Zach had driven by Rosewood plenty of times. He’d even parked and walked through the historic neighborhood. Blocks away, restoration of both the Market Hall as well as the old Pullman factory was nearly complete. Decades ago, fire had ravaged the historical landmarks. Zach vaguely recalled the incident, but didn’t remember the details. Details that, no doubt, Wendy would supply at tomorrow’s briefing.
Standing at the chain-link fence that separated him from Rosewood’s original wrought iron gate, Zach felt much more anxious than he had on previous walks around Pullman. Soon he would be inside the asylum; in a position to solve the hundred-year mystery of Rosewood’s haunting. As dusk slowly claimed Pullman, questions ran through Zach’s mind. Would the two teams, XPI and Demon Hunters, work in harmony? Would they discover natural phenomenon that would scientifically explain and debunk the ghost stories, or would they document proof of the paranormal? Would the infamous female spirit who had scared off people for a century reveal herself to them? To him?
The asylum’s main entryway had stood sentinel for over a century. Situated on the northeastern edge of the property, set in from the corner of 115th Street and Pine Avenue, a nine-foot fence topped with barbed wire separated Zach from the historic buildings. The fence served as a northern barrier along 115th Street. Past the two oak trees to the west, lay the new strip mall with the GrocersMart and a Muses Coffee House. The fence also ran southward around a building that had been the hospital’s administrative offices and another that had long ago been the asylum’s stables.
Although his emotions were in check, Zach swore he caught a hint of Sailor Black in the air. Was this a warning to stay away from Rosewood? Was the investigation doomed before it had even begun? When he heard a voice, Zach nearly crawled out of his skin.
“Allo, mate.”
Zach spun around. Pierre, the Demon Hunters’ TechniHunter, stood on the side of Pine Avenue within thirty feet of him. In his right hand was a lit pipe.
“What the heck are you doing here?”
“Prolly just like you, I came t’ava lil Captain Cook.”
Zach struggled to make sense of what he was trying to say. “What?”
“Ya’ know, an earl tea look.”
Zach had read about the colloquial language of Australians, but he’d never met anyone who used the Cockney-like slang.
“Yes, an early look,” Zach said. “I, too, wanted to get a lay of the land.”
Pierre appeared as confused as Zach felt.
“Right. Lay of the land,” Pierre repeated. He chuckled and took a puff from his pipe. Not Sailor Black but a similar aroma.
“Did you, Angel and Matthew get things squared away for tomorrow?”
The more Zach had considered their task, the more he understood that it was a technical nightmare—it was going to take a lot of generators to power their cameras and lights. Moreover, the cameras and video equipment would require substantial effort to properly situate and set up.
“Squared away,” Pierre repeated. “I’d say we’re squared, mate.” He appeared pensive. “Did things go well wif you yanks at lunch?”
“Sure, it was all shits and giggles.”
“Shits and giggles, eh?” He peered at Zach and then took a purposeful suck on his pipe. “Well, nice chattin’ with ya, but I think I might find me a ribbidy dub. I could really do with a kitchen sink.”
That one had Zach puzzled. It was becoming quite clear why the Demon Hunters, or perhaps the network, had prevented Pierre from speaking on camera. The wrong phrase uttered at the wrong time could ignite World War III.
“You want to get a cup of coffee?” Zach asked, pointing towards Muses.
“No coffee for me, mate, but a Germain Greer will really hit the spot.”
“A beer?” Zach was starting to get the hang of it. “Not for me. I gotta wake up early.”
“A’course, but I can’t sleep without my beer.” Pierre winked. “Don’t worry, I’ll slosh back a kitchen sink or two for you. G’nite, mate!”
Zach watched him mosey up the street, but couldn’t let the Australian have the last word. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Keep your eyes peeled for me.”
Pierre looked back and nodded.
Out of nowhere, Zach’s internal voice spoke.
One may smile and smile and be a villain.
