A paranormal investigation team finds more than just ordinary haunts when they’re trapped in a notorious mental hospital in this new installment of Lisa Morton’s anthology series Spine Tinglers. This week we’re joined by Ghost Magnet Bridget Marquardt who brings her haunted experiences to this harrowing tale. What would you do in a haunted asylum? #TheGirlsNextDoor #GhostManget #Haunted #Horror #HauntedAsylum
The Maximum Ghosts podcast team arrived at Marston State Lunatic Asylum at just after 9 p.m. on a Friday night. Normally Lindsey would never have referred to any institution as a “lunatic asylum”, but that was actually how the ancient wooden sign before the huge old structure read. “Look at this place,” Jay said, eyeing the three-story brick building as he lugged a duffel bag of cameras, mics, tablets, and laptops. Kenzie, their medium, shivered even though it was late July and still 80 degrees at night. “The vibes are already crazy and we’re not even inside yet.” Lindsey had paid well to reserve the historic site for her team of four for the entire weekend, hoping that one more boost in their weekly ratings might lead to a television deal. There were nibbles already; one spectacular EVP or – even better – a full-body apparition and they might never have to worry about day jobs ever again. An hour later, they’d chosen the former day room on the second floor and set up their base camp there. In the past, this floor had also housed the mens’ dormitory, bathrooms and shower rooms, treatment rooms, and a few doctors’ offices. Marston had been shut down as a working institution in 1968, and it had already been edging toward ruin then; although it had served briefly as a jail in the ‘70s and a haunted attraction in the 2000s, it had been accumulating dust, cobwebs, and rot for half-a-century. “Tell me again,” said Brian, their main techie, “what we’re looking for.” Lindsey brought up the file on her phone, swiping through her research. “There’ve been four main ghosts reported here: one is a little boy who is mainly seen on the first floor; one is a patient named Darby who is supposed to be helpful; one’s a shadow figure on this floor; and the scariest is supposed to be a patient named Arch who has been known to punch or scratch.” Jay wandered the unlit day room, a flashlight in one hand and a K-II meter in the other. The day room held a cracked leather couch that no amount of money could’ve gotten Lindsey to sit on, the splintered remains of some tables and cheers, several windows still barred, pools of moldy water in the corners, and a lot of graffiti on the walls. “Getting anything?” Lindsey asked. Jay stared intently at the meter. “Yeah, there’s definitely some activity in here –” He broke off as Kenzie gasped loudly and blurted out, “Something’s here…” Lindsey motioned Brian forward with a digital thermometer before asking, “Do you know who?” Closing her eyes, Kenzie answered, “I think…it’s a young man…” Brian looked up at Lindsey, eyes wide, and waved the thermometer at her – but she didn’t need to see the glowing numbers to feel the chill surrounding the medium. Kenzie smiled, and opened her eyes. “Darby’s here. And they’re right – he’s a sweetheart.” Lindsey inwardly cursed as she realized they didn’t have a camera on Kenzie, but then Jay ran up, phone held out before him. “Does Darby have a message for us?” Kenzie’s eyes lost their focus. “He’s just…” A chair on the other side of the room flipped completely over. The four investigators froze in shock for a second, then Brian whispered to Lindsay, “We got that on audio, at least.” “Darby,” Lindsey asked, “did you do that?” A dark figure moved across the doorway behind Kenzie. Shadow figure…? “They’re all here,” Kenzie said, as she clutched herself, shaking. Now they all felt it. Lindsey wasn’t a sensitive and rarely experienced the atmospheric changes that Kenzie reported, but this time it was undeniable: the air felt dense, pressurized, weighing down on them. Brian began to pant. Jay frowned as he asked, “If they’re all here…does that mean Arch, too?” Arch…the one who hurt people. “Yes, but…” Kenzie hesitated before adding, “Darby is holding him back so we’re safe.” Lindsey didn’t feel safe; in fact, she’d never wanted to run screaming from one of their investigations before. “Kenzie,” she asked, “can you ask for more information about Arch – maybe a full name, when he was here, what his diagnosis was, anything?” “His name…the last name was something like Doran, Duran…no – Dursler.” Lindsey had access to the entire history of Marston, and she searched the records now. There it was: Dursler, Archibald. As she opened the file, Brian said, “You know what? It’s dropped thirty degrees in here, the K-II is off the charts, and…I’m sorry, but I think we should go.” “No,” Kenzie said, “we’re okay – Darby says we’re fine.” Lindsey read through Dursler’s file. He’d been sent to Marston in 1927 after going on a murder spree, killing six people with a knife. He’d spent thirty years in Marston, often in restraints, before dying in 1957. Then Lindsey saw something that made her stuff her phone in a pocket and call out to her team, “We’re getting out of here now.” Jay, always the most fearless one, asked, “Why?” “Because Archibald Dursler suffered from multiple personalities – one of whom was named Darby. We’ve been seriously had.” Kenzie screamed then as the first scratch appeared across her throat. From somewhere in the depths of the Marston Asylum, Lindsey felt something powerful laughing at them as it unleashed.