Ghosts of Rosewood Asylum (8 page)

“Thanks, Wendy,” Zach said.

“But Zach!” Her eyes widened and she clasped
his hand in both of hers. The softness of her skin and her perfume’s lilac
scent could make it easy to forget that she wasn’t his type of girl. “That’s
when our ghost story really begins.”

She pulled away and looked back at the
camera. She’d tricked him.

“After World War II, the vacant eastern
portion of the property was sold. Roads were put in and homes built. Over the
years, several of the homes, especially ones built on the site of the old
female quarters, burned down in mysterious fires.”

Someone gasped. Members of both teams were
riveted.

“I know, right?” Wendy said. “Moreover, the
Pullman Market Hall, just blocks away, was destroyed by fire in 1973. Blocks
from
there
, in December of 1998, a homeless man torched the main Pullman
Factory building. Never having been in trouble for anything else, the one-time
arsonist didn’t even flee the scene of the crime. When they asked him why he
did it, he claimed he heard
voices
that
demanded
he burn it
down!”

“Demonic voices?” Bryce asked theatrically.

“Uh, no. Maybe. Anyway, those fires are just
the beginning. Yes, friends, Rosewood and Pullman have a long, long history of
fires.
Arson
fires. And now, the State of Illinois wants us to
investigate mysterious ones burning the property of the oldest, most famous,
haunted place in Chicago. You might be asking yourselves, why not just tear it
down? Well, legally, they can’t! In 1969, Pullman received State of Illinois
landmark status. In 1971, the entire town received
National
Historic
Landmark designation.”

“The whole town? I didn’t know that, Wendy,”
Zach said.

“Wrap it up,” Sara called out.

“Lastly, adding to Rosewood’s mystique, back
in 1983, some high school students snuck onto the property and attempted to
stay overnight. They were caught and arrested before completing their
adventure. But from that actual event, all sorts of urban legends sprang up. A
popular myth claimed one of the kids died that night. Another rumor persists
that one of the girls eventually went insane.
None
of those rumors could
be, in fact, confirmed.”

Zach deftly winked at Ray who subtly flashed
his middle finger.

“Regardless, barbed-wire-topped fences were
put up and, since then, no one has been able to investigate the property. Until
today.”

“Awesome job, Wendy. I can’t wait to see
what else you will uncover with your continued historical research,” Zach said,
over the rising cheers and barks.

The ritual had gained a couple of converts.
Both Matthew and Turk hooted and were pounding their fists together in
Demon
Hunter
fashion. To Zach, it didn’t appear they had even made the decision
consciously. Before he could stew on that thought, Wendy pulled the sleeve of
his shirt and moved her mouth toward his ear.

“I left something important out,” she said.
“I need to tell you as soon as we’re alone.”

Chapter Eight

Custodian Grant Winkler pulled up in a
white, state maintenance pickup truck minutes after 9 AM.

“Where’s Zach?” he asked, exiting his van.
“Which one of you is Zach Kallinski?”

Dressed in a gray uniform and grungy White
Sox cap, he was hardly the tour guide that Zach had expected or ventured that
the network had planned on. Considering his sunken cheeks and overall
disheveled appearance, Zach thought he looked like a cross between a creepy
scarecrow and a—creepy scarecrow.

“I’m Zack Kalusky. Mr. Winkler?” Zach
offered his hand.

“Well, I ain’t Santa Claus.” He appeared
reluctant to accept the handshake, but briefly did. “
All
these...” He
paused to spit, “people planning on coming in?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Looks like a damn field trip.”

Sara had moseyed up oozing the charm she
saved for the most difficult of people. “Hi Mr. Winkler. I’m Sara Chen. I’m the
producer of this show.”

“What a joy that must be.” He fumbled for
his keys and headed toward the chain-link entry. After a few steps, he hollered
back over his shoulder. “Where’s yer security?”

“Security?” Zach and Sara asked in unison.

Winkler stopped and looked to the sky as if
mentally imploring to be beamed up. He turned toward them and cocked his head.
“Well, you don’t expect me to leave these gates open and unattended all night
do you?”

“Oh shit,” Sara muttered under her breath.
She reached for her cell phone. “My bad. I’ll call someone!”

“Or, I could just lock you in all night if
you want?” Winkler chortled and dragged himself the rest of the way to the
gate.

“Friendly guy,” Zach overheard Turk whisper
to Rico.

Rico, wearing a black T-shirt with a massive
New York Yankee logo, smirked. “It’s…Old Man Winkler!”

Turk visibly held back a guffaw. “And I’d
have gotten away with it too if it hadn’t been for you meddling kids!”

Zach shushed them. No need for spraying
lighter fluid into a live cigar butt.

Rico whispered something to Turk, and the
pair shared a private joke. From the episodes of
Demon Hunters
that Zach
had watched, Rico was a decent paranormal investigator, but the show had aired a
few scenes that displayed tension between Rico and Bryce. One episode, the pair
had gotten into a shouting match over whether or not a case could be solved due
to the client’s house having been built on a Native American burial ground.
Zach wasn’t certain how much of their conflicts had been accurate versus
manufactured television drama, but he suspected at some point, Rico would
branch off
Demon Hunters
and host his own show.

Grant Winkler unlocked the series of
padlocks, removed the chains and opened the entryway of Rosewood to
XPI
cheers and
Demon Hunter
barks.

Winkler had what could only be described as
an ‘I’ll-turn-this-car-around-right-now’ look on his face. “If you’re coming
in, come on in,” he said. “I ain’t leavin’ this gate unlocked until your security
guard gets here.”

Both groups passed through the gates.
Winkler followed them in, wrapped a chain snugly around the metal bars, and
clamped a padlock on.