Charming as Pierre was, Zach didn’t trust any of the Demon Hunters and found it a bit suspicious that he’d run into him at Rosewood. Then again, maybe Pierre was thinking the same thing about him.
Situated at the east end of the strip mall, Muses Coffee House, especially its outdoor patio, offered a good view of Rosewood’s back wall. At least fifty yards from the road, the building was beyond the reach of streetlights. As twilight turned to night, the asylum became harder and harder to see. It slowly slipped into brooding darkness. As he sipped a Decaf, Zach wondered if this nightly disappearing act helped account for Rosewood’s haunted reputation. He spent a couple hours jotting down notes, impressions and reminders–notably about the houses across the street from Rosewood’s grounds.
Beyond an alleyway behind the strip mall were six bungalows. Both corner lots on either side of the cul-de-sac that connected to Lincoln Avenue were vacant. At one time, all the houses, lots and even the entire strip mall had been the property of Rosewood Psychiatric.
Zach looked at his watch, sipped the last of his drink and stood up to leave. From behind him, came a timid voice.
“Mr. Kalusky, is that you?”
“‘Mister Kalusky’ is my dad,” Zach said, turning around.
The voice belonged to a woman much older than he had expected. She wore a simple, off-white dress with a white shawl. She stood there smiling. He guessed her to be almost eighty-years old. Her wrinkled face gave away her age, but there was also a youthful glow, a vibrant aura that exuded from her.
“Oh, hello ma’am. I’m Zach.”
“My mother is ‘ma’am,’ she said. “I’m Evelyn.”
“Nice to meet you, Evelyn.” Well trained in manners, Zach knew not to extend his hand to a woman, especially an older woman, unless and until she did so first. She did not. “What can I do for you?”
“Perhaps, it’s what I can do for you. You are to investigate Rosewood, are you not?”
Her question seemed more a statement of fact. One that took Zach by surprise. “How do you know that?”
She smiled. It was both bashful and knowing. “Well, you are here across the street from Chicago’s most infamous place, so I assumed. More importantly however, I have some information for you regarding Rosewood.”
“Really? How?”
Her mouth twitched, a sudden and quick nervous tic. “My mother worked there as a nurse. I know things.”
“Okay. What can you tell me?”
“Well, Mister Ka—”
“Zach,” he reminded her, gently.
“Well, it is a rather sensitive subject,” she said, softly. “My mother told me things. She spoke of events that happened there many years ago.”
“Painful things?”
It appeared at first as though she didn’t know how to respond. “Secret things,” she said. “Happenings that, under normal circumstances, should not be brought into the light of day.”
“Can I buy you a cup of coffee,” Zach asked, glancing inside. When she hesitated, he added, “Or perhaps tea?”
She smiled wistfully as though considering. “No. No thank you. I don’t drink coffee or tea anymore.”
Zach grinned and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Well then. Tell me what you know about Rosewood. Please.”
“Before I begin, I need you to promise that you’ll keep what I say in the utmost of confidence. For reasons which will become obvious, you must not disclose where you learned what I am about to reveal.”
Zach chuckled. “Okay, you’ll be my ‘Mark Felt.’”
Her expression remained blank.
“My ‘Deep Throat’—like in Watergate.”
“Oh yes.
Of course.”
If Zach didn’t know better, he’d have wondered if she’d ever even heard the terms. The old lady might just be nervous. Or have Alzheimer’s.
Zach raised his right hand the way he had when he was in Boy Scouts. “Whatever you tell me, I give you my word that I’ll not disclose your identity to anyone.”
She beamed.
“Then first, you must be very careful. There are forces here the likes of which you may never have before encountered.”
“Like?”
She scowled as though tasting something awful. “As in demonic forces.”
“How do you know?”
Her mouth twitched as it had before. “My mother told me.”
“Okay,” Zach said. “How about if you start from the beginning?”
“We don’t have time for that now. I need to go, but I will tell you more after you verify what I’m about to tell you is true. Otherwise, it may be too overwhelming. You might think I’m crazy.”
