my cabin down in the ITC Bunker conducting sessions (I found out he likes music), I also contacted universities with forensic departments, hoping to have Billy tested for DNA analysis. The responses were always the same: “Donate the skeleton to us; we’ll see what we can find out, share the report, and then he’ll be stored in a drawer forever, likely never to be seen again.”

I don’t know why, but that felt sad to me. Here was a former person who lived a life—likely a sad one, considering they ended up in a box in a weird lodge—now facing this additionally unconventional afterlife. It didn’t feel right. As a matter of fact, it seemed as dull to me as Heaven sounds. So, I decided that ol’ Will had a greater purpose, a story to tell about the once-thriving business of skeletonizing humans in America and their use in fraternal orders—a fact many people are unaware of.

Instead of letting him be hidden away, I chose to have him serve an educational purpose. I’m happy to say that Billy Bones, as he’s now called, is a featured display in Troy Taylor’s American Oddities Museum in Alton, Illinois, in the iconic Mineral Springs Hotel. So, if you’re ever in Alton, maybe for the Haunted America Conference, stop by the museum and show Billy some love.

After years of a non-traditional journey, he’s found a new role while curating a celebrity status. While we may never know his whole story, I’m sure his message to everyone is to make the best of your time in the flesh—don’t leave someone with a bone to pick with you. After all, not everybody gets a second chance to make a difference in the world post-mortem like Billy.

Historical Notes:

Washington/Sixth street block

(Also known as Odd Fellows block)

Columbus, Indiana

Historic Timeline

Block of largely 19th-century commercial buildings with historic occupants commonly offices, furniture stores/rooms, barbers, tailoring, meat markets, grocery/bakeries, drugstores/pharmacies, fraternal organizations, apartments

• Northeast corner, known as Odd Fellows Building, built circa 1893

▪ Land purchased by Victor A. Schnell in 1874.

▪ 601-605 – included furniture stores/undertaker (i.e. Hoover, Davidson & Henderson), Great A & P Tea Company, Kroger Grocery

• 605/5½ – International Order of Odd Fellows hall/temple

• Odd Fellows purchased property in 1889; one of original Masonic lodges in city.

• “At a meeting of the Odd Fellows lodge it was decided to build a new three-story building on their lot at the corner of Washington and Sixth streets. Plans to be adopted will be unlike any other three story building in the city, and it will be very fine.” (The Republic, 6/16/1891)

• “Work of remodeling the old Odd Fellows building at Sixth and Washington street in order to convert the second floor to lodge use as well as the third, is now under way.” (The Republic, 6/9/1911)

▪ among current: offices, condominiums

• 607-609, circa 1891

▪ 607 – included tailor (Nienaber), florist (Barnaby), Citizens Telephone Co., furniture/undertaker (i.e. Everroad, Davidson & Henderson), Music Center, Kroger Grocery and Baking Co., hardware/stove store (Virden), restaurants (i.e. Ruder’s, Reeder’s, Swan), pawn shop, apartment, chiropractor, pharmacist, fruit house (Robison)

• among current: La Mode 607 salon

▪ 609 – included drugstores (i.e. Fehring, Harms, Johnson & Wiley)

• among current: w/ Industrial Design, offices

• 611-615, circa 1895

▪ Rolla Lodge K of P (Knights of Pythias) No. 17/K of P Hall

• Purchased from Elizabeth Rebennack in 1930.

• Local lodge established 1871; “grown to be a strong, robust man, full of vigor and enthusiasm in the prosecution of the fraternal work of Knighthood.” (The Republic, 12/23/1891)

• “The citizens of Columbus and Bartholomew County have an opportunity to prove their loyalty by getting behind Rolla Lodge No. 17 … Rolla lodge was the first to start a movement for a state Pythian home.” (The Republic, 4/14/1922)

▪ included Hawaiian School of Music, confectioner/baker, physician, furniture (i.e. Springer, Buchanan and Jones), barbers (i.e. Kellum, Rebennack, Holloway), electrical (Santisteban)

• “The Buchanan and Jones furniture store on Washington Street has an extensive expansion program under way … built on its present store in the K of P building. The firm has also leased the room adjoining the store on the south which is now occupied by the Wininger pharmacy.” (The Republic, 2/2/1946)

• among current: Hoosier Sporting Goods

• 617-619, circa 1890

▪ included Labor Hall, barber, real estate, printing, plumbers, beauty shop

• 621-627, circa 1890

▪ included meat market, furniture, grocer, hardware, Goodyear Service Store, Sears

▪ among current: Kirr Marbach & Co LLC, Blue & Co

• 629 – Bassett Building, circa 1910

▪ included physicians, dentists, insurance, real estate, loan office

▪ among current: Strand Associates

• 639 – among current: Zen Fitness

• 641-645 – Charlotte Building, circa 1925

▪ included physicians, dentists, insurance, utilities, tire/battery company

▪ among current: Reason & Co Beauty Lounge

Furniture stores in funeral trade

Historically furniture stores and funeral homes often operated under one roof. Many cabinet makers were sent off to study and specialize in the art of embalming. As their education increased, these undertakers became highly specialized at their trade.

• “Furniture and Funerals”: Furniture and undertaking businesses often combined in those days. (The Republic, 3/20/1935)

• “When a death was reported he embalmed the body, after which he made the coffin for the funeral. The (Davidson & Henderson, 601-607 Washington) firm continued in business as undertakers and furniture dealers … removed their location to the Odd Fellows building.” (The Republic, 3/23/1915)

• Davidson and Henderson furniture store and undertaking business occupied the entire lower/second floor that has since been divided into store rooms. Embalming and casket preparations were completed in a rear room with an entrance on Sixth Street. (The Republic, 1/22/1972)

Previous Catholic church site

East side of Washington and Sixth streets, then north end of city limits, original site of St. Bartholomew’s, city’s first Catholic church built in 1841, named for patron saint that is also name of county’s namesake. Church later purchased property to south in 1874 with existing house used as rectory. In 1879 two-story brick schoolhouse constructed. Church, school and rectory remained on Washington Street until new church constructed on Sycamore Street in early 1890s.

• “The last religious services were held in the Catholic church on Washington Street. There yet lives a mother or two in this city who 40 years ago led their small boys to this building through a path, which is now Washington Street, walking under the shade of forest trees overrun by the wild grape vines so common in this locality in those days. Many were the struggles of this small congregation to pay for and support their church.” (The Evening Republican, 4/25/1891)

• The first little frame church stood on Washington street near Sixth. 50-foot-square lot purchased north of Sixth; building then considered among the largest. (The Republic, 4/30/1941)

▪ Church building located near current site of Odd Fellows building.

• Father Vincent Bacquelin visited church monthly until death in 1846 from injuries suffered in fall from horse while visiting sick parishioner in Shelby County. (The Republic, 4/30/1941)

• In 1855 school started, lasting three years. First parsonage built in 1865 with designation of St. Bartholomew’s as a parish. (The Republic, 5/28/1971)

• “Transformation from church to business properties”: The church was the center of the property. A brick house on the corner at Sixth was the home of the priest, the Rev. Andrew Oster in the 1880s. (When new church built at later location), half-block sold (1899) in parcels. Howard Duffy bought the ground with the frame house on the alley … and built 2-room store. The corner portion of this church property was acquired by the Odd Fellow lodge. Other buildings on half-block erected soon after construction of the buildings on the alley and corner properties. (The Republic, 1/22/1972)

‘Old Catholic Cemetery’

Wilson Street Catholic Graveyard (Catholic Cemetery), 10th and Wilson streets, second cemetery for St. Bartholomew’s Catholic Church from 1841-1883 until reached capacity and “all” graves and markers relocated to Garland Brook Cemetery. (findagrave)

• Anne Farrell listed in 1843 as first person buried in Catholic cemetery, then said to have been located near 10th and Wilson streets.

• “As the boring for natural gas in the old Catholic cemetery is such a ‘grave subject,’ the Citizens Natural Gas Co. have decided to sink their well in the south part of the city.” (The Republic, 5/6/1887)

• “It will be remembered that some time ago the old Catholic cemetery was removed from within the city limits to what is now known as Garland Brook. Some days ago a man, who has never been exactly satisfied regarding the removal of his family, came here and commenced to dig in a spot where they were buried. A part of the remains have been exhumed.” (The Republic, 11/28/1890)

• Creepy Things Are Unearthed: “Some grewsome (sic) finds are being made in the vicinity of Wilson Street between Ninth and Tenth streets where city workers are excavating a city water main. Bits of caskets and burial boxes unearthed. No bones discovered but believed ashes from remains of persons dug into. “According to old-time residents a cemetery was located in vicinity where the trench is being made, and it is thought that what is being removed now from the street formed graves in the cemetery.” Some of tombstones stood as late as 12 years ago when removed by the city. (The Republic, 5/28/1925)

• “Bodies in old Catholic cemetery were moved to Garland Brook.” (The Republic, 3/20/1940)

• While plans discussed for new church location, ground south of 10th Street purchased for cemetery, now Garland Brook. Bodies that had been buried in old 10th Street Cemetery were removed. (The Republic, 5/28/1971)

Previous cemetery location also indicated in Washington/Sixth street block in vicinity of former church property.

• “Buildings extended from Sixth Street northward. The Washington Street properties remained in use until after erection of the new Catholic church on Sycamore. Possibly a few burials were made at the Washington Street site prior to establishment of the Tenth Street cemetery.” (1888 History of Bartholomew County)

• Previous property records refer to portion of block as “Catholic Cem Lot.”

