Ghosts of Rosewood Asylum

by Stephen Prosapio

  His godfather’s voice served as apt reminder for Zach to calm his emotions. He breathed deeply through his nostrils hoping to disguise his sigh, instead the exhale sounded like a horse’s snort.

  “Can we listen to this recording again?” Zach asked, hoping to get things on track before Hunter arrived. He was looking forward to guiding the psychic through the asylum.

  Bryce whispered something to Sara and then explained to her what they were listening to. Matthew cued up the audio for a second listen:

  Shelly: Is anyone down here who wishes to contact us?

  Female voice (very faintly): h-hoo ar oooou

  [pause]

  Patrizia: Can you say something to us?

  Female voice: -eeet me.

  Patrizia: Did you hear that?

  Shelly: shhhhhh. Is that you? Can you speak?

  Female voice: —akk —ooh — they’re.

  [chime and bang]

  “We didn’t hear that first sound, did we?” Patrizia looked at Shelly.

  “No. Not when we were down there. It sounds like she’s saying ‘who are you?’”

  Most agreed, but the other phrases were up for debate and argumentation. Matthew postulated that the second EVP said “see me,” while Shelly suspected it was “meet me.”

  Although it was only mildly humorous the first time, Rico repeated his “eat me” joke.

  “Can we please,” Rebecca said, “show some respect for the dead?”

  For a few minutes the group maintained a somber attitude, but soon enough flippant guesses and quips were flying. Sara seemed intent not to make eye contact with Zach. Conversely, he caught Patrizia eyeing him guardedly a few times.

  Zach interrupted the fun and guesses by announcing a two-hour break for cast and crew. He planned on making a coffee run before Hunter arrived. He quickly took everyone’s order.

  “Wait!” Wendy marched through the Rosewood lobby wearing high-heeled boots. Her hair and makeup looked impeccable. With such a grand entrance, she obviously was planning on additional airtime.

  “Zach, I have an update on my research!”

  Sara ordered both cameramen to film her presentation. “Go!” she called out to Wendy.

  “On July 4, 1899, approximately five months after the female quarters were destroyed in a suspicious fire, a man doused himself with kerosene and set himself ablaze on that very site.” She paused for dramatic effect and then waited for the group’s murmurs to die down. “Ironically and perhaps not coincidentally, it was July 4, 1900 that nurse, Abigail Lovecroft, and her daughter, Amelia, experienced a paranormal event that caused Abigail to quit her nursing post.”

  “Did you find a connection between those two events, Wendy?” Zach asked.

  “Well, late this evening,” Wendy said. “I may have uncovered historical documents which can provide that link. At the very least, it will give us an eye-witness account of both of them.”

  “What kind of documents?”

  “Doctor Louis Johansson was the Physician-in-Chief of Rosewood Psychiatric from 1896 until his death in 1903. He kept detailed records of each patient and the happenings at Rosewood in a professional daily record.”

  “That’s great!” Zach said, not even needing to amp up his enthusiasm for the cameras. “Patrizia, would you mind helping Wendy go through those records tomorrow?”

  She hesitated, but then nodded and flashed a thumbs-up sign.

  “From everything I gathered,” Wendy said. “If we can figure out the identity of the 1899 suicide, we’ll solve several high-profile arson cases. In 1892, the original Pullman Market Hall, the one used by all Pullman employees to purchase their goods, was destroyed by fire. In 1894, at the height of the Pullman strike, much of the World’s Columbian Exposition fair grounds were destroyed in a fire.”

  “The site of the 1893 World’s Fair?” Zach asked. “Known as ‘The White City’?”

  “Correct,” she said. “And in 1895, the hotel known as ‘The Castle’ which was built and used by H.H. Holmes, the serial-killing physician who murdered many during the Columbian Exposition, burned down under mysterious circumstances.”

  “Then in 1899, the female quarters at Rosewood were torched.” Zach said. “Great work, Wendy.”

  “But Zach, I haven’t told you the most exciting news of all!”

  She’d gotten him again.