“I’d never think you’re cr—”
“Listen,” she said. “You’ll have to investigate all the fires. With only a cursory look, you’ll not see it, but they’re all connected.”
“The fires across the street?” Zach nodded toward Rosewood.
“No. Well, yes and no. The fires there. And the fires over there.” She pointed at the dual empty lots near the bungalows. “They’re all related to fire here long ago and the fire that destroyed the Pullman Market Hall. Connected even to the fire that burned down the White City.”
Zach didn’t know what to make of it. “The White City?”
“Yes. They were all started by one man.” Her face darkened. “I’ve told you enough for now. Once you have verified what I’ve told you is true, we can speak again.”
“How will I contact you?”
“We can meet here again. Shall we say tomorrow night?”
“Sure. What time?”
“About this same time,” she said, already inching away. “After eleven.”
“Wait. Can I walk you to your car? I want to make sure you get home safely, Evelyn.” He not only wanted to ensure her safety but to prolong their conversation a few more minutes.
“Oh no,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “I’m not going home just yet.”
She turned and made her way toward the GrocersMart adjacent to the coffee house. Zach looked at his watch again. No wonder that she’d been in a hurry. The store’s closing hour was quickly approaching. Apparently the secretive old girl kept some late hours.
Chapter Seven
“Okay,” Sara said to him looking no more frazzled than she typically did the first day of shooting. “Are we ready?”
Zach nodded and waited for Sara to get her cameras rolling. There were two HD camera operators and a few members of the production crew holding boom microphones. After a season on the air, Zach thought it funny how easy it was to ignore them swarming around.
When he sensed everyone was situated, he strode to the gates and held his hands out to his sides. “Xavier Paranormal Investigators and Demon Hunters, welcome to Rosewood Psychiatric Hospital!”
“Woot! Woot! Woot!” The Demon Hunters startled him with the signature cheer normally reserved for Bryce. They thunked their fists together in rapid succession while they barked. Zach’s fellow XPI members clapped a bit less enthusiastically at first but quickly picked up steam to match their rivals’ intensity.
“In just a little while, Rosewood’s custodian will be here to open these gates and give us a full guided tour of the grounds. But first, to kick things off today, we’re going to have a briefing about the property presented by our phenomenal Historical Researcher, Wendy.”
As much as Wendy’s selfish dating behavior had been criticized, no one questioned her on-camera awareness and presence. She flashed her photogenic smile, cozied up to Zach and made a point to brush her hand on his forearm as she began speaking.
“Aw. Thanks, Zach.” Her tone was seductive. “Our story begins in 1879, just fourteen years after the conclusion of the Civil War and just seven years after the Great Chicago Fire. Industrialist George M. Pullman purchased 4,000 acres of land in this area, and the first American model industrial town was born. In 1889, Hyde Park Township, which included Pullman, was annexed into the City of Chicago through popular election. Now, the majority of Pullman residents voted against annexation. One of the major issues of the time was the City’s desire to build an asylum here. Chicago wanted to have a place far enough away from Downtown to send ‘undesirables’ before the upcoming World’s Fair Columbian Exposition.”
“Move it along, Wendy,” Sara called out.
As sensitive as Wendy often was in real life, on-camera, she was unflappable. Over the course of the first season, Sara had worked with her to eliminate reading, in favor of an extemporaneous speech which could be later edited. Wendy responded by quickly learning to spit out historical facts in sound byte fashion.
“Rosewood Psychiatric opened in 1892.”
“Good!” Sara said.
“In 1893, the World’s Fair, nicknamed ‘The White City,’ took place. There was a nationwide depression. Blah, Blah Blah. In 1894, during the Pullman Strike, the White City burns—”
“Wendy!” Sara’s tone had taken on the sting of a jockey’s whip on a racehorse’s backside.
“Sorry. That info was for Zach. Okay…” Wendy smiled for the cameras as if she’d just been awarded an Emmy. She held up a sepia-toned photograph of a two-story building. “In 1898, Rosewood’s female quarters burned to the ground. More than a dozen women were incinerated in the fire, and patients first began to report seeing a ghastly female spirit.”
