Ghosts of Rosewood Asylum by Stephen Prosapio Page B

entered, the rest
of the group stared around the series of connected rooms with stark
disappointment.
    “I thought there’d be…like…stuff,” Ray said
to a chorus of “Me too’s.”
    The infirmary rooms looked like all the
others in the vacant hospital–empty, dirty and bland.
    “In here!”
    Sara and the camera crew led a stampede into
the adjoining room where the shout had come from. Rico and Turk stood next to a
row of five-foot tall metal file cabinets. The rest of the group descended on
the drawers like starving vultures on a dead wildebeest.
    “These aren’t…” Rico had gotten a head start
and was examining the contents of a folder. He shook his head. “They’re court
records.”
    “From the 1940s,” Rebecca chimed in.
    “Misdemeanors,” Bryce said. “Traffic
violations and whatnot. What the fuck?”
    “The State of Illinois used this building
for record storage from the 1920s until the 1960s,” Patrizia said. “I’m fairly
certain that none of this is from the period of the asylum.”
    A few uttered growls and groans. Matthew
slammed a drawer closed. Shelly continued taking EMF readings that showed no
abnormalities.
    “Guys, this was the infirmary, so as
harmless as it may appear now, people would have passed away in here,” Zach
said. “We’ll want this room heavily video monitored and explored tonight.”
    “Maybe we pitch one of the tents in here
tonight?” Bryce’s tone made it clear he wasn’t volunteering to sleep there.
    Zach noticed that no one leapt at the chance
to camp out in the room people had died. “I think we’ll want to keep together
tonight,” he said. “Two groups of tents. One in the lobby where the nerve
center will be and a group outside on the front lawn not far from the vans. And
while we’re on the subject, no one roams the grounds or any building on the
property alone after dark. Safety first, people.”
    Shelly raised her hand. “Hey Patrizia?” She
looked around the infirmary. “Wouldn’t there have been a morgue around here
somewhere?”
    Patrizia scoured the map but didn’t locate
one.
    “If I might?” Rebecca spoke up and waited
for Sara to get a shot of her. “It’s doubtful that in those days there was one.
Cadavers were at a premium and would likely have been sold to medical schools.”
    “All of them? Wouldn’t their families want
them?” Bryce asked.
    “To be realistic, maybe some of them had
close family relationships, but they’d have been in the minority. This was a
public institution. Visitor facilities notwithstanding, the vast majority of
these patients were outcasts, forgotten about and never recovered their mental
health. Any corpses not given over to family burial would have been sold.
Except those with infectious diseases and maybe…”
    “And maybe?” Bryce asked.
    “Well, back in that day, the medical schools
wouldn’t have accepted suicides.”
    “What would they have done with those?” Zach
asked.
    “They wouldn’t have been entitled to a
Catholic burial, so they likely just dumped them in the ground somewhere on the
property—probably in unmarked graves.”
    Although no one’s thermal camera detected a
cold spot, a few in the room shuddered.
    “They probably stored dead bodies
temporarily downstairs, in the basement,” Patrizia said.
    “A basement?” Rico’s eyes were ablaze.
    “Can we go there next?” Shelly asked.
    “Hey guys, c’mon. This is Patrizia’s tour.”
Zach winked at her. To his surprise she flashed him a grateful smile.
    “I was saving the basement for last,” she
said.
    “First, I have some stories of patients who
stayed on the upper floors.”
    “Onward,” Sara instructed.
    They all clodded up a concrete stairwell
next to the infirmary to the 2nd floor. Apparently, there had been less
salvaging on the upper level. Unlike many of the rooms below, most of the rooms
still had doors—most of them barred. To Zach, the second storey more resembled
an abandoned prison’s solitary