Secret Societies

After Freemasonry originated from a British craft guild, the concept of the fraternity caught on quickly, with many groups forming with altruistic purposes in the 19th century, often serving as insurance companies for their members paying dues, which supported those who had hardships or a death in family.

• Washington/Sixth block buildings housed space for several benevolent and fraternal organizations, including Odd Fellows, Rebekah Lodge (IOOF), Knights of Pythias, Modern Woodmen of America, Daughters of America and Royal Neighbors of America.

International Order of Odd Fellows

One of earliest and oldest fraternal societies, thought named either for those with unusual, miscellaneous “odd trades” who joined together to form larger group – or because at time of organizing, thought odd to find people who followed noble values such as fraternalism, benevolence and charity. Promoted philanthropy and ethic of reciprocity and charity.

Knights of Pythias

• Nationwide fraternal organization formed in 1800s centered on Greek mythology and based on charity, benevolence, loyalty and friendship. Founded by Justus H. Rathbone, inspired by play about Greek legend of Damon and Pythias. First fraternal organization to receive charter (at suggestion of President Lincoln) under act of U.S. Congress. Dedicated to cause of universal peace. Three-tiered structure of local “Castles” and lodges. Pythian lodges own, support or endorse variety of charitable endeavors.

• “In the Order’s ritualistic work, every sentence has a meaning and every paragraph a beautiful and inspiring lesson. We believe that any two men, believers in a Supreme Being, meeting in a spirit of good will in an honest effort to understand each other, can live together in peace and harmony.” (Indianapythias.org)

• To become member of Pythagorean Brotherhood, certain very rigorous tests were demanded and applied, some of which are very similar to the ritualistic work of order today. The object of the organization was the moral uplifting and purification of society. Strict morality, absolute truthfulness, honor and integrity were thoroughly inculcated in the minds of its membership. (pythias.org)

Damon and Pythias (Phintias)

Phintias condemned to death for opposing the tyrant Dionysius. Damon offered himself as hostage so that Phintias could go make his farewells. When Pythias had not returned at time of execution, Damon offered to take place. At last minute, Pythias returned and embraced friend. Dionysus so impressed with display of friendship he released both men.

Lodge Rituals

Fraternal organizations often used rites and rituals passed down through generations to facilitate the groups’ shared values. Plays or rituals also performed to make word-of-mouth teachings easier to remember. These rituals often shrouded in secrecy. Symbols also used, among the most popular is Jolly Roger skull and crossbones, intended as reminder of human mortality, used by Freemasons in Europe, Odd Fellows, Knights of Pythias and Skull and Bones. Groups, particularly with “knights” in name, often issued members military-style garb and top-quality dress swords.

• K of P rituals follow pattern typical of deism with three degrees: Page, Esquire and Knight. Some rough-house qualities. (stichtingargus)

• “Test of Steel”: Candidates for Knight led to believe they would have to jump barefoot onto a spiked board, though the spikes were removed or rubber spikes substituted beforehand. (nationalheritagemuseum)

• Postulates for Page asked if believe in supreme being and of sound bodily health; must answer in affirmative to: “Are you willing to take upon yourself a solemn obligation to keep forever secret all that you may hear, see or be instructed in — an obligation that will in no way conflict with your creed or your conscience.” (stichtingargus)

Use of skeletons

Odd Fellows/K. of P. initiation rites often cited as including encounters with skeleton.  

• “The creation of the lodge of the Knights of Pythias at Elizabethtown threatens a building of a closet for the fabled skeleton in the homes of some of the brave men who lately had conferred upon them the degrees of Knightly honor.” (The Republic, 8/19/1885)

• Creed hints at special initiation rite in which skeletons or bones are used to symbolize mortality. (Dayton Daily News, 9/20/2001)

• Odd Fellow applicant would be blindfolded or masked with a pair of goggles known as a “hoodwink,” which had blinds that could be open and shut; when blinds lifted, initiate would be facing a human skeleton in a room lit only by torches. (Collectors Weekly, 10/3/2012)

• “On two trestles, 12 inches high, covered by black pall reaching to floor shall be placed an open coffin which shall contain a skeleton. On the coffin shall be two crossed swords, with the hilts towards the Prelate, and on these the open book of law.” Symbolism for death and resurrection; candidate blindfolded for part of the ceremony. (stichtingargus)

• “It was supposed to remind people of what would happen to them someday … and encourage them to make life worth it while they’re here.” (Newark Advocate, 3/4/1991)

• Each chapter said a human skeleton used in a secret initiation ritual. One former member said new members held hands with the skeletons during initiation. (The Parsons Sun, 3/14/1990)

Sources of ritual skeletons

Believed not too difficult, or particularly unusual, to attain a real human skeleton, often purchased from scientific or fraternal supply companies. Usually pinned and wired like models at medical schools. Reported catalogue sources include Dominion Regalia and De Moulin Bros & Co., an Illinois company that once offered an extensive selection of fraternal hazing items such as robes and ribbons, trick chairs and fake goats, and “genuine, deodorized” skeletons. Museum now showcases unusual offerings. Today mannequins or plaster or papier-mâché skeletons used.  

• Companies said to have obtained skeletons from anywhere possible, including indigents, or those at higher levels of society who had been anxious to donate their remains for scientific study. (Los Angeles Times, 4/1/2001)

• Early 1900s advertising describes regalia and ceremonial items; coffins as “scenes” and “genuine, full-size selected specimen, set up and wired, fairly deodorized.” (The Morning Call, 1/27/2001)

• Anatomists and medical school students often resorted to grave robbing in order to obtain fresh cadavers for dissection or employed the help of resurrectionists who made living of exhuming bodies and selling to medical schools. (Ontario Archaeology)

Literal skeletons in closets

As interest in fraternal orders waned and lodges closed, reports of unusual discoveries of skeletons and memorabilia by new building tenants and questions about whose responsibility to claim and with what to do with the remains.

• “When we bought this house there were jokes about a skeleton in the attic. It turned out to be no joke. That one is the Odd Fellows’ skeleton. The one in the coffin is Pythias.” (Press and Sun Bulletin, 11/24/1971)

• “Man Finds Skeleton in Old Church”: Purchased from Knights of Pythias; found black masks, wizard’s sticks, gavel, swords and skeleton in cubby hole above kitchen sink. (Star Tribune, 1/25/1996)

• 100-year-old skeleton found in fire ruins in Canada. “There was no foul play,” fire chief said after investigation. “The skeleton, known as Fred, was part of an initiation.” (Bangor Daily News, 4/7/1989)

• As each local chapter disbanded, shipped its skeleton to state headquarters. Since then most everyone forgot or stopped caring about the skeletons. (Parsons Sun, 3/14/199)

• In recent years, the discovery of Odd Fellows skeletons has sparked police investigations in Missouri, Indiana, Pennsylvania and Nebraska. In Oklahoma, the remains prompted work crew to flee in terror. (Los Angeles Times, 4/1/2001)

SPECIAL SHOUTOUT TO EUNICE REGINA SPECTER FOR ALL YOUR HISTORICAL HARD DIGGING!!!!!

In the world of paranormal exploration, certain places beckon the curious, offering a unique blend of history and high strangeness. Viewpoint Books, nestled within the captivating Old Post Office Building at 548 Washington Street in Columbus, Indiana, is one such intriguing location. On June 19, 2022, I was invited to investigate a series of paranormal claims — mysterious footsteps, objects moving unaided, and a spine-tingling encounter with a full-bodied apparition in the store’s basement. In this post, we will dive into my paranormal exploration, weaving it with the remarkable historical backdrop of this iconic building.

A Historical Timeline of Viewpoint Books

To truly grasp the essence of Viewpoint Books and its potential for the paranormal, let’s embark on a historical journey through time:

• 1887: Shortly after Charles F. Sparrell designed the theater adjacent to Keith’s Arcade, known today as The Crump Theatre, he was commissioned by Francis T. Crump to craft a Victorian Romanesque masterpiece. This edifice would be a post office in 1897, leased by the U.S. Government. Postmasters such as Thomas Rush, W. A. Stevens, W.F. Coats, and John M. Davis presided over its operations, supported by a dedicated team comprising three clerks, five carriers, and two substitute carriers. Notably, the building received improvements in 1900, solidifying its role in Columbus’ history.

• 1912: A pivotal moment arrived when the post office relocated to the Columbus Federal Building at Seventh and Washington streets. Speculation swirled about the vacant space, with rumors hinting at a transformation into a modern hotel.

• 1915-1917 From ads in Republic Newspaper, we know that the undertaker service, Walter Hathaway & Co., was a tenant in the 544 building address.

• 1921: The building’s history was tinged with melancholy when Dr. J. W. Arnold passed away due to heart disease in the home of Frederick Robbins, the residence located within the Old Post Office Building.

• 1929: Another solemn event occurred as Mrs. Emma Waughtel succumbed to pneumonia at the Home Hotel, situated at 6th & Washington streets, which she and her husband had just taken charge of and moved into a few months prior.

• 1942: Changes unfolded as storerooms at 544 and 546 Washington St., owned by Francis Overstreet, underwent remodeling. Over the years, the building was home to various tenants including a meat market, shoe shop and law and loan offices.

• 1972: The building’s narrative continued to evolve when Merle Nelson transformed it into the Nelson Bible Mart, then formerly the Indiana Gas Co. In 1980, her dedication to preserving history earned accolades for renovations, including to the roof, second-floor bay window, a basement lift and interior remodeling.

• 2002: Store ownership transitioned as Family Christian Stores took the reins.

