Investigation of the Insane

Paranormal

by Peggy Probert staff writer

Part 1

Have you heard the blood-chilling story of the woman in a red dress? It takes place at the Northern Michigan Asylum for the Insane in Traverse City, Michigan. There was a nurse at the hospital who started back to her cottage at the end of a shift. It was quiet, with only the sounds of doors slamming and the drumming of insects vibrating in the air. The streets were enveloped in a blanket of shadow; the only visible light spilled from the windows of passing cottages. As she rides in a carriage, the nurse passes by the bat-shaped main building of the Asylum compound. She sees a woman in a red dress slumped on the side of the road but isn’t able to stop in time to help. After she halts the carriage and walks back down the path, she gets to the spot where she spotted the woman in red only to horrifyingly discover that the woman had completely vanished. This was the first of many sightings of the infamous “woman in red.”

This story is told to visitors who venture deep underground in the tunnels that hollow the earth underneath the Asylum. It is told in complete darkness to those who have the mental fortitude to make it far enough down the questionably-stable catacomb tunnels that span the hospital. Whether it be the main building, the cottages, or the tunnels, every place has an unfortunate story that is difficult to tell. Many people question if the Asylum is haunted by those who lived there, and most do not venture in to test their theories.

However, what if I told you that I was one of the few people who managed to make it through the tunnels? Or that I investigated the buried secrets of the Asylum, the suspiciously polished history embedded in the chimneys and asbestos floors, and the dark energies visitors have felt in the cottages? This is the recount of what happened on that blindingly-dark, teeth-chattering night. But, once you hear about what I discovered, will you still have the courage to walk the halls?

Part 2

My name is Peggy. I am a spiritualist and have members of my family who were patients at the Asylum. My great-great-grandmother was viewed as “abnormal” when others learned of her extreme case of depression; back then, this was cause to admit her to the asylum. I have lived my entire life viewing the Northern Michigan Asylum For The Insane from a distance, and only a few times have I overheard stories of the past or walked down its historic brick halls. I have always admired its iconic towering spires from the scenic hills that hug the borders of the hospital. I have heard stories of runaway patients and how the Asylum would blare alarms (similar to that of an eerie tornado siren) whenever a patient got loose; it served as a warning to those nearby to beware of the potential danger roaming in the streets. Hearing such stories let me see how life was in Traverse City with the arrival of the Asylum, now known as the Grand Traverse Commons (or just the Commons).

Construction began in April 1883 on the Victorian-styled asylum, led by architect Gordon W. Lloyd. It consists of a center administrative section and wings on either side for housing patients. The main structure is almost one-quarter mile long, over 300,000 square feet, and over 70 feet tall. The Asylum was built to serve many counties, including all of the Upper Peninsula, for the increasing demand for new hospitals in the area. Almost immediately after opening, there was still a demand for additional patient rooms. Starting in the 1890s, standalone cottages were constructed to serve the increasing patient population. If you were in the farthest cottage, you were the most trusted. If you were in the nearest cottages, you were the least trusted, or extremely sick.

“The general public has built this stereotype around the asylums in America due to the facilities being awful and extremely negative,” a tour guide at the Commons explains. Doctors did not have the answers as to why people were acting “abnormal” or “insane” during this period, so they referred to using twisted and disturbing methods of curing these people of their mental illnesses. Doctors performed lobotomies (severing the connection between both lobes of the brain), used electric chairs (strapping people to a chair and shocking them), and some of the more “disturbed” patients lived as shut-ins and were referred to by their patient number rather than their name.

However, in 1989, the hospital abruptly closed. “It had to do with funding these hospitals. The states all started shutting all these hospitals down and literally turning people out to the streets. Many had nowhere to go…it was a really sad time,” Marsha Minervini, one of the owners of the hospital, reveals.

Knowing how some of the patients had lived their lives inside the Asylum walls, could their negative energy still remain? Could the nurses and doctors who worked there still haunt the place? And did some of the patients never leave? With different claims and sightings being reported in recent years, it has attracted numerous paranormal investigations. Given stories like the woman in the red dress, just how haunted is the Northern Michigan Asylum? The buildings that make up the 300,000-foot property are too grand a task to be tackled by one person. Zoey Zender, a fellow friend and believer in the paranormal, offered her assistance.

In search of answers, we made calls and managed to get into a midnight investigation at the Asylum. This investigation consisted of around 15 people who traveled to the area to figure out what was really lurking behind the shattered artisan stained glass windows of the asylum.

Part 3

Friday, September 15th was the day of the investigation. We had been stewing in hopeful anticipation of this night as we researched the Asylum’s history. After making the trip up to the base, we were astonished by the beauty of the exterior of the building. Tall windows reached up the walls of each floor, featuring captivating limestone bricks and red spires that worked as air vents for the hospital amazed us. The main building (Building 50) looks like a castle. We felt small in comparison to the asylum, and we felt like we were being watched. With stacks of windows facing us and darkness creeping in, we felt eager to get inside and away from the open courtyards. We searched for signs of the meetup spot, but we immediately got lost in the labyrinth of halls. Eventually, we made it to the FUB - Freaky Ugly Building. Workers at the Commons refer to it as such because it is an ugly square concrete block nestled in between the two beautiful wings of the Asylum. It lies where the central spire (the tallest spire built on the grounds of Building 50) used to stand before its eventual collapse.

After entering the FUB, we could see the group at the end of a long corridor. While walking down, we noticed a timeline stretching the length of the hall. Each step we took pulled us through a different moment in the Asylum’s history, teaching us about why the hospital was built, all the way to its current day restoration process.