Ray walked up to Zach.

“Nice guide,” he muttered low enough that
Winkler couldn’t hear him. “Relative of yours?”

As though on cue, the custodian pulled a
hanky from his pocket, wiped the sweat off his brow and neck, and then blew his
nose with it.

Zach leaned close to his friend. “Maybe if
you’re a good boy, he’ll let you borrow that later.”

“Yeah, to—”

“Zach?” Sara said. “Can I talk to you a
minute?”

“Sure,” he said. He turned back to Ray.
“I’ll see you up there.”

Led by Winkler both groups trudged up the
incline toward the asylum. Sara stayed behind and gave instructions to the
cameramen. “Get some low angle movement shots walking toward the front doors.
You know the kind.”

They nodded and went off.

“What’s up?” Zach asked Sara when they were
alone.

“Don’t you think you should,” she said and
paused. In his head, Zach translated it to mean “I think you had better…”

“What?”

“Well, I wonder if we should have you with
Bryce on camera most of the time during the tour. I mean, you and Ray can pal
around any time, but the viewers are going to want to see you and Bryce
investigating this together.”

After the prior day’s lunch, Zach would have
preferred spending time with a foul-breathed Neo-Nazi. He had, to that point,
avoided Bryce most of the morning, but from an entertainment perspective, she
had a point.

“Fine. Anything else?”

“No, that’s it.”

Rather than wait and walk up with her, he
trotted toward the group that was approaching the hospital’s entryway.

“Oh, and Zach?”

She always did this. He turned but continued
backpedaling toward Rosewood. He was already starting to feel like he was being
pulled in a dozen different directions.

She cupped her hands to her mouth. “Would it
kill you to do it with a smile?”

You never know, Zach thought. You never
know.

Keys jingling and clanking, Grant Winkler
opened Rosewood’s front doors. The smell of rotting plaster and dust was a
stale belch into the warm day.

Winkler casually strolled into the asylum
while the paranormal groups ventured in behind him. Beyond a modest foyer, the
lobby expanded upward taking up two floors. Strewn with cobwebs and littered with
garbage, what had once been the asylum’s reception area did not serve
Rosewood’s haunted reputation. It looked like any other ill-kept vacant
building. The lobby was absent any furniture, although a few dust brambles the
size of rodents rolled across the dirty wood floor, no doubt gathering mass as
they did so. First order of business would be cleaning the place, the lobby at
least, so that the dust didn’t foul up their electronic equipment.

On the opposite side of the lobby from the
reception area, a curved staircase led up to the second floor. Its white marble
steps swept up and around, encircling half of the dingy lobby like a waning
moon. The wooden railing appeared relatively new and had no doubt been a
product of one of the stalled reconstruction efforts.

“Can we get a shot from inside of you
opening it up?” Sara asked Winkler. She pointed a location to one of the
cameramen. “Everyone, back outside please.”

“What?” Winkler appeared dumbfounded.

“Please, sir?” Sara’s wink and smile had
worked on tougher men.

“Alright, but make it quick.”

They repositioned and filmed the
reenactment. Sara made sure that Bryce and Zach followed Winkler through the
double doors together into the building. This time when Winkler entered the
foyer, it was with an attitude—even more of one than he’d thus far displayed.
He started talking before most of the people had caught up with them.

“Up there’s most of the rooms, some of ‘em’s
locked, most not,” he shouted pointing at the staircase. “Down this hall here,
if you go about a hundred feet, is the cafeteria. Down that one is the
infirmary.

“You
are
taking us on a tour, right?”
Zach asked.

“Tour? What’s this look like, Disneyland?”

“Not exactly,” Zach said. “But we were led
to believe we’d be shown some of the spots where hauntings were said to have
occurred.”

“Nobody told me nothin’ about no tour. All I
was instructed to do was to let you’s in and show you the place.”

Zach sighed. “Wouldn’t that be—”

Sara stepped in. “Mr. Winkler, couldn’t you
just walk us through Rosewood and point out the specific places
you
might think might be haunted? You know, your friends and family would probably
like seeing you on TV...”

Zach knew what she was attempting. If she
could manipulate her way into at least getting a cursory walkthrough, she’d get
video footage and use voiceovers during the clips.

“Well, I don’t have friends or family that
would watch a show like this.” He cocked his head as he’d done earlier. His
inflection was sarcastic to the point of being patronizing. “I’ll tell you
what? You explain to all three of my bosses why I wasted my whole morning
walking you through an abandoned property. Then, I’ll show you where some
asshole cut the fence last week. Or maybe you’d like to see the door jam I
had’ta replace yesterday from some young punks prying their way into the
administration building? Yeah. Yeah, then I can show you where I cleaned up the
vandalism. Oooh boy, won’t that be a hootenanny!”

The echoes of his tirade faded to a dull hum
and then were gone. Despite hosting a lobby full of people for the first time
in over a century, Rosewood had never been more silent.

Then came the Grant Winkler
coup de grâce
.
“Besides, I don’t believe this place is haunted none anyways.”

By the time Zach convinced Winkler to leave
a set of keys so that he could open locked rooms and close the main door at
night, the early-day promise of Indian summer had delivered in spades.
Unseasonably warm autumn temperatures in Chicago typically brought gaiety to
those not wanting to release summer’s carefree days, but as the groups realized
how much equipment would need to be put in place, the heat brought only
anxiety.

Zach walked up the driveway after having
seen Winkler out. He passed the
XPI
and the
Demon Hunter
equipment vans parked near the front door. They faced outwards and, had they
been any closer to the building, they could have been gargoyles. Sara and Bryce
were chatting behind the
Demon Hunter
van.

“Is
any
of it usable?” Bryce asked
her.