• 2006: A transformation unfolded as the upper-level space was converted into four condos, adding a literal new layer to the building’s identity.

• 2007: The latest chapter began when Terry and Susan Whittaker relocated Viewpoint Books to 548 Washington Street, ensuring the continuation of this iconic location as a beloved bookstore.

• 2016: Ownership transitioned once more, this time to John and Beth Stroh, who upheld the building’s rich heritage.

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The Paranormal Investigation at Viewpoint Books

Our investigation unveiled eerie phenomena beyond what witnesses had reported. I documented electronic voice phenomena (EVP), intelligent ITC responses, and a motion sensor alarm set off in the stairwell leading to the basement, where the full-bodied apparition had been seen. These findings indicate a connection between the store’s rich history and the paranormal, painting a picture of a building that exists in both the living and spectral realms.

A Haunting Beauty

Viewpoint Books may be haunted, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Hauntings can represent beauty and imagination intertwined with history. The building’s past acts as a conduit, preserving memories that transcend time. Are these phenomena remnants of former employees, or perhaps linked to the Walter Hathaway & Co. Undertaker Service?

The mention of "Emma" in the ITC response (see video) may be connected to the historical passing of Emma Waughtel. It's possible that the entire downtown area of Columbus experiences time differently, especially in the Sixth Street block. This area has a rich history, including an old Catholic church, graveyard, and secret societies with ritualistic skeletons, making it a hotspot for paranormal activity.

Questions About the Paranormal

Ultimately, ghosts and paranormal phenomena may never yield complete understanding. They serve as reminders of the imprints we leave on historic spaces and the importance of how we treat them. As we navigate the beautifully haunting realm of Viewpoint Books, we’re invited to cherish the present, embrace the mysteries, and honor the enduring spirits within. Every encounter reminds us that our impact on the world echoes long after we are gone.

— Evel Ogilville

Watch the full investigation of Viewpoint Books and its paranormal history.

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All historical info graciously harvested by the voracious Eunice Specter.

Between two divorces, raising kids, juggling mortgages, and polishing off too much whiskey, I’m pretty sure I’ve sustained some brain damage. Life does that to us all. Yet, I’m still surprised by how well my memory serves me at times, which is why I can earnestly say I remember the moment I snapped the photograph—the one that, to this day, stupefies, mesmerizes, and even angers me.

Unraveling the Dark History of Black Moon Manor

If you’re familiar with Black Moon Manor, you already know it was steeped in controversy. If not, here’s the gist: Matt Speck rented the old Eastes family farmhouse outside Greenfield, Indiana, to convert it into a haunted attraction. The ghost story he spun as part of his haunted funhouse, Black Moon Manor, intertwined folklore from local hearsay with, unfortunately, the names of the Eastes family ancestors. Along the way, Speck discovered the house was truly haunted. Disembodied voices, doors shutting, phantom footsteps, and vicious scratching attacks were some of the claims. Speck’s focus shifted from creating a haunted attraction to offering a haunted location where paranormal teams could pay-to-play.

Picture this: a somewhat dilapidated and abandoned (but still awesome) farmhouse without any utilities, nestled next to the original family cemetery, and equipped with a made-for-horror-movie weeping willow tree outside. Add to that a property history muddled by unsubstantiated wild tales—most of which reflected negatively upon the deceased family of the folks who still own the property. Then, throw in claims of real haunted activity, stirring up flurries of interest from paranormal investigators and every bump-in-the-night flashlight ghost-jockey for miles. It was a perfect storm for a disastrous end, which is exactly what happened. Despite all the press, TV shows (Ghost Adventures, etc.), and support from the paranormal field, the Eastes family had enough of Black Moon. Even though I don’t believe Speck intended to create such a convoluted mess, the Eastes pulled the plug on him and his Manor. Sadly, the historic home was demolished.

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Into the Darkness

Now, let’s get back to my photograph.

I, along with some friends, formed a club we called SOUP (The Society Of Unknown Phenomena). SOUP held a high standard in its approach to investigating a haunting. With all the red flags flying around Black Moon Manor, the critical thinking side of SOUP deemed the place a no-go—too many credibility issues. But that left just li’l ol’ me. Until there are scientific parameters set for the paranormal field, I’d investigate a shithouse at the bottom of a coal mine in West Virginia if it was rumored to be haunted. So, off to Black Moon Manor I went with my brother, Emyl, and fellow SOUP alumnus, Bill Method.

The investigation itself was a bust. Don’t get me wrong; I appreciated the opportunity to be on the property. It’s always a pleasure to nose around a historic place—I love it. But this was an outright painful snoozer. No inklings. No vibes. No EMF spikes (that’s electromagnetic field spikes, for those new to ghost hunting). No bumps. No bangs. No voices from the well at the back of the house. No demonic scratch attacks. No tape on the floor left from Zak’s static cams. Nada. Nothing. Zilch. But still, we were patient. We know how this goes: Everything is silent, then all hell can break loose. But that never happened.

A Ghost Photo That Changed Everything

As the night dragged on, my brother and Bill went upstairs before me with our equipment. I followed, but not before stopping to take a picture from the landing at the turn of the staircase. From there, you could see the front door of the home. To the left and right were open doorways leading to other areas of the house. That was the basic layout. I didn’t review any of my photos until the next day. First mistake. Second, and this is another rookie faux pas, I didn’t take multiple shots of the same angle for comparison.

The next morning, as I was scrolling through the photos, I noticed something odd—something that made my ghost wrangling heart skip a beat. There, in one shot, was what looked like an apparition emerging from the doorway on the right. And not just any apparition, but a twisted, sneering figure—a ghostly Joker-meets-Beetlejuice hybrid that seemed to leap off the screen and into my worst nightmares! Holy Hades! It was so insane looking that I initially hesitated to show it to people. Although the original intent for Black Moon was a haunted attraction, it wasn’t rigged or staged for Halloween props to pop out—not even close. But here’s where it stings: I never had a chance to return to Black Moon Manor to recreate the photo, and within a few weeks, the house was torn down.

The Perils of Paranormal Photography

Paranormal investigators use photography to capture evidence of ghosts. Ghost hunters present photos by the thousands, full of processing errors, light leaks, streaks from long exposure times, orbs from dust, bugs, moisture, etc. Most people have very little understanding of photography. They misuse editing software by zooming in and manipulating photos to reveal shapes in a grainy pareidolia blur. And then there are those annoying apps you can use to insert a fake ghost into an image (much like the spirit photographers of old). I’ve seen those apps used almost like a test to see how gullible people in and out of the paranormal community are. Some groups even try to pass off these hoaxed pics to establish themselves as some elitist super ghostbuster team to bolster their reputations.

But in the right hands, photo processing tools can be used to polish evidence of the supernatural. Luckily, in my case, fellow SOUP member Craig Smith is a photographer, and although we could plainly see the entity in the original photo, he used professional software to lighten the picture and enhance more detail.

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Lessons Learned

So there you have it: my crazy pic that I occasionally punch myself in the face over. I should’ve briefly checked my camera that night. Seeing that photo might have changed the focus of our investigation and made it more productive. Taking another pic at that moment, like a good investigator should, could have revealed more insight into what was captured. And ultimately, I wouldn’t have to live with the regret of not being able to return to the house to try and recreate that image.

I will always remember Black Moon Manor. Through the frustrations stemming from my lackadaisical attention to my investigative methodology, I learned lessons I’ll never forget, regardless of my poor brain’s damage.

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A Strange Coincidence

One more thing. I usually prefer to go into a location without tons of info preloaded in my mind. Towards the end of the night, we were conducting an EVP (electronic voice phenomenon) session upstairs in the house, and randomly, I asked if there was an Obadiah there. Not a common name, and why I asked for it, I do not know. After we packed up our gear to leave, we stopped to briefly investigate Eastes Cemetery. I was confounded when I stumbled across the tombstone of Obadiah Eastes, the patriarch of the Eastes clan. Coincidence? Probably. But like that photograph, it’s one more memory that won’t let me go.

—Evel Ogilville

Sources:

Smith, Craig. “The Case for Black Moon Manor.” SOUP Paranormal, 1 Nov. 2012, http://soupparanormal.blogspot.com/2012/11/the-case-for-black-moon-manor.html.

Kaczmarek. Dale. “Black Moon Manor Investigation.” Ghost Research, 14 Aug. 2011, www.ghostresearch.org.

“Black Moon Manor.” Travel Channel - Ghost Adventures, 11 Oct. 2012, www.travelchannel.com.

Exploring the Mysteries of Browning Hill: Indiana’s Stonehenge

There’s something to be said about stopping and looking right under your nose. We’ve gotten so distracted by our phones and the Internet that our immediate spatial presence feels wholly corrupted. I’m guilty of this. I’m guilty of looking under my nose but only at a blue screen. This realization hit me hard recently when I found myself disconnected from the wonders around me, including the mystery that lay just a short hike away—Browning Mountain.

Browning Mountain: A Dismissive Start

I’ve heard of this Browning Mountain for 48 years (that’s how old I am). It’s a big hill with big rocks in Brown County, Indiana. So fucking what? If they call that hill a mountain when it’s just a damn hill, then how unimpressive will the rocks be at the top of it? Gravel? My dismissive nature of this location couldn’t have been more shortsighted. My son, however, saw something in it that I hadn’t, and his enthusiasm was contagious.