While we were enveloped in history, our guides walked into the hall. One was a tall man who lingered behind the other leader and mysteriously stood to the side and watched our investigation as a caboose. The other leader was a young woman who knew everything there was to know about the asylum and those who lived there.

The leader started by giving us insights into why she wanted to facilitate these tours: “I started here a couple of years ago caboosing...being the backup person to wrangle everyone and make sure everyone’s where they need to be,” she explains. She was too young to be a leader at the time, so she spent a lot of time caboosing before becoming a leader herself.

“My job [is to educate] people on the history of the asylum here and inform people on the stigma and stereotypes that come with a lot of these facilities,” she elaborates. “These facilities were pretty awful because a lot of the asylum systems were really negative.” As she speaks, you can almost feel her eagerness to teach, to share the history of the building. “I love educating people on that and shedding some light on how, sure, some of the asylum systems were awful. The reason I do it is that I really like educating people on the history here, and I grew up with the asylum. It’s [part of] my family. My great great grandparents worked here back in the day, so it’s what I grew up with.” She continues to talk as she leads the investigation group down the halls of the FUB.

As we walked, she showed us images of how the central spire would have looked if it were still standing strong. She then gave us information on who built the Asylum, why we were here, and what we were about to get ourselves into. Soon after, we walked outside into the chilling air, the group pausing to unpack and activate lights to shine on the uneven stone paths. Walking north, we head out to some of the abandoned men’s cottages on the south side of the property. A chemical smell seeps from fresh spray-paint markings, and the smell of the forest, moss, and dirt helps create the calm atmosphere that architect Kirkbride created to help heal the patients of the hospital.

As we arrive at the first cottage’s entrance, I notice a large metal bar blocking the door. One at a time, both guides pick up one end of the bar and pull it off, letting it clank against the floor. Once we got inside, she turned us loose after giving us more information on the “treatments” they gave the patients. We wander the halls, peeking through broken and boarded windows, windows that survived being stoned, and odd holes in the walls. We slowly walk the planks, feeling the boards creek beneath our feet and pray we do not fall through. Every word spoken is a whisper, the scale of the rooms and the darkness of the night seemed to take everyone’s breath away. Holding out a recorder in front of me,

I walk through the halls hoping to catch something on tape. Zoey walks alongside me, taking photos periodically, hoping to catch something on camera. One of the guides at the Asylum is “a paranormal investigator who has multiple [electronic voice phenomenons] that he’s gotten while exploring the compound,” the guide reveals to our group, making us more eager to find evidence of our own.

We make our way outside after the group fully explores the different floors. Seeing that the sky has only gotten darker, we head back down the stone paths towards the main building. We stop again at the base of a larger cottage with even more broken windows and slowly enter, our hair standing on end. Unlike the other cottage, this building held the dining hall, a giant room full of toppled chairs and tables, pipes, and a wall with its bricks spread out on the floor like jacks. The sight of the fallen wall only makes the sense of impending danger more intense. Will the roof collapse with us inside? Should we stay? Eager to move, we continue walking the halls with the structural integrity of everything around us in mind. After getting many more photos and audio recordings, we traveled back to building 50, feeling excited knowing what we were about to experience next. We made it to something called a building, but it was the size of a closet, and the width of the door covered the front. Gathering back into a group, they opened the door and let us descend. The “building” was cramped. It only held a steep staircase that went below ground, which made you wary of each step you took in order not to be pulled down. After ducking under passing pipes overhead, we made it to a room that was used to control the steam that circulated through the vents.

We began to investigate the Asylum’s Catacombs. These tunnels were used as the main route for the steam traveled through to heat the buildings and cottages on the asylum grounds. These tunnels are made entirely of hand-placed brick and packed earth; the only assurance that you would not be trapped nor crushed alive comes from trusting the work of those who lived centuries ago. As we skipped over pools of water that eroded bricks on the floor, we ended up in the tunnels that reached underneath the main building. Everyone is all geared up, lights shining down the tunnels, phones out taking pictures, and faces full of complete amazement.

The group started to spread out down each side of the tunnel, their voices echoing as they spoke, and when the guide called out, her voice sounded even louder. If the stillness of the tunnels wasn’t enough, she had everyone disable their lights, leaving all of us standing in complete darkness. Our hands were invisible. Only the voice of Zoey standing next to me let me know where I stood. After the group settled in the darkness, the guide relayed the story of the woman in the red dress. While telling the story, the woman made the lights quickly flash. Some people ducked out of instinctual fear, and some people’s voices barreled and bounced through the tunnels as they screamed and spoke.

Eventually, we reached the surface. It was still dark, but in comparison to the lack of light within the tunnels, we appreciated the return of our sense of sight. Walking back into the FUB, our investigation came to a close. We wrapped up after two hours of exploring two abandoned cottages, the catacombs, and learning about the history directly from those who cherish the hospital. Zoey and I talked about our photos and recordings, excited to get back home and comb through our findings.

While we did not catch anything supernatural, we learned something interesting while conducting an interview with one of the guides who works at the Commons. “People ask all the time, ‘are the buildings haunted,’ and honestly, I tell them I’ve seen more stuff in my childhood homes growing up than I’ve seen here,” she admits. We also learned that the hospital did more to support its patients than other asylums in America. “We want to try to be very mindful, and very respectful of the history here. We understand that just because it was a better asylum doesn’t mean it was a great place…there are still a lot of people in town that have some sort of connection here, whether they were here as a patient or staff,” she shares. “This was a place that people genuinely needed.” Hearing this shows why we didn’t get any results from our initial investigation and why it was worth saving the Northern Michigan Asylum. //