Queer. Writer. Traveler. Epileptic. Gaymer.

The Central Maine Sanatorium, originally The Chase Memorial Sanatorium, opened in 1910 as a hospital to treat tuberculosis patients. As the rate of tuberculosis cases rose, so did the need for treatment. Extending the intimate hospital setting, construction of wooden buildings took place in 1912 but were unfortunately lost in a fire one year later. The hospital quickly bounced back rebuilding with the addition of a surgical wing and children’s unit.

At the time, there were three Maine (pun not intended) treatment centers for patients with tuberculosis. Western Maine Sanatorium, Central Maine Sanatorium, and Northern Maine Sanatorium. In more southern regions of the state, patients who seemed to be responding to treatment and were more likely to be cured were admitted or transferred to Western Maine Sanatorium in Hebron, ME. Otherwise, they remained or were transferred to Central Maine Sanatorium in Fairfield, ME. In northern regions of the state patients with tuberculosis were admitted to the Northern Maine Sanatorium in Presque Isle, ME. The Central Maine Sanatorium closed in 1970 with a portion of its rooms remaining open as the Pleasant Hill Nursing Home eventually closing in 2001.

Consider helping me deliver more content: https://www.patreon.com/imarrowsj

(All photos below were taken by my good friend and talented photographer Tamara Gaal who has kindly allowed me to share them here with you all! Go give her a follow on Instagram: @tamaragaal. Thank you again, Tami, for joining my team and I on this paranormal hunt through this relic of Maine history.)

Front View

Hallway

Room 1

Chair

Device Thingy

Furnace Room

Grandma's House

I Died In Here

Observation Window Shattered

Porch

Ouji Board

© John Marrows All Rights Reserved

Within this blog post, I’ll be discussing the creation of the short story series All My Friends Are Freaks. The significance of each of the main characters; Ethan, Twitch, and Annie will be outlined alongside a drafted map of the behavioral health center with actual photos from inside the facility! Additionally, I’ll be responding to your questions from the All My Friends Are Freaks Q&A.

SPOILER ALERT: The information within this post may reveal important plot points within the series. If you haven’t read them yet, I’ll link all three parts below. As always, they’re FREE to read!

PART ONE: All My Friends Are Freaks

PART TWO: All My Friends Are Freaks: Part Two

PART THREE: All My Friends Are Freaks: Part Three

Let me share some initial thoughts before I get rambling about the infamous children’s unit veterans; Ethan, Twitch, and Annie. All My Friends Are Freaks has been a culmination of personal perseverance, reliving unfortunate traumas, and balancing the right mix of reality with fiction. I felt like I was there, every step the veterans take on and off the unit. Putting myself back in those hospital socks wasn’t something I was comfortable doing at times, but boy howdy did I enjoy fighting for these characters and I’m hoping you did as well. Again, just wanted to say thank you to those who sent in questions either in person, Instagram, Twitter, or wherever. Thank you to all my readers!

ETHAN

In the original first draft of All My Friends Are Freaks I wanted Ethan to seem like life on the children’s unit was just another day. Moving forward I found him to best to represent the struggle many of us have to fight to belong, even when our peers respect us for who we are. Our anxiety spikes when we’re put under the spotlight, unable to perform mundane tasks, such as Ethan buttering toast like in part one. Ethan is the friend who constantly tries to show you that he cares to the point where it annoys you. He’s the friend that needs a reminder that he’s doing great things and you appreciate his presence. The friend who almost always says he’s “fine” even with a black eye and a bruised abdomen.

TWITCH

Mason Gatto AKA Twitch is a twelve-year-old foster child living with photosensitive epilepsy. Twitch’s experiences and motivations closely relate to my own. This character was intended to mirror my own struggles and triumphs within the behavioral health care system. Part two took a ton of self-exploration and putting myself back into moments where I was most uncomfortable, very vulnerable, and extremely malleable. I’m sure many artists and writers go through this process and if you have, I value and appreciate your courage to do so. There’s not much more I’d like to say about Twitch, but if you have any further questions feel free to reach out here or on Twitter and Instagram: @iMarrowsJ.