The Hike: An Eye-Opening Experience

My son was the first to hike up there. He came back pretty enthusiastic over the high strangeness of the stones. As a budding archeology student, he was not only blown away by the size of the stones but their odd placement on the hillside as well. His excitement piqued my curiosity, and, despite my initial skepticism, I decided to see it for myself. First of all, it’s not a leisurely stroll—wear some hiking boots. Secondly, don’t go up there with an ankle brace, but that’s another story for another time that involves Jamaica, COVID-19, and a disc golf tragedy. But, listen, when I finally went and reached the stones, I was unprepared for the level of excitement that coursed through my veins.

The Stones: Indiana’s Stonehenge

The rocks were massive. The rocks were many. It seemed I’d vastly underrated what’s often referred to as Indiana’s Stonehenge. These weren’t just boulders—they were massive, arranged in ways that defied easy explanation. Once you dig a little deeper into the details of this site and you find these stones are not even indigenous to the area, the implications of their origins begin to feel esoteric. As I stood there, I couldn’t help but wonder: Was this a sacred site to the native tribes that once lived here? Or maybe a civilization older than that?

Legends and Theories: A Tapestry of Mysteries

The mystery deepened with the stories I began to uncover. Were these stones simply regurgitated on this hillside due to a burping glacier? Did some crazy settlers with obviously herniated spines drag them up there? The more I learned, the more I realized that Browning Hill wasn’t just a geological oddity—it was a place steeped in legend and lore. Paranormal reports—a guardian spirit said to be protecting the site, men dying while trying to remove the stones, Sasquatch and UFO sightings—all added layers to the enigma.

The Paranormal: Unplugging for a Different Kind of Connection

Armed with my son’s enthusiasm and a couple of ITC devices, I decided to unplug myself from the artificial electronic web we’re all stuck in and connect with the mysteries of this place. What I found was more than just strange stones—it was a connection to something ancient and unexplained. As I conducted a brief session, I couldn’t help but feel that Browning Hill was brimming with the unexpected promise of quandaries to unravel.

Conclusion: A Reminder to Stay Present

I’m so glad I went. I’m happy I stuck a couple of ITC devices in my pocket to do a brief session. But most of all, I’m glad I unplugged myself long enough from the artificial electronic web we’re all stuck in to go on a hike to explore, to spend time with my son and to seek out this crazy place at the end of a dead-end road that sits overlooking an abandoned ghost town. Yes, this is all true. In a world where our attention is constantly pulled in every direction, it’s important to remember the value of staying present and exploring the mysteries that are right under our noses — if we widen our vision. Remember always to let your wonder light your wander. And in the immortal lyrics of the R.E.M. song Stand:

If you are confused, check with the sun

Carry a compass to help you along

Your feet are going to be on the ground

Your head is there to move you around

So, stand in the place where you live.

Now face north.

Think about direction,

wonder why you haven’t before.

God, I hate that fucking song.

— Evel Ogilville

P.S. If you want to add some wow to your now, learn to put down your phone. But if you’re reading this post, I’ll not begrudge your screen time this once—peace out.

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Browning Mountain

(Also referred to as Browning Hill, “Indiana’s Stonehenge”)
Approximately 4 miles southwest of Story (Elkinsville and Combs Road)
Brown County, Indiana

Approximate 1,190-acre section of land in southernmost part of Brown County; 928-foot peak, one of county’s highest, named special area of Hoosier National Forest. Edge of summit reveals mystery of massive stone blocks in various arrangements along hill’s western edge overlooking Salt Creek Middle Fork Valley, each likely weighing hundreds of pounds, with origins unclear

Descriptions:

Location of stones

• “About a mile and half south of Elkinsville is located what has been called Browning Hill.Here the “Devil’s Tombstones” were located a half-century ago (Brown County Democrat, 1/17/1963)

• The hill where the odd formations sometimes called “Moon Rocks” may be found (Brown County Democrat, 6/28/1995)

• Geologist John Collett’s 1875 “Geology of Brown County” details Browning’s Knob, surmounted by a steep almost precipitous ascent with fragments of Keokuk limestone and chert, which once covered the region, on upper part and sides. “Grand cubes three by four feet and pillars three by four by twenty feet long, ready squared and dressed as from a giants workshop, are scattered along the crest of the hill.”

• Rocks line top of hill and down one path 

Size, appearance, arrangement of stones

• Huge slabs of sandstone, some fifteen feet long and four feet thick (Brown County Democrat, 1/17/1963)

• Giant pieces of limestone form rectangle 100 by 200 feet, each varying in length from seven to 21 feet; some appear to have been set in pillars and without exception have fallen to north (Terre Haute Tribune, 1/25/1976)  

• “Indiana’s Stonehenge”: Arrangement of car-size stones has drawn comparisons to the famous ring of standing stones in England

• Rocks average between seven and eight feet long and about four feet square at ends. All point north and most lie side by side, giving effect of huge amphitheater when standing above them (Brown County Democrat, 10/26/1983)

• Large square blocks of light-colored stone that contrast with sandstone at lower elevations; two long sides surrounding the open center with large stone at “head,”appearing to some as ceremonial altar(Journal and Courier, 10/22/2006)

• Some stones built up like wall, others strewn about the side of the hill; six to eight feet in length, hewn with right angles; ring of large stones/slabs of Keokuk limestoneresemble pulpit; many stones may have been erect at some point and site later desecrated by vandals and erosion (Reporter-Times, 11/18/2012, 11/25/2012)

Additional features of site

• Well, still containing water, on northeast part of hill covered in two slabs of stone, reported constructed in an old structural technique, carved from bedrock to surface and cut through several feet of siltstone. May have been Native American, later modified by settlers (Brown County Democrat, 1/10/2001; Reporter-Times, 11/25/2012)

• Remains of cabin believed to be first in Brown County, also recognized as home of last Native American who lived in area, as well as parts of several other homesteads can be found (Brown County Democrat, 6/11/2014)

• Rocks set on side of mountain suggest remains of root or apple cellar, remains of foundation (Brown County Democrat, 1/10/2001)

• Browning Apple Orchard (circa late 1800s), cabin and shed recorded on hill; fruit stored in cellar, also thought to have been used for threshing/storing grains by Native Americans (Brown County Democrat, 6/11/2014; Reporter-Times, 11/25/2012)

• Pond located on mountaintop, perhaps created by bears. Nearby larger pond created for wildlife decades earlier by DNR (Brown County Democrat, 6/11/2014)

Popular legends, folklore

• Legend of mountain as hunting area for Native Americans; trail ascending hill believed Native American

• “The Watcher”: Native American spirit said to watch over site, causing many accidents during early attempts made to quarry stones. Ghosts of men who died while disturbing stones said to haunt mountain

•  Late at night ghosts of the old stone cutters roam the hill, rattling log chains that snapped and killed them when trying to remove rocks (Cross)

• Tales of failed attempts to remove stones and mechanical mishaps that resulted in deaths of several workers (Reporter Times, 11/25/2012) 

•  Legend of two men killed trying to move rocks; one crushed by tractor, the other caught between two rocks (Brown County Democrat, 10/26/1983)

• Important location for area Miami tribes, “keeper of the mountain” who protects the area

• Archaeologists from South America said to have traveled to site to determine if ruins archeological or geological but “returned in as much doubt as when they came” (Indianapolis News, 11/20/1950)

• In 1930s, men from Chicago said to have inspected the stones offered owner of cabin/hill Thomas Morton Browning huge sum of money for farm; when he asked for more, partly in jest, they asked for time to consider and upon making new offer, Browning turned it down, having “learned they were gangsters” (Indianapolis News, 11/20/1950)

• Strange lights, sounds at site

• Suggestion of evidence of ice cave

• UFO sightings on hill

• Sounds of voices, footsteps

• Site for scattering of loved ones’ ashes

Theories, arguments

• Notion of stones as artifacts from an earlier civilization gained popularity when outdoor life columnist who visited with then-owner of log cabin at foot of hill, Thomas Morton Browning, in 1950. Columnist William “Tubby” Toms described stones as cut to size and arranged in rectangle 100-by-200 feet, comparing them to similar “Salisbury Plain” (Stonehenge) and designating site as “Indiana’s Stonehenge … one of the wonders of Indiana” (Indianapolis News, 11/20/1950; Brown County Democrat, 8/10/1977)

• 1977 report by Indiana State Geological Survey asserted huge stones result of natural processes. Indiana University Astronomy Department also concluded formation without astrological significance. After reprinting of earlier “Tubby” Toms column (see above) generated interest, scientists examined whether hill site of early abandoned quarry and if possibility of such a stone structure indicated knowledge of astronomy by early inhabitants. Parties reported that while stones roughly size and shape as Toms described, “an ample imagination was required to discern the rectangular arrangement.” Scientific conclusion was that stone blocks natural result of weathering, erosion and slumping from outcropping of siltstone (Brown County Democrat, 8/10/1977)  

• Later 1987 report by folklore student Lee Irwin refuted some of earlier study findings, notably that Browning Hill was heavily quarried in 1958-59 and stone removed by local “Stoneman” Charles Murphy, and that older residents recalled stone wall on western and southern slopes stacked two to three high. Also believed existing well may have drawn new settlement; similar prehistoric structures found elsewhere in state, as well as those with stones in similar solstice (alignment with sun on shortest, longest days of year) orientations and fallen walls. May suggest marking locations of winter and summer migrating tribes. Study did not propose single theory for all of hill’s features

• Native American ritual, ceremonial site; if stones put there by Native Americans or others, question of how they were transported to location

• Bed of limestone laid when county covered by sea then broken and tossed when waters receded

• Keokuk limestone thought to have once covered area and receding glaciers carried much of it away; stones left from natural formations

