Thriller Thursday: America's Most Haunted Prison

Eastern State Penitentiary circa 1920.

In the late eighteenth century, a group of powerful and determined Philadelphians met in Benjamin Franklin's home. Calling themselves "The Philadelphia Society for Alleviating the Miseries of Public Prisons," the group set out to improve the miserable conditions of prisons in the United States and Europe. Dr. Benjamin Rush had the idea to build a true penitentiary, a building designed to create regret and penitence.

Eastern State's front gate.

Eastern State Penitentiary opened in 1829. Guided by the Quaker-inspired idea of isolation from other prisoners, the system was strict. Prisoners had a toilet, table, bunk, and Bible in their cells where they were locked in all but one hour a day. When they did leave, a black hood was shoved over their head to prevent distraction and interaction as well as knowledge of the massive building.

Many notorious criminals spent time behind Eastern State's walls, including Al Capone and bank robber Willie Sutton. Capone's time at ESP came shortly after the St. Valentine's Day Massacre, and he claimed the ghost of victim Jimmy Clark visited him on his cell.

Naturally, Capone's cell differed from the other prisoner's.

"The whole room was suffused in the glow of a desk lamp which stood on a polished desk. On the once-grim walls of the penal chamber hung tasteful paintings, and the strains of a waltz were being emitted by a powerful cabinet radio receive of handsome design and fine finish." -- Philadelphia Public Ledger, August 20, 1929.

Capone's restored cell at ESP today.

Despite the supposed goal of better treatment and prison conditions, harsh punishments were often doled out at ESP.

The Water Bath: An inmate was dunked in ice-cold water and then hung from a wall for the night. This punishment was most popular during the winter months, and the water would freeze into a layer of ice on the inmate's skin before morning.

The Mad Chair: Given its name because a prisoner was likely to go mad before the punishment ended. Inmates were strapped to the chair so tightly with leather strips they couldn't make even the smallest movements. They were left for days, without food, until the circulation in their body nearly stopped.

Some argue this is simply a barber's chair; others insist it's Eastern's Mad Chair.

Iron Gag: Designed for inmates who refused to obey the no communications policy. An iron collar was clamped onto the tongue of the inmate and then chained to his wrists, which were strapped high behind the back. Movement caused the tongue to tear and severe bleeding. Many died from loss of blood.

Drawing of Eastern's Iron Gag

The Hole: Resting beneath Cell Block 14, the hole was a dark pit where inmates would remain for weeks with no light and very little air. Inmates tossed in received water and a slice of bread, which they'd have to fight the roaches for.

Eastern State closed its doors in 1971 after people began to question the effectiveness of solitary confinement, but many believe some sort of life still exists behind its now crumbling walls. As early as the 1940s, prisoners and guards alike reported visions and creepy experiences throughout the building. Between the violent criminals Eastern housed and the harsh punishments doled out, it's no wonder the place is alive with paranormal energy.

One of the most commonly seen ghosts is an inmate who killed twenty-seven men during an attempted escape. Besides the random specters, strange sounds are heard on a regular basis.

Cell Block 4

A major paranormal episode happened to a locksmith doing restoration work in Cell Block 4. He was struggling to remove a 140-year-old lock from the cell door when a powerful force overcame him, rooting the locksmith to the spot. According to the man, he was drawn to the negative energy that burst through the cell. Anguished faces appeared on the wall and distorted forms rushed through the cell block.

Now a major tourist attraction, paranormal experiences at ESP are frequent occurrences. Voices, weeping, and tormented screams are heard while numerous shadows are seen darting in and out cells.

"When my mother, my sister, and I visited in 2004, we caught not one, but two EVPS (electronic voice phenomenon—a disembodied voice that isn't audible to the naked ear, but can be heard via digital recording) in the exact same spot. We were up by ourselves on the stairs that lead to the catwalk, snapping a few photos when a voice came through sternly instructing us, "you don't have to take a damn picture." Just moments later, the same voice manifested again, this time forlornly stating, "I'm lonely..." - Blue Moon Ghost Hunters

Cell Block 12, reported to have the most paranormal activity.

Active areas include Cellblock 12, where voices and raucous laughter can be heard, Cellblock 6, where shadowy figures are seen against the walls, and Cellblock 4. Footsteps have been heard in the corridors, and wailing is often emitted from the secluded cells.

Cell Block 6

Eastern State is a favorite spot for paranormal investigators. Ghost Hunters garnered some pretty creepy evidence a few years ago. If you want to see the guys exploring the prison, watch the whole video, but the good stuff starts at about 5:45.

Eastern State takes full advantage of its frightening reputation by hosting Terror Behind The Walls - the ultimate Halloween haunted house.

Eastern State is definitely on my list of possible haunted places to visit. What do you think? Is the evidence compelling? Would you be brave enough to embark on Terror Behind the Walls? Have you had any awesome paranormal experiences?