  “Yes, Wendy?”

  She clutched his arm. “This is something that holds the potential to throw enough light on the mystery surrounding Rosewood’s haunting to forever solve the case!”

  “Tell us!” Sara called out.

  “Just before Rosewood Hospital shut down forever in 1903, an attending physician noted something odd in Doctor Louis Johansson’s professional record. Doctor Johansson had passed away earlier that year of heart failure.” She reached for a water bottle and took a sip. Wendy was milking the attention for all it was worth. Zach supposed that she had practiced the timing of her presentation for hours.

  “It was a mention of a personal diary that he’d begun keeping in order to, and I quote, ‘keep certain delicate and private matters of certain patients and their families extremely confidential.’ Doctor Johansson indicated that he’d hidden this diary somewhere on the Rosewood grounds—a personal diary that to date, has never been found.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Unlike their Pacific Northwest rivals, Muses Coffee House insisted that every store remained open until midnight every night. Allegedly, in the early days, the policy had been a bone of contention since malls closed at either nine or ten and wouldn’t allow a midnight closing time. Muses’ CEO had held firm to his conviction that decaf coffee and teas would serve as the perfect nighttime drink, and would not launch a store unless it could remain open until midnight.

  Muses advertised heavily in schools to students needing after hours caffeine jolts, so many were located near college campuses. Typically, during the later hours, people wrapping up dates and students in the midst of pulling an all-night cramming session populated the stores. However, when Zach arrived, Muses was completely deserted—no sign of Evelyn.

  There were still a dozen cars in the lot when Zach had pulled in just before 11:00, so apparently, GrocersMart stayed open late as well. Zach enjoyed the aroma of ground coffee and attempted to keep his mind off the case by reading Muses Coffee House marketing material while the young guy behind the counter prepared his Café’ Americano.

  The Muses of Greek mythology were goddesses who inspired the creation of literature. Daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne, the goddess of memory, they have aroused the process of creation through song, writing and dance. The Muses were the physical embodiment of performed speech of all types. Today, the word “muse” is implicit in words and phrases such as “amuse,” “music” and even “museum.”

  Muses Coffee House specifically recognizes and honors in their logo, five of the Muses:

  Clio—the muse of history and writing; the desire to find truth and knowledge.

  Calliope—the goddess of eloquence and storytelling.

  Polyhymnia—the muse of oratory, poetry and symbolism.

  Melpomene—the muse of tragedy.

  and—

  “Hello, handsome,” a seductive voice said.

  Zach flinched and whirled around.

  “Evelyn.”

  She wore a similar dress to the one she had the last time they’d met and had wrapped a simple white shawl around her shoulders.

  “I’d hoped to run into you here again,” she said smiling.

  If Zach didn’t know better, he’d think she was flirting with him. Then again, maybe he didn’t know better. “As did I,” he said. “Your leads were quite impressive.”

  “Café’ Americano.”

  Zach motioned to Evelyn to wait one moment as the apron-adorned kid behind the counter handed over his drink.

  Zach gave him a written order for the desired beverages of cast and crew. “Can I get these to go?”

  The kid a
ppeared confused. “You want all these?”

  “Yes, is that a problem?” After a long day, Zach was annoyed at the barista’s attitude.

  “I need you to pay in advance.” The barista glanced towards Evelyn, and then cast Zach a suspicious look.

  “Fine.”

  As they concluded their business at the cash register, a bell signaled the arrival of more customers, a group of boisterous teens.

  “You can make my drinks after theirs,” Zach said.

  The barista rolled his eyes. Zach led Evelyn outside and made sure to hold the door for her. She picked a corner table not far from a propane heater.

  “I’m sorry, Evelyn, did you want something to drink? Water even?”

  She shook her head.

  “Are you going to be warm enough out here?” Zach asked.

  “Oh, you’re such a gentleman,” she said. “Yes. I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

  “No. Thank you for the information.”

  “You learned of the fires that destroyed the female quarters on this acreage back in 1898—and the others?”