• Disagreement over type of sandstone/stone/outcropping of limestone near top indigenous to region or unusual for Brown County

• Stones thought to have once actually been part of massive wall that lined mountain, standing two or three layers high and with few open spots like a fort (Brown County Democrat, 1/10/2001)

• Stories of Native American family who lived on hill and used fort for protection; Indians worshipped on grounds and arranged rocks (Brown County Democrat, 1/10/2001)

• Round stones size of baseballs thought to have been used in Native American games

• Some argue stones show no signs of being hewn but weathering makes determination of whether cut impossible

• Some believe slabs quarried by an early settler and left behind when better source found

• Some rocks believed look as though placed in specific arrangement

• Studies of alignments oriented to winter and summer solstices (Brown County Democrat, 1/10/2001)

Carvings

• Visitors report finding mysterious carvings on stones

• “May 11, 1884” (Brown County Democrat, 4/20/2011)

• Circle on large broken rock (Brown County Democrat, 6/11/2014)

•  “Here lies John Baurle, Born 7/31/47, Died 9/14/52” (Journal and Courier, 10/22/2006)

Tragedies

• Missing hunter Steven L. Weaver, 39, found dead from accidental gunshot wound, near his camp on backside of Browning Mountain (The Republic, 12/16/1986)

Historic Timeline

• Accounts of Native Americans living in area during founding of Brown County; in 1821 local tribes removed from area; several families said to have settled on hill, including the Brownings (Reporter-Times, 11/25/2012)

• Native Americans said to still visit site

• Hill named for Jessie P. Browning, owner during Civil War days (Brown County Democrat, 10/5/1961)

• Mort Browning and Carl Hall later owners of farm property that included Browning Mountain; original home near bottom believed built by Brownings in 1892

• Current property owner Bill Miller conveyed hill to Nature Conservancy, transfer from private to public completed in 1993. Peak designated“special area” of Hoosier National Forest; land denoted as such must contain unusual or unique features and managed to protect such characteristics. Hill’s status designated in part because of relatively undisturbed and old growth woods; forest contains trees of noteworthy size and the ridgetop containing features that have “never been scientifically explained” (Brown County Democrat, 1/10/2001)

Elkinsville

Village, once located in Browning Mountain’s shadow, lost in 1960s to U.S. government througheminent domain with construction of Lake Monroe and dam and the need for land for flood control. Former community continues to hold annual reunion near hill

Yellowwood State Forest rock reports

“Gobbler’s/Turkey Rock” discovered by hunter tracking wild turkey who found bird perched on huge rock about 80 feet up in branches of chestnut oak tree. Theories of nearby blasting or tornado as cause could not be substantiated. Tree uprooted in 2006 but said rock lies on ground still in oak’s branches. Hikers subsequently reported more sightings of treetop boulders in the Brown County state forest

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Sources:

1. “About a Mile and Half South of Elkinsville Is Located What Has Been Called Browning Hill. Here the ‘Devil’s Tombstones’ Were Located a Half-Century Ago.” Brown County Democrat, 17 Jan. 1963.

2. “The Hill Where the Odd Formations Sometimes Called ‘Moon Rocks’ May Be Found.” Brown County Democrat, 28 June 1995.

3. “Geology of Brown County.” Terre Haute Tribune, 25 Jan. 1976.

4. Collett, John. Geology of Brown County. Geological Survey of Indiana, 1875.

5. “Indiana’s Stonehenge: Browning Hill’s Mystery Stones.” Journal and Courier, 22 Oct. 2006.

6. “Giant Stones Create Mystery.” Brown County Democrat, 26 Oct. 1983.

7. “Remains of Cabin Believed to Be First in Brown County.” Brown County Democrat, 11 June 2014.

8. “The History of Browning Hill.” Reporter-Times, 18 Nov. 2012.

9. “Mysteries Surround Browning Mountain.” Indianapolis News, 20 Nov. 1950.

10. Thomas, Phyllis. Indiana Off the Beaten Path. Rowman & Littlefield, 2019.

11. Cross, Robert. “The Dusty Road Leads to Elkinsville.” Indianapolis Monthly, 2010.

12. “Geology of Browning’s Knob.” Geological Survey of Indiana, 1875.

— Thank you to Eunice Specter for the amazing historical digging!

Investigating Paranormal Activity at Bartholomew County Public Library

When I was first asked to investigate the possibility of the Bartholomew County Public Library being haunted, I have to admit I was a bit caught off guard. I had never heard any specific paranormal claims regarding this library before. However, the two intriguing incidents that were brought to my attention were compelling enough for me to accept the invitation to explore further.

Strange Incidents in the Indiana Room: Falling Books and Unexplained Events

The first report came from Children’s Programming Librarian Kate Grafelman. On two separate occasions, she had books unexpectedly fall on her while researching local history and genealogy in the library’s Indiana Room. The first incident occurred about a year and a half ago when the Indiana Room was on the main level — the second happened earlier this year after the room had been moved upstairs to the mezzanine. In both cases, the books were not sticking out precariously from the shelves — they simply seemed to dislodge and fall onto Kate as she was working. I found this particularly puzzling for an experienced librarian as they are typically adept at navigating the shelves without incident.

Video:

Spinning Clock Mystery: Paranormal Evidence Captured in the Red Room

The second report came from Children’s Librarian Rachel Akemon. Back in October 2019, she was covering a program in the library’s Red Room when she noticed the clock hands on the wall suddenly begin spinning rapidly as if someone was quickly winding it. Rachel managed to capture video of the clock going through an entire 12-hour cycle before abruptly stopping. Understandably unnerved, she decided to call a colleague to help her pack up.

Click here to see clock footage

With these two unusual occurrences as the starting point, I felt it was important to get a deeper understanding of the history and significance of this particular library space. The current Cleo Rogers Memorial Library building, with its striking modernist design by architect I.M. Pei, opened in 1969. But the site has a much richer backstory.

The Haunted History of Bartholomew County Library’s Site

Historically, the block where the library now stands was home to two earlier structures — the Carnegie Library, dedicated in 1903, and the Tabernacle Christian Church, built in 1911. Both were eventually demolished to make way for the current library. Interestingly, the adjacent Irwin House provided an even more intriguing historical tidbit, with a 1912 newspaper article detailing the discovery of a man and dog’s skeletal remains buried near the home’s entrance. The cause of this mysterious burial was never conclusively determined.

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EVP Sessions in the Mezzanine: Capturing Disembodied Voices

Armed with this historical context, my investigative team and I started methodically exploring the library space, looking for any signs of paranormal activity. We employed various Instrumental Trans-Communication (ITC) techniques, including electronic voice phenomena (EVP) sessions, ghost box sweeps, and direct voice recordings using filtered white noise.

Our initial EVP session in the mezzanine Indiana Room yielded some potentially compelling audio captures. While many of the responses were inconclusive, there were a few instances where we seemed to hear disembodied voices or other anomalous sounds. One EVP in particular stood out, with a voice seemingly stating, “I worked here.” This, combined with the ITC app picking up relevant words during a concurrent session, hinted that there may indeed be some lingering energies or entities associated with the library’s history.

Ghost Box Sessions and Paranormal Evidence in the Library

We continued our exploration, venturing down to the main level and the former Indiana Room space. Here, we set up various detection devices, including yes/no response meters and EMF sensors. Our ghost box and direct voice sessions in this area also yielded some intriguing results, with what sounded like intelligible conversations and even a few apparent attempts at humor.

Is Bartholomew County Public Library a Magnet for Paranormal Activity?

However, throughout our investigation, I couldn’t help but be struck by the idea that the library, with its vast trove of accumulated knowledge and history, could be a veritable magnet for paranormal phenomena. Perhaps the very act of housing and preserving humanity’s stories, ideas, and experiences creates an energetic resonance that attracts discarnate presences. And if these entities do indeed linger here, perhaps their motivations are not malevolent but rather a sincere desire to help curate and share in the wonders contained within these hallowed halls.

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Ultimately, while the questions raised by our investigation remain largely unanswered, I can’t help but feel that this library, with its rich history and paranormal intrigue, offers a tantalizing glimpse into the vast, unseen realms that may coexist alongside our own. If a haunting ever speaks to you, I’d encourage you to heed the call — just as you would a fascinating book waiting to be read. You never know what profound insights or connections you might uncover hidden within the stacks.

— Evel Ogilville

For more on the riddle of this forgotten grave, watch the video!

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Introduction to The Crump Theatre’s Haunted History

Columbus, Indiana, is truly a fantastic city. Nestled alongside the White River, Columbus, also called Athens of the Prairie, is known globally for its architectural significance and as the home of Cummins Engine Company. In 2008, National Geographic Traveler ranked Columbus 11th on its historic destinations list, describing it as “authentic, unique, and unspoiled.” That’s where we will agree to disagree, at least on the concept of this unique city being completely unspoiled.

Sir Winston Churchill was once quoted as saying, “First we shape our buildings, then our buildings shape us.” Although I appreciate his sentiment, in the name of progress and innovation, many buildings integral to a community’s soul must be offered up as a sacrifice to alter any town’s footprint and allow for “advancement.” And maybe the old buildings were not architecturally significant, but their importance to the community was undoubtedly there. This isn’t exclusively a Columbus, Indiana, problem, but an American one. It seems to be the American way — out with the old, in with the new — that’s my opinion. This nation has always exhibited a propensity for tearing down aged structures due to upkeep and expensive updates and replacing them with brand-new and shiny ones — it’s cheaper. I feel as if every time we do this and create something new, we lose a skosh of our heritage. Just look at Kenny Roger’s face in 1980 versus his mug in 2019 (R.I.P. Gambler). But I digress.