Thanks to Catie Rhodes for the idea of featuring Eastern State!

Other ESP Links:

The Dark Side of Enlightenment - Eastern State

Eastern State Penitentiary - Black Hoods and Iron Gags

#Thriller Thursday: The Haunting of Chatum House

It's Thriller Thursday, and I'm doing something different. Here's a little paranormal suspense flash fiction for you. Enjoy and feedback is appreciated!

This had to be one of the stupidest things Nari had ever done. The chilly fall wind whipped her hair and goose flesh erupted over her cold skin. She gazed up at the night stars as she tromped through the overgrown yard lugging her equipment. What was she doing, coming here alone? She should have gone to bed when her partner cancelled. But like an idiot, she'd moved forward with the mission.

Nari had investigated hauntings throughout the southeastern United States, but she’d avoided the Chatum place the same way she avoided committed relationships. Her best friend had been murdered here. What if her ghost waited to greet Nari? What if a residual haunting played out the murder in gruesome detail?

She couldn't avoid the house any longer. Her dreams were full of dark scenes: a terrified woman running through dark halls and screaming for help, sinister laughter, and the awful, gurgling sound of a victim as she bled out.

Her best friend was trying to tell her something, and Nari had to find out what it was. That's why she was standing on a rickety front porch of an old Victorian at midnight and freezing her ass off.

The hulking, abandoned Victorian loomed before her. The Chatum place had been empty for the last five years, the hundred-year-old house crumbling beneath the rumors. They had started as soon as the bodies were wheeled out of the old house.

Six months after the murders, a family with two young children had moved in. They lasted less than three months. Neighbors reported hearing terrible cries in the middle of the night. A man walking his dog insisted the lights in the house turned on and off despite the fact the power had been shut off.

She hefted the bag onto her shoulder and slid her lock picking kit out of her pocket. Nari hadn’t bothered to get permission to enter the Chatum house. She didn’t want anyone in town to know what she was doing. Cape Charles, Virginia was a sleepy town that enjoyed the status quo. Hearing that Nari was searching for her best friend’s ghost would send them into a gossiping frenzy.

The door opened without fanfare. Darkness greeted her. The fine hairs on the back of Nari’s neck flared up, and her pulse raced. She always got an adrenaline rush the first time she entered a place with supposed paranormal activity, but as she stood on the threshold of the home she’d spent so much time in as a child, a new kind of chill went through her. There was no turning back now.

Nari flicked on her Mag-Lite and cast the beam around. The foyer was just as she remembered, its oak floor coated with dust. To her right, a narrow, spiral staircase waited. Hannah had been murdered in the upstairs hallway, the last family member to lose their life to John Chatum. The prodigal son had turned out to be a psycho with a knack for gutting people.

She stepped forward and then stalled. A whisper ran through the air. It could have been the wind or something far worse. A heavy stillness settled over Nari. The miserable feeling was one she knew well, and it took her breath away.

This house wasn’t empty.

What do you guys think? Should I continue Nari's story for Thriller Thursday?

#FridayFlash - The Woman On The Bed

A cough rocketed through Sarah's chest. Her throat burned, and her body trembled with intense cold. Having strep throat as an adult was much worse than getting it as a kid. This was the last thing Sarah needed. She'd come to her parent’s old farmhouse to escape the realities of life, and now she was confined in her room.

And not even her room, but the guest room. Her old room had been taken over by her mother a long time ago.

Another hacking cough dredged its way through her body. Sarah clutched her chest and covered her mouth, half-expecting to see part of a lung on her hand.

Exhausted, Sarah fell back against the pillows. She'd barely slept in two days. Her body felt like it was coming apart.

The alarm on her phone went off; time for more medicine. She shoved the antibiotic in her mouth along with two Tylenol and then sucked down the cold water. It was the only relief for her suffering throat.

She shifted trying to find a position that wouldn't make her cough more. She stared at the ceiling fan and willed herself to sleep. Rest would do wonders for her misery. Round and round the fan went, wobbling on its old base. Sarah's eyes drifted shut, and her mind slowed as numbness began to creep up her limbs.

The bed sagged, and she could feel the weight of another person next to her.

"Mom," she slurred. "I was just dozing off."

Her mother said nothing. Cool hands brushed over her face. Her tense arms slipped from her chest to the bed. A sound rustled through the air, like the gentle blowing of a summer wind. Sarah shivered and pulled the blanket closer to her chin.

"Remember when I was a kid and got sick? You used to tell me nursery rhymes."

Another cool shift in the air, but no sound of her mother's soothing voice.