Wendy held up a badly faded, black and white photograph of a homely looking woman and a cute little girl. “It wasn’t until 1900 that people began lending credence to the ghost stories. A widow, Abigail Lovecroft, who was working as a nurse at Rosewood, and her daughter, Amelia, reported a paranormal event. The daughter witnessed a boy consumed by a powerful female ghost who then threatened her. There was no little boy known to be on the premises that day, so it was assumed he was a ghost as well.”
“Good. Keep it moving,” Sara shouted.
Wendy took a deep breath. “Abigail Lovecroft was the first Rosewood employee to resign her post because of the haunting, but she certainly would not be the last.”
Sara flashed Wendy two thumbs up.
“In fact, by 1902, there had been so many complaints that people began attempting to block relatives from being sent to Rosewood. More patients were committing suicide than were being discharged! Additionally, it became increasingly difficult and eventually impossible to staff the hospital. Like Abigail Lovecroft, nurses often quit abruptly never to return. In 1903, months after the mysterious death of the hospital’s administrator, Dr. Louis Johansson, and just eleven years after opening, the hospital shut its doors. Despite several attempts over the last century to open it as a boarding school, hospital or museum, Rosewood has remained closed to the public to this day.” She exhaled deeply.
“Thanks, Wendy,” Zach said.
“But Zach!” Her eyes widened and she clasped his hand in both of hers. The softness of her skin and her perfume’s lilac scent could make it easy to forget that she wasn’t his type of girl. “That’s when our ghost story really begins.”
She pulled away and looked back at the camera. She’d tricked him.
“After World War II, the vacant eastern portion of the property was sold. Roads were put in and homes built. Over the years, several of the homes, especially ones built on the site of the old female quarters, burned down in mysterious fires.”
Someone gasped. Members of both teams were riveted.
“I know, right?” Wendy said. “Moreover, the Pullman Market Hall, just blocks away, was destroyed by fire in 1973. Blocks from there, in December of 1998, a homeless man torched the main Pullman Factory building. Never having been in trouble for anything else, the one-time arsonist didn’t even fle
e the scene of the crime. When they asked him why he did it, he claimed he heard voices that demanded he burn it down!”
“Demonic voices?” Bryce asked theatrically.
“Uh, no. Maybe. Anyway, those fires are just the beginning. Yes, friends, Rosewood and Pullman have a long, long history of fires. Arson fires. And now, the State of Illinois wants us to investigate mysterious ones burning the property of the oldest, most famous, haunted place in Chicago. You might be asking yourselves, why not just tear it down? Well, legally, they can’t! In 1969, Pullman received State of Illinois landmark status. In 1971, the entire town received National Historic Landmark designation.”
“The whole town? I didn’t know that, Wendy,” Zach said.
“Wrap it up,” Sara called out.
“Lastly, adding to Rosewood’s mystique, back in 1983, some high school students snuck onto the property and attempted to stay overnight. They were caught and arrested before completing their adventure. But from that actual event, all sorts of urban legends sprang up. A popular myth claimed one of the kids died that night. Another rumor persists that one of the girls eventually went insane. None of those rumors could be, in fact, confirmed.”
Zach deftly winked at Ray who subtly flashed his middle finger.
“Regardless, barbed-wire-topped fences were put up and, since then, no one has been able to investigate the property. Until today.”
“Awesome job, Wendy. I can’t wait to see what else you will uncover with your continued historical research,” Zach said, over the rising cheers and barks.
The ritual had gained a couple of converts. Both Matthew and Turk hooted and were pounding their fists together in Demon Hunter fashion. To Zach, it didn’t appear they had even made the decision consciously. Before he could stew on that thought, Wendy pulled the sleeve of his shirt and moved her mouth toward his ear.
“I left something important out,” she said. “I need to tell you as soon as we’re alone.”
Ghosts of Rosewood Asylum Page 5