Columbus is an excellent example of this behavior. To craft Columbus’ identity as a mecca for architecture, many structures were erased for the “authentic, unique, and unspoiled” narrative we see today. I’m not saying it was all entirely unwarranted at times, but I often wonder about the stories of the men and women and their authentic and unique lives that wound up as rubble — lost. Demolition can make us forget so many amazing things. My stance is when the dust of progress is settled, and you find you have any historic structures remaining, you better preserve them and curate their stories. It seems some buildings do not want to be forgotten, which brings me to The Crump Theatre.

Ghostly Gatherings: Paranormal Investigations at The Crump

The 134-year-old Crump (with the front half of the building being 152 years old) is one of the oldest remaining structures in downtown Columbus. And boy, does it hold some history. That’s the beautiful thing about theaters; they were a centerpiece for people to gather for escapism — laughing, dreaming, crying, being frightened, and falling in love over the smell of buttery popcorn — everything that reminds us of the uniqueness of the human condition celebrated under one magical roof. That bond anchors togetherness and connectedness — it builds community. Something I feel we’ve lost over the past several years by just looking at the screens on our phones. Maybe we need a big screen and stage to remind us who we are. Perhaps we need a place to let the projector shine some wonder and allow us to gather in a space for architecturally significant experiences. Especially if the location still holds a seemingly alive past and is interactive enough to engage with you. Yes, I do mean haunted. Yes, I do mean ghosts, and I mean this most respectfully and fascinatingly.

The Crump has many layers to its historic shell. Its appearance has undergone many renovations over the years. Embedded within that density is a chronicle of colorful lives that impacted this beautiful building. There have been many ups and downs in The Crump’s history. Recently, it had been shut down for many years. But in 2019, the Columbus Capital Foundation turned the keys over to project manager Jess Schnepp. She and her team of volunteers have been able to get The Crump reopened. But there is still a lot of work to do and money to raise to get the theater up to its fullest potential. PARAHOLICS.COM has been cultivating a relationship with the theatre to help establish exploring the paranormal as an avenue to help with fundraising. From flashlight ghost tours, and public and private investigations, to eventually hosting paranormal conferences — the paranormal community can be a significant asset to The Crump and honor the lives of the men and women who are a part of its story. So, are you ready to get into The Crump Theatre?

The Lady in Black: A Haunting Mystery

There’s been a long history of paranormal stories involving this building, and there have been many investigations in the past. But with it being shut down for such a long time and the limited access to the structure, how have the ghosts been? When I began my conversation with Jess and her team members, I wasn’t surprised to hear that throughout construction work, several people have had unexplainable experiences. The most notable are the reports of a lady wearing a black dress seen on the eastern staircase in the main lobby. The Lady in Black, as she’s been coined, has appeared so solid that workers have been confident that she was an actual person wearing a period-style dress. So that got me curious if I could find out who this lady could be. There have been other claims as well. A young boy has been seen — a large man in the Lady’s Lounge restroom upstairs. People have reported being touched. I have personally experienced this. I’ve heard disembodied voices, too.

The Zerega Mystery: Unveiling May Dema Hill

For my investigation, I wanted to start at the beginning and slowly peel back the layers of time at this fantastic location and eventually work my way forward. A systematic approach like that might give me my best shot at uncovering The Lady in Black’s identity. And if you’re starting at the inception of this location, you must address the man who started it all, Civil War veteran and attorney Colonel John A. Keith.

I won’t go over every fascinating detail of Colonel Keith’s story. You’ll find much information in the timelines in this post. But know he built the front half of The Crump, which is comprised of what is now the lobby and second-floor mezzanine level. This original construction was known as Keith’s Arcade. And no, sadly, it wasn’t a place for pinball or Pac-Man. Throughout the years and renovations, many different renters occupied the Arcade section of the building even after it became The Crump Theatre — including the law office of Colonel Keith, apartment flats, a piano store, a barbershop, etc. One strange and notable tenant was the Indus Infirmary, which claimed to be able to cure every form of chronic disease, especially cancer. I can’t believe they went out of business. Just imagine the trauma that office brought into Keith’s Arcade alone. The front section of the building is indeed the oldest (1871), and the theater was built in 1889 onto the back of the arcade. Until the 1940s renovation, the entrance into the theater was just one doorway, and a hall would lead you back into the venue space.

Colonel Keith’s life was colorful and full of tragedy. It’s documented that he was a big drinker. At one point, he even shot a passenger on a train, believing he was under attack from an advancing enemy. He was later committed to the Central States Asylum for some time as he was ruled insane. At that point, he lost his building, and John Crump purchased it.

But alcoholism and PTSD weren’t the worst of Colonel Keith’s tragedies. It was the untimely and mysterious death of his only child, Mary (May) Dema Hill. May Dema’s death became known as The Zerega Mystery. May, against her father’s wishes, married Columbus native Edgar Hill. The couple adopted the identities of Zerega’s Spanish Troubadours and performed music all over Europe as a guitar and mandolin ensemble. They claimed to be from Madrid, Spain, and went under the aliases of Eduardo Zerega and Senorita Dema Terval. It was on May 6, 1896, that May checked herself into a New York Hotel under the name of Mrs. Everett of Boston and two days later committed suicide by gun — allegedly. After the authorities figured out her true identity, and it was discovered that days before her death, she changed her will to leave everything to her husband, and upon some bruising found on her body and witnesses coming forward alleging abuse, the Keith family sued and contested May’s will. Although the Keith family ultimately lost, it seems Edgar’s father was a very powerful man, and this defeat devastated Colonel Keith. It wasn’t until I saw the artist’s rendition of Mrs. Everett of Boston in the paper that I wondered, could May Dema Hill be The Lady in Black? Especially if she could be seeking the help of her father if her demise was unjust. She could be restless and want justice. Witnesses of The Lady in Black phenomenon see similarities when shown the artist’s rendering of Mrs. Everett from this newspaper clip.

Death at The Crump: Golda Coombs’ Untimely End

Why are theatres rumored to be haunted? Especially if you take away Ford’s Theatre, typically, they are not the scene of tragedy. One pervading theory is that the whole gambit of emotions displayed in a theater acts like a magnet that attracts disincarnate spectators from its past. But was there ever a death in The Crump? The official word is no. But I beg to differ. A news article from the October 11th, 1920, The Evening Republican reports Golda Coombs succumbing to gas fumes and drowning in her bathtub while her husband Earl was out. The report listed her as living in a Crump flat on Third Street. The official name of the apartments in The Crump Theatre was the Opera House Flats. Maybe the newspaper reporter was playing it loose. But the most telling sign to me is that the paper gives her funeral location as her residence, right above the M.E. Davis Piano Store. According to an old city directory, the store was located at 427 3rd Street, right in The Crump, placing the Coombs flat approximately in the Ladies Lounge on the second floor. Maybe Golda could be our Lady in Black?

I’m grateful for the historic buildings that Columbus has protected. There are undoubtedly so many more people to meet as we unravel the history of The Crump Theatre. Who knows what other gems we may uncover? Without The Crump still standing, we’d never get to know Colonel Keith or the Zerega Mystery. That’s the beauty of historical buildings. And that’s the gift that haunts, and ghosts, give — a glimpse into times that would be lost without them. They serve as reminders of how brief our existence is. They teach us that every moment is our chance to leave an indelible mark wherever we are. Who knows, maybe you’ll have a story that you, too, will want heard after you’re dead and gone and in a stunning place to tell it.

The Crump is finally back to lend a voice to help shape Columbus, Indiana.

— Evel Ogilville

P.S. — I highly recommend reviewing the historical information presented in this post, even before watching my videos. It’s best to approach any investigation with as accurate information as possible, especially if you plan to investigate The Crump yourself. It will help build a credible foundation for your findings with honor and respect for The Crump’s history if you have the facts.

The Crump Theatre

Paranormal Claims:

Disembodied voices/laughter | Apparitions (The Lady in Black)| Equipment Malfunctions | Being Touched/Grabbed | Visual Light Anomalies | Disembodied Footsteps | Shadow Figures | Unaccounted for music

Tour Video:

Video Investigation #1:

Video Investigation #2:

Video Investigation #3:

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The Crump is offering paranormal investigations now as their calendar permits. Please follow their social media for opportunities for public or private investigations.