Sarah pried her eyes open. Her vision blurred and then cleared. A woman sat on the side of the bed, but she was not Sarah's mother. This woman was smaller, gray-haired, and wrinkled. Her dress was old-fashioned and covered with an apron. Sarah could see the wall clock through the woman's shimmering, transparent torso. The woman smiled.

Fear shot through her. Sarah forgot to breathe until a rattling cough forced its way out of her chest. Body heaving, Sarah covered her face. Tears squeezed from closed eyes.

It's not real. It's not real.

She opened one eye and peered through her trembling fingers. The woman was gone.

Thriller Thursday: Does Bugsy Siegel Live On At The Flamingo Hotel?

Since Light and Dark is set in Las Vegas and mob history plays a small but significant part in the book, I decided to dedicate today's Thriller Thursday post to one of Vegas's founding fathers, Bugsy Siegel.

Born in 1906 in Brooklyn, New York, Siegel became involved with the Genovese crime family, one of the legendary "Five Families" that dominated New York City's organized crime. With ties to "Lucky" Luciano, future boss of the Genovese family, Siegel became a bootlegger and was involved in various NYC crimes, including the killing of mob boss Joe Masseria. After a series of mishaps and arrests, Siegel moved to Nevada in the hopes of legitimizing himself.

It was this move that cemented his reputation and eventually, his murder.

LasVegas grew from the work of mobsters looking to expand their territories and wallets. Siegel and his cohorts decided to bet on The Flamingo, a new hotel and casino. Virginia Hill, a famous Hollywood actress, is said to have been sent to Vegas by Meyer Lanksy and Lucky Luciano to ensure Siegel didn't cut profits or shortchange them in any way. She seduced Siegel and settled nicely into the role of his girlfriend. They became major social figures, and Virginia Hill's dyed red hair is said to be the inspiration for the new casino's name.

By 1946, Siegel had spent a ton of money on The Flamingo, and his partners were frothing at the mouth. They wanted to see some return on their investment. Siegel was forced to open The Flamingo before it was complete.

Doors opened on December 26, 1946. In just two weeks, the tables were in the red $275,000, and the operation was shut down in less than a month.

Mob bosses have little patience for screw-ups, and Siegel was already on a short list. His friend Meyer Lansky managed to beg a second chance, but it would turn out to be Siegel's last.

Virginia reported to Lansky and Luciano that Siegel was stealing money from their casino profits. Legend says Lanksy told hill to take a short vacation so that Siegel could be "dealt with." She invited Siegel to stay at her private mansion while she took a three week tripto Europe. On June 26, 1947, Siegel invited his friend Allen Smiley to visit. Siegel was reading a newspaper when the rapid-fire of gunshots burst through the quiet. Eight bullets screamed through the front window, and when the air cleared, Siegel was dead.

He was hit several times, twice in the head. One shot penetrated Siegel's right cheek and came out on the left side of his neck. The other shattered the right bridge of the nose at the eye sock. Siegel's eye popped out of its socket and was found 15 feet away.

A .30 caliber M1 carbine was used in the murder, but the culprit has never been found. The mob at its finest.

Since his death, sightings of Bugsy Siegel's ghost have run rampant. The Flamingo's Presidential Suite was a favorite haunt. Siegel had visited the suite several times before he was killed and is said to have played pool there often. His ghost has been seen near the green bidet, toilets, and linoleum in the two bathrooms of the suite-the very same ones Siegel personally picked.

He's also seen inthe evening watching guests lounge by the pool and always described the same way: handsome, intense eyes, wearing a smoking jacket and slacks.

The last remnant of the original hotel, including Siegel's personal suite, was demolished in 1993. His ghost is still seen by guest and employees.

He's been sighted in the rose garden near his memorial plaque, in the Penthouse Suite, and in the wedding chapel.

One honeymooning couple took a romantic stroll through the hotel's inner courtyard around 4:00 a.m. They couple claims a transparent image of Bugsy in a suit waved and winked at them.

The Monument to Bugsy Siegel at The Flamingo Hilton. He's often seen near it.

As for Virginia Hill, she reported fainted when she heard of Siegel's demise. She refused to return to the States, and Lanksy and Luciano eventually discovered she had millions stashed away, most likely from The Flamingo.

Does Bugsy Siegel really haunt The Flamingo's rooms and grounds? The hotel denies it, but more than one employee has left after claiming to see Siegel's ghost.

What do you think? Is Bugsy really trolling the grounds of The Flamingo after all these years?

Thriller Thursday: The Haunting of Stacy Green

Dedicated to my brother, Kevin Messenger. 1959-2005. We Miss You.

I debated about this post, especially the title. This is a personal story, and I don't want people to think I'm making light of it or using the story to gain attention. That's not the case. I really just want to share it with you because it's a part of who I am.

I've always 'sort-of' believed in ghosts. I grew up in an old house and had all kinds of experiences my parents brushed off.