  Zach nodded. “Unfortunately, there’s only so much we’ve been able to verify, and I want to ask you about some specific things we’ve discovered.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Zach read from a list he’d made in his journal. “Did your mother ever say anything about room 217?”

  “No. Not that I recall.”

  “How about the man who lit his room on fire?”

  “No.”

  “Do the names Abigail or Amelia Lovecroft mean anything to you?”

  “No.”

  “Did your mother ever mention anything about a lady found living in Rosewood’s basement?”

  Evelyn’s mouth twitched as it had a few times during their first visit. “No.”

  Zach no longer believed it to be a nervous tic. There was something untruthful about the way that she’d answered. Should he press the issue or move on? He decided on the latter. “Does the name Doctor Louis Johansson ring any bells?”

  She squinted and looked into the night sky. “That name sounds familiar, but I just can’t place it, although it is a rather common sounding name.”

  “It is. Here’s one,” Zach said, not exactly sure how to phrase it. “Have you ever heard anything about ‘Boy’? Not ‘a boy’ or ‘the boy’ but just Boy?”

  Evelyn’s jaw dropped. Her eyes widened and she likely realized that there was no use in trying to hide her reaction. “How do you know about Boy?”

  “C’mon now. I’m the one asking the questions tonight. Tell me what you know, please.”

  She said nothing. It looked as though she couldn’t speak.

  “Evelyn, pardon the expression, but you look as white as a ghost. Please tell me, and I promise to keep what you say in confidence.”

  “Zachary.” Her face was somber. “I promise to tell you what I know. First, I need you to tell me who has seen Boy.”

  He debated his options. Don’t tell, offend her and probably learn nothing. Tell her and risk her not keeping her promise—unlikely. Tell her and trust that she would open up more to him. He didn’t need upper level psychology to make his decision.

  “Alright. I’ll tell you, but I need your word…”

  “You have it.”

  Zach relayed first the odd responses of Sashza. He expected more of a reaction from Evelyn, but she seemed nonplussed. However, when he mentioned what Joey had said, the elderly lady became visibly distressed.

  “Which house does this Joey live in?” she asked.

  “The one closest the street on the far— Hey! You’re supposed to be telling me what you know.”

  “You’ll research this without telling anyone where you got the information?” she asked.

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “John Paramour was born on the afternoon of April 14, 1865.”

  Zach was no historian, but even he knew that to be the day of Abraham Lincoln’s assassination. The fact that someone connected to this investigation was born on that day amazed him.

  “You may wish to take notes, Mr. Kalusky?”

  He opened his journal and began jotting the information down. “Yes, of course. This John is the spirit of ‘Boy?’”

  “John’s mother, a woman of Russian decent, adored President Lincoln and—”

  “And this John,” Zach said. “Who is he to your mother? Was this your dad?”

  “Mr. Kalusky—”

  “Zach. Please call me Zach.”

  “Alright Zach, this is extremely difficult for me to speak about,” she said. “Please just let me tell you in my own way.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Go ahead.”

  “Ma Paramour, Mrs. Paramour suffered from some sort of mental affliction. She likely would have been considered as a patient of Rosewood had she lived long enough. In any event, she was cruel to him and somehow, because of the day of his birth, blamed him for the loss of the president.”

  “Just because he—” He’d interrupted again already. “I’m sorry. Continue.”

  “Who knows why? She was a very ill woman and evil to the core. Her condition and John’s punishments worsened after her husband left. Of course she blamed John for that. He was only four.” Evelyn peered up at the stars, as though she had tried to banish these stories from her mind and the night sky was helping her recall them. “He was beaten often, but her favorite punishment involved scraping burning embers from the fireplace and using them to scald his feet. She told him that wicked people were burned at the stake. She insisted if he continued in his evil ways, he’d burn for his sins, and she threatened to sacrifice him in a fire.”

  “Good Lord.” Zach made the sign of the cross.

  “Then, in October of 1871—”

  “Oh!” Zach couldn’t stay quiet. “That was the Great Chicago Fire!”