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Email: thecrumptheatre@gmail.com

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Historic Timelines:

1860 – Mercantile owner Isham Keith and sons establish hardware store at southeast corner of Third and Washington streets with Keith’s Hall, used for stage shows, in rear of second floor; credited as being first theater in town

1871/1874 – Isham’s son attorney and Civil War veteran Col. John A. Keith contracted (possibly with Isham) for two-story building on south side of Third Street to be constructed. Known as Keith’s Arcade because of architectural design of arches on façade. From 1871 to 1889, merchants and businessmen rented space in building, included newspaper, dining hall/restaurants, shops, medical/dental and law offices, including Keith’s

1872 – F.J. Crump opens opera house/hall at Fourth and Washington streets (has been mistaken for current Crump)

1873 – Keith advertises for “Keith’s Grand Distribution,” property raffle with Arcade Block worth $18,000 as second prize

1885 – Keith decides to build opera house on Third Street, making present entrance to Arcade entrance that to opera house, which will be built to the rear and over Arcade building

1887/1889 – Keith determined insane and taken to asylum. At the time he owed F.T. Crump $28,000. In order to satisfy debt, David Stobo, court-assigned guardian, had most of Keith’s property auctioned, and F.T. Crump purchased entire estate. Businessman son John Crump acquired Keith’s Arcade property for $6,000. Keith allowed to keep two rooms on second floor free of charge for two years

1889 – Crump buys adjoining lot next to arcade from Fred Donner and hires architect Charles Sparrell to add theatre to building. Arcade portion of building remodeled. Section under middle arch became entrance to theater. Ground-floor rooms on either side of entrance rented for business purposes. Rooms on second floor rented to day boarders. Words “Keith’s, Arcade, A. D. 1871” embedded within each arch at top of building removed and replaced with “Crump’s New Theatre.” Crump’s New Theatre opened as city’s “first true opera house.” Functioned as opera house and Vaudeville theater for about next about 30 years

1891 – John Crump buys Bissell Hotel property and remodels to include tunnel underneath Third Street to connect Belvedere Hotel to theater

1903 – Crump’s Theatre redecorating included new drop curtain and updated mechanics for moving large sceneries on stage. Auditorium repainted

1905/1913 – First movie reels shown at theater. Later second projector needed so longer motion pictures could be shown, which required substantial renovation to accommodate larger projection room. Crump died in 1920 before his plan to enlarge theater

1920 – First renovation of Crump Theatre. Crump’s heirs honor wishes for remodeling and updating. Movie projectors and movie screens installed and original Keith’s Arcade façade taken down. The Opera House Flats, two apartments on second floor, vacated and Clarence Howe Barber Shop and Columbus Realty businesses relocated. What had originally been two separate buildings (Keith’s Arcade and actual theater adjoining at rear) became one

1923 – Frank J. Rembusch leases theater

1929 – First all-talking movies shown at theater 

1931 – Crump heirs sell theater to Louis Holwager, owner of Holwager’s Grand Opera House in Madison, which Crump had used as model for theater

1934 – Truman Rembusch’s Syndicated Theatres acquires rental lease for Crump. Second major renovation included new sound system and movie screen, more comfortable seating and new carpeting. Bottom of interior lobby walls lined with black glass tiles and aluminum frames for movie posters. Contest to change name of theater announced. Elsie Harris wins first prize of $25 with Von Ritz. Name never changed as community resisted loss of name of theater’s founder

1935 – New three-piece marquee and electric lights on exterior

1941 – Architect Alden Meranda completed third renovation that transformed building into current Art Deco design, which was more in alignment with other contemporary theaters. A vitrolite front was added. Five-foot letters spelling out “Crump” vertically attached and single-piece marquee running length of front installed. Hundreds of lightbulbs along horizontal marquee. Ticket booth relocated outside. Entrances and exits were placed on either side of the ticket booth. Main-floor lobby enlarged. Main restrooms were relocated to upstairs mezzanine. New light-activated water fountains installed

1941- Holwager dies. Crump again passes to heirs

1949 – Rembusch’s Syndicated Theatres buys Crump for $150,000

1950s-60s – Peak popularity

1978 or 79 – Smoke damage from fire next door, destroying many historic pieces

1987 – Margrat trust fund established by Rembusch for children seeks bids for demolition of theater

1989 – Vernon Jewell buys theater with purpose of saving from demolition

1994 – Columbus Capital Foundation purchases from Jewell. Save the Crump campaign begins

Colonel John A. Keith

Timeline

Col. John A. Keith (The Colonel, Col. J.A. Keith), prominent local attorney, property owner and Civil War hero, born in 1823, son of Isham and Diadema Keith.

1855 – Opened law office shortly after moving to Columbus; at time of war said to be leading criminal lawyer of Southern Indiana. Isham Keith, a Columbus merchant, and son Lt. Col. Isham Squire Keith, killed in Civil War, established local hardware store at southeast corner of Third and Washington streets with Keith’s Hall on second floor for stage shows (father also had mercantile business at northwest corner of intersection). Keiths later erected Keith’s Arcade with theater and offices and owned nearby downtown land and properties that become known as “Keithtown.”

1859 – J.A. Keith married childhood sweetheart Melissa “Littie” Crisler. Melissa died in 1861 shortly after birth of couple’s only child, May Dema. They were engaged for 13 years and married only 13 months before her death. Daughter raised largely by Keith’s parents and sister Diadema “Pink” Prather after bereft J.A. left for war shortly after wife’s funeral. Shot in shoulder in Civil War, which disabled him for life. Couldn’t raise arm to head and known to walk with gold-headed cane.

• Mysterious Death — Daughter May Keith Hill, a talented singer, married Edward Hill, also of Columbus, in 1880, purportedly to the objection of her father. Couple lived on East Coast working as music teacher and bookkeeper (allegedly at times destitute) and as traveling musicians in Europe, as the E.G. Hillers and often performing as “Senor and Senora Eduardo Zoriga/Zorega/Zorign” and Spanish Troubadours guitar and mandolin band. In 1896 May’s body was discovered in Colonnade Hotel in New York City, where she had traveled alone in “mysterious departure” from London and registered as “Mrs. Everett (of Boston).” Said to have been suicide by shooting. Edgar’s father, former congressman Ralph Hill, traveled to identify body and made arrangements for cremation. Keith and Prather sent telegrams protesting the cremation. Body transported to Columbus. Keith and family believed she had been murdered and contested her will that left majority of estate to husband, claiming it was executed under undue influence and when of unsound mind. Jury upheld will, and state Supreme Court rejected Keith’s appeal. At Columbus trial, witnesses testified May had been mistreated by husband and that she feared insanity. Prather traveled to New York to collect evidence and argued the apparent suicide note left by May that claimed fear of insanity and requested cremation as she had no family had not been written by her niece and questioned a bruise left under May’s breast. When questioned by reporters regarding May’s death, Edward only would say she “was acquaintance of his family.” In 1898 another will be produced that had left property to aunt Judith Keith and other relatives, but new lawsuit dismissed. Family said to have remained bitter against Hill. Death never solved/crime never proved. Several mentions of May having returned to city to visit her father before her death. Couple had visited during World’s Fair, allegedly when will in question was executed.

o Prather (May’s tenacious Aunt) said to have recounted at governor’s office that during this visit May had asked to visit mother’s grave in City Cemetery and weeping there, said, “Oh mamma, forgive me! If I have done anything that I ought not to do, I was driven to it.” (1957, Columbus Herald)

1871/1874 – Contracted (possibly with Isham) for two-story building on south side of Third Street to be constructed. Known as Keith’s Arcade because of architectural design of arches on façade. From 1871 to 1889, merchants and businessmen rented space in building, such as newspaper, dining hall/restaurants, shops, medical and dental offices, including advertised Indus Infirmary “practice in chronic diseases,” and law offices, including Keith’s.​

“Col. Keith’s new brick block will soon be completed and ready for occupancy. It is a noble structure and an ornament to the place. But few communities possess such enterprising and public spirited citizens as the colonel. Long may he live.” (1871, The Republic)

1873 – Keith advertised for “Keith’s Grand Distribution,” apparent property raffle with Arcade Block worth $18,000 as second prize. Does not appear to have taken place.

Keith amassed much wealth, said to have been charitable “almost to a fault.”

1881 – While aboard train, Keith shot and injured fellow passenger, jumped from train and hid in woods. Said to have believed robbers on train or that back in war advancing on enemy and was suffering from mania resulting from excessive drinking.

1885 – Keith reportedly decided to build opera house on Third Street, making present entrance to Arcade entrance that to opera house, which will be built to the rear and over Arcade building.

1887/1889 – Keith frequently reported as ill. Taken to stateasylum in 1888, said not for first time, reported as appearing rational but soon “took to drink” and became demented.

January 1888 – Justices held inquest and found Keith to be insane and to be taken to asylum. At time owed F.T. Crump $28,000. In order to satisfy debt, David Stobo, Keith’s court-assigned guardian, had most of Keith’s property auctioned, and F.T. Crump purchased entire estate. Businessman son John Crump acquired Keith’s Arcade property for $6,000. Keith allowed to keep two rooms on second floor free of charge for two years.

September 1888 — Keith returned home “from Indianapolis greatly improved in health.” 

Advertised legal practice in early 1890s. 1898 mention of sickness at his home from hay fever. 

1910 — Keith died at age 78 of asthma and Bright’s Disease (kidney diseases) at Prather’s home. Buried in City Cemetery.

• Drummer boy for Keith’s regiment during Civil War returned to “have a last word with his old Colonel,” saying after he ran away from home at 14 and enlisted, Keith was both mother and father to him during war.

City Cemetery (Donner)

wife Melissa “Littie” Crisler Keith – 1835-1861

daughter Mary Dema “May” Keith Hill – 1861-1896 – (Prather side of monument = Diadema Frances “Pink” Keith Prather was John’s sister)

May and Edgar Hill — Zerega’s Spanish Troubadours and the Zerega Mystery

Zerega’s Spanish Troubadours were a mandolin and guitar ensemble active at the end of the 19th century in England.They were directed by Eduardo Zerega, known in the mandolin world. Less well known is the untimely death of his wife in 1896 in New York, that was described in the newspapers of the day, as the “Zerega Mystery”. Zerega was the stage name of Edgar Hill and his wife May, Senorita Dema Terval. While the Zeregas promoted themselves as from Madrid, Spain, the Hills were born in Indiana, but moved to London shortly after they were married.