Throughout the years, I heard footsteps in the house and felt the smothering sense of the air growing heavy around me until I thought I would explode. I’ve felt the bed move as though someone were sitting on it (I convinced myself that was just me until my parents mentioned years later they’d had similar experiences in different rooms). Last but not least, one night about seven years ago I was asleep in the guest room (my mother has taken over my old room) and out of nowhere something rushed over my face bringing with it a gust of air. I felt it move over me.

I jumped out of bed and ran into the hall. Mom chastised me and said it was the cat. Not bloody likely. That cat was a wailer and would have been in the hall yelling at me for scaring him.

My friends say I’m sensitive. My husband says I’ve got a big imagination. I never knew what to believe until the night after my brother was killed.

I have to give you some back story here. In June of 2005, I was 12 weeks pregnant. We’d tried for five years, and due to a genetic issue that increased my chances of having a Downs Syndrome baby, we had only conceived once, which ended in miscarriage. That devastated me, and I lived in a deep depression for weeks. So when I got pregnant the second time, only my parents and one of my brothers knew. On June 7, 2005, my husband and I went to the University of Iowa for prenatal testing to would narrow down the odds of our unborn child having Downs. That day, my brother Kevin called my mom to see how I was doing and to ask when we’d get the results. He was worried about me.

He died in a car accident that night.

I didn’t find out until the next morning. I was stunned. You think something like that can’t happen to your family, and then it does. I won’t go into to details, but he never stood a chance. It was horrific and could have been prevented.

I rushed to my parents home two hours away and went to the funeral home with them. I sat in stunned silence while they made arrangements along with my sister-in-law.

You can imagine the grief of the rest of the day. I went to bed—in the guest room—exhausted. Empty. Worried about my test results and feeling guilty for thinking about something other than my brother’s death.

I became trapped in a horrible dream. My brother stood at the foot of my bed staring at me with an expression I’ve never been able to fully describe. He wanted to tell me something. He leaned forward but didn’t speak. In the dream, I jumped out of bed and ran out of the room. He followed me room to room, the same pleading expression on his face. I couldn’t think straight. I’ve never been so scared—not even in real life.

A terrifying sound woke me. It was the weather radio signaling an upcoming storm. My mother and I both woke and went down to the kitchen. She could hardly talk; I was shaking. The dream had been so vivid, so real. It was like nothing I’ve ever experienced.

I told Mom about it, and I can still see her sitting there in her old nightgown, pain radiating from her.

“He didn’t look like himself, though,” I said. “His face was puffy, and he didn’t have a mustache. And he was wearing that burgundy shirt and khaki pants he wore at Xmas.”

My mother turned white. “That’s what he’s going to be buried in.”

After an hour of talking, I explained it away as coincidence. The last time I’d seen him he’d been wearing that shirt. My mind just filled in the blanks. Still, I couldn’t shake the realness of it all.

The next day was the viewing. Nothing could have prepared me for the pain of that experience, let alone what I saw. I remembering stumbling to the casket and nearly collapsing. Not only was Kevin wearing those clothes, but his face was swollen and puffy from the trauma, and he didn’t have a mustache.

Kevin was eighteen years older than me, and I’d never seen him without a mustache. Ever.

Barely able to stand, I asked his poor wife about it. Why didn’t he have one?

“He was trimming it a few days ago and messed up,” she said. “I told him to shave it off.”

There’s no way I could have known that. The mustache sealed the deal for me. For whatever reason, Kevin had come to me the night before. I was convinced he was trying to tell me something, but what? He and I weren’t that close. He knew about my pregnancy because he shared the same genetic condition and Mom had told him. I hadn’t seen him in months. Why me? Why not my older sister? The two of them were very close.

I got my answer later in the day. While sitting at Mom’s kitchen table going through pictures and trying to decide which ones to share at Kevin’s funeral, I got a call from the U of Iowa. Our tests results were back. The Downs screening isn’t absolute, but our odds had drastically narrowed. Our baby was very likely fine.

And then it hit me: that’s what Kevin was trying to tell me. He’d asked about the test the day he was killed, he’d told Mom how worried he was that I wouldn’t be able to handle bad news. I don’t know how, but he was trying to let me know that everything was going to be okay.

I know this in my gut. No one will ever convince me otherwise. The clothes, the mustache, the test results—too many things to be a coincidence.

All the years I joked that I wanted to have a “real” ghost experience, and it’s my own brother. My family will never get over his loss, but I am so grateful to him for coming to me the way he did. After the experience, I believed in the test results. My anxiety about the baby went down, and I was able to relax and enjoy my pregnancy. I wouldn’t have done that had Kevin not visited me.

You don’t have to believe. Most never will until they have their own experience. I just wanted to share mine with you.

My daughter Grace was born 12-26-05. She’s perfect☺

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