Stranger Phantoms

On a warm summer morning in southern New Jersey, D and I were exploring a cemetery in the small town of Beverly. I do a lot of research for my genealogy (for both my natural bloodline, and my adoptive family) and it was such an effort that had now brought us here. The dead may speak to us, but not in the way most people might imagine it. It is only when we stare at the silent stones, that we are able to conjure their lost voices. The graves often contain information about birth, death, and where these events may have happened. There are few more valuable resources than the inscriptions on a monument. They are clues to what has come before, hints to the past and perhaps, if we allow our minds to wander, a look into possible futures. The sunlight had just reached the stones and right as we had found the objects of our search a strange figure took his opportunity to approach us.

The man said we could call him “Phantom” and he had quite a few stories to tell. What had supposedly drawn his attention to us was the fact that Monument Cemetery (it’s actual name), located right next to the Beverly National Cemetery, had fewer visitors than its more prominent neighbor. He usually only saw old ladies walking through there. Phantom stood shorter than either D or myself, and appeared to be in his late 50’s or early 60’s. He seemed to be in good shape despite his age, with the musculature of a man much younger than him. A natural storyteller knows how to read the audience that sits before them, and our private bard was no exception. D and I like to explore, and it could hardly be more obvious to people who know us well.

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The tales spun by Phantom were ones of Urban Exploration, in which an individual, or individuals, explores an abandoned and usually derelict location regardless of whether it is legal or safe to do so. The thrill of exploration drives them, but it comes with its own costs. Often an abandoned building will be structurally unsound and filled with asbestos to boot. Some buildings are guarded and contain alarms. The floors are often covered with detritus like broken glass, or rotting garbage. For those who like to go on this kind of adventure, it can be a rush. But remember to take precautions lest you find yourself in the dark and breathing stale air. A mask is a good place to start, and a flashlight would be another. I personally, have not done too much of this type of exploration myself. There are already a great many people who do, and I mostly like to live vicariously through them. Phantom quickly convinced us that he wasn’t the type to stand idly by.

The names of many long abandoned places were rattled off in rapid succession, as though they were merely notches on a bed post or check marks on a list. I couldn’t help but notice the obvious pleasure of our unexpected host, as we mentioned one such place in West Virginia that we intended to look at (this one being more legal, which will be explained in a later post). He thought we were naive to go to a place that would charge us money for entry, and that most of what we were told would be a lie (Phantom was wrong about this, but at the time we didn’t know it). He saw such places as sell outs, but I think that the restoration of a historical place is an honorable quest and well worth pursuing for any that can handle the exorbitant monetary commitments. We appeared to amuse Phantom, and perhaps he thought we were fools for not immediately accepting everything he told us, but you have to be careful when you have a conversation with strangers. In my estimation, it would’ve been more foolish to trust such an eager storyteller so completely. You have to keep a safe enough distance, so that you can read the situation better as it plays out. Explore, but not blindly. That has always been a motto I kept for myself.

Phantom, upon learning our route, a journey that would take us to such varied locales as West Virginia, Ohio, Delaware, and Kentucky, among others, told us of the ruined edifice once known as the Henryton State Hospital. Our drive was going to take us through Maryland, and we would be passing the former mental institution and TB hospital on the way. It was an intriguing possibility for adventure, that we were both suddenly made aware of. The best entrance that Phantom knew of would take us into a train tunnel that was still actively used, and ended at a back entrance thereby allowing us to avoid detection. Sometimes a police car would patrol the area, he said, but if you were already inside and kept your wits about you, arrest and prosecution could be avoided. He then went on to mention, in a casual tone of voice, that he kept a dog skull above his bed. I checked my pockets for grains of salt. D and I were both sure, discussing this meeting after he took his leave, that Phantom may have embellished some of his exploits, in order to have some fun with strangers. Perhaps, we thought, he didn’t get many visitors out here, living across from a cemetery as he does.

Once on the road again, his words lingered in my mind. What was it about forgotten things, that drew people back to them? Even if people are ignorant of their history, there is a pull that abandoned buildings have on the mind. An air of mystery, seemingly unsatisfied by inertia. The Henryton State Hospital, once built to deal with people suffering from Tuberculosis, has a history dating back to 1922. As in many other cases, the epidemic initially required a larger number of buildings than were necessary once cases of Tuberculosis started to drop off in the 1940’s. This left the administrators with much more space than they had use for. In 1985, it finally closed for good. All attempts to have the property demolished or sold for alternate use have, for whatever reason, failed and so it sits there looming amidst the forest, waiting for something nobody can now be certain of.

We drove down a long winding road in Marriotsville, Maryland as darkness approached on all sides. The trees seemed taller in the pale blue light. We eventually reached an area where the road just stopped. As I left the relative safety of D’s car, I approached the edge of the pavement and promptly noted that the bridge was out. There didn’t seem to be any way across. The tunnel that Phantom had mentioned lay across a river just below me. There were train tracks over it and as it got darker I couldn’t see too far. But out of the corner of my eye, higher up on a hill, I glimpsed a white building covered in moss. That would have to be it. I went back to the car and when we noticed a smaller dirt path going up the hill, we attempted to drive up. But there were rocks everywhere. I would have to walk up, alone, if I felt so inclined as D had decided to stay with the car. We couldn’t be sure who might come along, and it would be better not to leave the car unattended. Neither one of us had flashlights or masks, and I wondered if it was right to come here. A rapid, dark, shadow passed behind me. I just caught a quick view of it as it ran from my sight, into the endless forest.

As we were unprepared and the light was fading, the decision was made by both of us to leave. I couldn’t see myself going it alone in an unknown, and increasingly eerie, environment and certainly not without the proper preparation. Henryton would keep its secrets, for now. But as we drove away, I remembered what I saw from the edge of the road, across the way on the other side of the tracks. There was an old brick building with words spray painted on it, that read “The Void, Again.” Perhaps that’s where we had been, I smiled to myself. A void between the world we knew, and a stranger, less knowable place. I wondered if it would be the last time I would travel there, but even then I knew that it wouldn’t be the last time we went into the woods, looking for adventure. Henryton sits alone on its perch, the weight of time wearing heavily on its crumbling facade. But I suspect that as long is there are people out there searching for new experiences, that it won’t be devoid of company for long. — J

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