Eduardo Zerega was born Edgar E. Hill around 1860 in Columbus, Indiana, USA. On 21 April 1880 he married May D Keith in Bartholomew, Indiana. Because the marriage was opposed by her father, the couple left Columbus, and went to live in London. When visiting New York in 1896, the papers described him as “about five feet five inches in height, and strongly built”. For a time in England, Eduardo Zerego claimed to be a Spanish national, before confirming his American citizenship. He died in London on 22 July 1922

The Zerega Mystery

“Mrs Everett of Boston” who was later identified as Mrs E. E. Hill, Senorita Zerega.
On the 6th May 1896, a woman registered at the Colonnade Hotel, Lafayette Place, New York, as “Mrs Everett of Boston”. Two days later, she committed suicide by shooting herself with a revolver through the left ear.The suicide note read: “Hereditary insanity. Please cremate and pay landlord for damages, etc. Have no family, so beg that my wishes be observed”

There was soon speculation as to the identity of the woman, and there were suspicions (incorrectly) that she was a French woman called Louise Lansburg.But eventually she was identified from the manufacturer’s name on her gloves and a scrap of printed label, which led to “Mrs Everett” being identified as Mrs E. Zerega whose name appeared on the passenger manifest of the USS Saint Paul, and that she was Mrs Edgar E. Hill. A positive identification was made by her father-in-law ex-Judge Ralph Hill of Indianapolis.

Before she died, May had gone to a New York lawyer to ensure that $5,000 worth of property she owned in Indiana would be bequeathed to her husband. Four years after her death, her will was successfully contested by her aunt on the grounds of “unsoundness of mind”.

Did Golda Coombs Die in The Crump?

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Notable Tenants & Misc.

All historical info graciously harvested by the voracious Eunice Specter.

A Long-Awaited Update: Substack, Obscura Vox and Beyond

After 10 years of posting on PARAHOLICS via WordPress, I’ve decided it’s time to move the blog. Why? Well, WordPress has become cumbersome, and my frustration with the platform has only grown. I’ve recently developed a strong preference for Substack. It offers features and benefits that appeal to those who enjoy writing, and it connects you with an audience that genuinely enjoys reading. Over the next few months, I’ll be integrating old PARAHOLICS posts into Substack, so don’t worry—they’ll gradually appear.

I’ve also been steadily working through posts on Obscura Vox ITC (OVI). Are you following me there yet? You really should, especially if you want the inside scoop on PRISM. What’s PRISM, you ask? Oh, it’s only one of the most groundbreaking innovations in ITC ever! You’ll need to subscribe to OVI to find out more. And don’t forget to check out my work at ITCVoices.org (ITCV) for more fascinating ITC information!

Life Changes and Lingering Opinions 

Some things have changed, and others have not. For instance, over a year ago, I had a small stroke—that’s new (one star, do not recommend). My disdain for SLS cameras? That’s old hat. I also might have stumbled upon a Sasquatch print in Florida—that’s a plot twist! Oh, and my opinion on YouTube ghost-hunting videos hasn’t changed—the majority still portray painfully exaggerated reactions, false history, and demonic trite.

The disingenuous entertainment-centric approach to paranormal investigation is a slap in the face to the pioneers and researchers who paved the way for the field. This approach has accomplished nothing but impedes real progress by flooding the unexplainable with the unacceptable.

In contrast, why can’t the presentation of paranormal content be grounded in authenticity and emotional depth? Despite a few mistakes, I’ve tried throughout my career to focus on genuine experiences over sensationalism and to create a thoughtful dialogue around the phenomena we encounter. The honest mystery of the paranormal should be captivating and beautiful enough without the added tripe.

The Power of Emotion in Paranormal Investigation

As a spoken word artist, I understand how emotions can transform a space, making the air itself feel almost tangible. Emotions are the secret sauce for creating unforgettable experiences. I’m not saying I’m a fan of every type of extreme emotion, but if I’ve created something and presented it, and it doesn’t elicit a reaction from you—good or bad—then whatever I presented was probably a dud. A dismissive shoulder shrug is a dagger to the heart of any creative. But if there’s one emotion I’m addicted to, it’s happiness. There’s nothing like the sound of laughter, especially when it’s born out of chaos and absurdity.

My humor translates well to comedy and comedians. I genuinely love people who make me laugh. I feel fortunate that some of my great friends are professional stand-up comics. Yes, they get paid to be wildlings. As a bonus, not only are they funny, but they are also explorers of the paranormal. So, I had a thought—what happens when you bring comedians into a haunted location?

Not that they are in a haunted building performing bits per se, but comics are naturally observant, astute on the fly, and pack a powerful wit—great gifts to have on any investigation. But could comedians also serve as the ultimate ghost bait? Most people respond to honey, not vinegar, and if you’ve met my friends, you’re in for a treat. 

Yeah, I just wrote that. 

Laughter: The Ultimate Ghost Bait?

Just over a year ago, shortly after my fun stroke episode, I spent an entire day with Jeff Bodart and Ryan Singer—and let me tell you, it was a day I needed. I have a theory, and maybe it’s not entirely mine, but I believe that The Others, or whatever you’d like to refer to the phenomena we connect with in our investigations, are attracted to high states of emotion. I believe emotions can also be a catalyst for paranormal activity.

In heightened emotional states, we vibrate more intensely, offering a smorgasbord of energy for attracting entities. Maybe it makes dealing with us fleshy meat-suit wearers more tolerable—and possibly more delectable, depending on the entity you have enticed—I don’t know. But what better emotion to bring into a haunted location than the light and frequency of laughter from comics?

Haunted places retain a memory, a consciousness—these places have their moods. Just as our emotions can transform a space, haunted places can often alter our headspace. Sometimes, those moods are not the most hospitable, either. Then we mix in ourselves, the people. We enter these spaces with our expectations and hopes (it’s best to be clear of those). We want to see what we can experience and learn from these environments. 

What sort of approach do you think will yield the best results while engaging with someone who is depressed, lonely, angry, or sad? Those are feelings we often find when entering haunted locations—if not, the location probably wouldn’t be considered “haunted.” What manner would best benefit the exchange for a positive outcome for both parties? Do you think it’s best to bring anger to someone who’s already pissed? Or maybe there’s a gentler, kinder approach?

I have often said that the frequency of our intentions plays a considerable role in our success in instrumental trans-communication. Much like the golden rule, this principle applies to all interactions—it’s a universal law.

As an aside, as someone who had a brief brush with death myself—even though I didn’t die (much)—I can assure you that after you pass and if you get an opportunity to communicate with a stranger, the last thing you’d likely want to discuss is the one time you died (I’m betting it sucked swamp ass). Think about it—it’s not the most endearing topic.

Out of respect for the others, I disavow provoking with hate and anger. Why not be thought-provoking and engaging instead? Fear and darkness can be effective if you’re looking for clicks for your YouTubing ego—but I don’t recommend it. Let’s be honest; Hell does look great on some folks, and I’m not here to judge unless you use an SLS camera. But I digress.

A Commitment to Authenticity and Education

I couldn’t think of a better way to spend the day. Jeff, a brilliant comic and the creator of Tarbo Wands, is also a fantastic artist and intuitive. Then there’s Ryan Singer—a hilarious and genuine human being; he’s a seeker of the esoteric and host of the incredible podcast Me and Paranormal You. We headed into two of my all-time favorite local haunted hotspots, The Candlelight House and The Crump Theatre. Please watch the two accompanying videos to get a sense of how our sessions went.

The day ended with an exceptional comedy performance by Jeff and Ryan in the Viewpoint Books performance area. As I said, it was the perfect way to spend the day, and I’m thrilled to report that all spirits were lifted—especially mine.

Wrapping Up: Spirits Lifted and Lessons Learned

Thank you for joining me on this unique journey, regardless of the platform we’ve met on. I always want this to be a space where we explore the paranormal with authenticity, curiosity, and a sense of humor. Let’s engage in meaningful discussions and challenge the status quo of paranormal content. Together, we can uncover the deeper connections between laughter and the unexplained.

Be excellent to each other,

—Evel Ogilville

Videos:

Part 1: The Candlelight House

Part 2: The Crump Theatre

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Video Notes: 

Part 1 The Candlelight House:

For more information concerning the history and hauntings of The Candlelight House, please visit: 

The yes/no response device is called an Epoch Box. For more information, visit: https://www.ghostgeartech.com/https://www.ghostgeartech.com. 

The Phoenix is a phonetic device made by Katie Hultay of Hultay Paranormal. This device is void of any internet, radio, word banks, etc… It’s incredible. 

Part 2: The Crump Theatre 

For more information concerning the history and hauntings of the Crump Theatre, please visit:

The ITC app used is Echovox 3.0, truly one of the only credible apps on the market. 

We were joined by the legend himself, The Floatee Goatee, The Sage of Saluda, The Mangler of Madison, Mr. Geno 100% — the one and only Gene Caswell of The Jefferson County Paranormal Society. 

Gene broke out The Afterlight Box made by Martin Bellefeuille of eXtremeSenses Software in collaboration with Ant England of the United Kingdom. 

I realized years ago that the alias of Evel Ogilville was confusing in ITC sessions, especially if you get a response that said “evil.” This is pretty evident in both locations. Regardless, I have been called both versions in my time. 

The discussion about the Frank’s Box was amazing.  Psychic medium April Slaughter had been waiting for a message from the creator of the Frank’s Box, Frank Sumption, on whether or not to allow me to have her Frank’s Box #37. I think not only did we receive that message in the Crump. Please note that Mr. Sumption passed in 2014 and is known for coming through ITC sessions, and he often referred to himself as The Purple Princess.