  Evelyn appeared on the verge of tears. “Yes. John was six years old. I shudder to imagine what that woman must have done to him during that time. Whatever it was, it scarred him for the rest of his life and led him to…”

  “He was the arsonist, wasn’t he?”

  She said nothing.

  “Was he the one who set himself on fire in 1899?”

  As though on cue, the bell on the door to Muses Coffee House tinkled. The young barista came out with a box neatly packed with caffeinated beverages and set it on the table in front of Zach. “Anything else for you, tonight?”

  “No, thanks,” Zach said. “We’re fine with this.”

  The barista looked at Zach as if he had the bubonic plague. Was he new? How unusual was it for someone to get an order to go?

  “Okay, have a good evening,” the barista turned and stormed back into the store. Maybe he was just pissed at having to make such a large order so late or maybe because he didn’t get a big tip? As he slammed the store door, the bell rattled harshly. Zach made a mental note to mention the behavior to a manager the next time he came in.

  “Hey Zach!” Matthew approached from the direction of GrocersMart carrying a large paper bag.

  Evelyn’s back was to him. She looked horrified. “I cannot be seen with you,” she said.

  Zach held up his index finger. “Hey Matthew, could you give us a second?”

  Matthew stopped dead in his tracks. “Yeah. Sure.”

  Zach sensed his time with Evelyn was drawing to a close. “Please,” he said. “Tell me the rest of the story.”

  She stood up and brushed by him. “Meet me here tomorrow, anytime after sunset. I’ll tell you everything then.”

  “Wait a second.” Zach stood up and took a step toward her, but she quickened her gait and did not look back.

  “What did you say, Zach?” Matthew called out.

  “Just a second, Matthew.”

  By the time Zach trotted after her, Evelyn had zipped around the corner of the building and was gone.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “What’s up, boss?” Matthew asked.

  “Nothing,” Zach said. �
��What brings you here?”

  “Sara sent me out for snacks and things. Anything specific you want?”

  Zach retrieved the box of coffee drinks and peered at the array of junk food pouring out of the bag. “Nacho Chips, Pretzels, Cheese Doodles and Barbeque Potato Chips.”

  Probably half of it would be consumed by Bryce before 3 AM’s Spirit Hour.

  Zach shook his head. “Nah. That should cover it.”

  They made their way to the parking lot. The traffic on 115th Street had all but ceased for the night, however the distant hum of the 94 freeway to the east and the closer chirp of crickets was nearly loud enough to fill in awkward gaps in the conversation.

  “Thanks for giving me more of an active role tonight,” Matthew said. “I think you’ll see that I really am capable of much more investigative work than you give me credit for.”

  “That’s not been the issue,” Zach said. “It’s just that there are only so many investigative roles possible on the show. Had we needed to cover this place on our own, that would be a different story, ya know?”

  “Yeah. It’s just…yeah. I get it.”

  He struck Zach as someone who was never satisfied with what he had. Zach could identify with his ambition, but there had always been something about Matthew that seemed a bit too aggressive—in a passive aggressive way.

  “Oh, hey,” Zach said. “Before I forget, I don’t want a lot of questions being asked, so please do me a huge favor and don’t mention that you saw me here with that woman tonight?”

  Matthew smirked. “What woman?”

  Zach grinned. “Exactly. Thanks.”

  “One thing, though, on a serious note,” Matthew said. “Can I ask you a question?”

  One of Zach’s biggest pet peeves was people asking permission to ask a question, but he shrugged it off. They’d reached Zach’s white Ford Focus and he hoped the question didn’t require a lengthy answer. Hunter was due at midnight. He looked at his watch—11:56.

  “Sure, but I have to hurry back to meet our psychic.”

  “This woman…” Matthew’s eyes widened at something behind Zach. “Holy Christ!”

  Zach turned around and almost dropped the whole box of drinks. Beyond Lincoln Avenue, a fire raged. One of the massive oak trees standing near Rosewood was completely ablaze.