ANNIE

The character basis for Annie, as mentioned in my twitter feed a while back, is closely resembled by a close friend I had in one of these facilities growing up. She’s headstrong to a point of stubbornness and will do anything for her friends. In reality, she was, much like many others who frequented these facilities, a self-injurer that was prone to cutting. After a particularly stressful evening at home, she coped by cutting and unfortunately sliced through a major artery in her wrist eventually passing from blood loss. If you’re unfamiliar with self-injury, specifically cutting, those who use this unhealthy coping mechanism are almost never trying to end their lives, the bleeding releases endorphins which helps the body deal with pain and stress. I do NOT condone this method of coping and recommend if you are cutting to seek assistance from a trusted friend and/or adult. Regrettably, around this age, I was unable to truly grasp the meaning of our friendship as we both were attempting to navigate our own challenges. Later in my teenage years, a few of the other “veterans” and I grasped the harsh reality of her untimely death and were able to grieve appropriately.

If you or someone you know is suffering and believe to be using self-harm as a coping mechanism Text CONNECT to 741741 to speak anonymously with a crisis counselor.

If you are feeling suicidal, please know that you are not alone. You can call the Trevor Lifeline at 1-866-488-7386, the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255), or the Suicide Crisis Line at 1-800-784-2433.

Behavioral Health Center

Although an actual facility, I believe keeping its name and location redacted is definitely called for. The images listed below are stills illustrating the portions of the children’s unit. More specifically, the day room, nurses’ station, and a few extra things I’ll be sure to point out.

The Unit

Nurses Station AMFAF FILTERED

Pointing out a few things mentioned in the series. The nurse’s station where Twitch and Annie swiped pens from with the surveillance feed where Annie and Ethan watched Twitch noggin clock that MHW in the nose in the quiet room.

Surveillance Feed AMFAF FILTERED

The infamous magnetic locked double doors on the far left.

Double Doors AMFAF FILTERED

And of course…the observation windows into the day room with the bolt locked door that leads outside.

Outside Door AMFAF FILTERED

Unit AMFAF FILTERED

From the entrance of the double doors, a front view of the nurse’s station.

Patient Charts AMFAF FILTERED

Pointing out the patients’ charts tucked behind the nurse’s station where Annie and Twitch read through Ethan’s chart in part three.

Reader Q&A

Why is it called ‘All My Friends Are Freaks’?

All My Friends Are Freaks is ultimately for those who not only don’t fit the ‘typical’ label of society but also tend to be cast out because of their differences. Whether that be from their abusive past, their mental illness, or just their will to persevere…to survive. I’ve found that within the walls of behavioral health centers, especially if there’s a children’s unit, you’ll find hurt, shamed, abused, broken people; but you’ll also find a unique collection of people who actually understand the pain you’re going through. They get it. If you’ve ever said “you wouldn’t understand” to anyone, truly believing that you’re alone in your struggle, All My Friends Are Freaks is for you. It’s for us.

Why short stories?

Working mostly in the seasonal employment industry, I understand that time is valuable. Especially your downtime. I wanted to give my audience the ability to have a “full” read experience within twenty minutes to a half-hour. Specifically, with the All My Friends Are Freaks series, breaking it into three parts made drafting the change of POV’s smoother than attempting to squeeze them all into one piece.

Will all your works be short stories?

No. In fact, I’ve been drafting my first horror novel for about a year now. (More on that later.) Also, I have plans to pitch plays I’ve written to alternative theater companies around the US.

Why does Twitch only cover one eye in part three?

Twitch has photosensitive epilepsy and there is a reflex for some that when introduced to a potential trigger (flashing lights, fireworks, lightning, etc.) they will cover their right eye averting their gaze. For most individuals that are photosensitive, they tend to avoid situations where these triggers are present altogether. However, each individual could have different triggers with varying intensity of seizures.

Wait…is Twitch dead?

You tell me.

Would you consider writing an extra part from an external perspective like an MHW or Dr. Shaundry?

Yes and no. If this ever reaches a larger audience that calls for this, I’d love to come back and write a “special edition” sort of post.

Would you like to see your series adapted to film or television?

Hell yeah! Honestly, I’d sell this to a media outlet in a heartbeat under the stipulation that I’d be working closely with the writers. Keeping the characters accurate and true would be a priority as they’re important to me…and also me. Ha-ha.

How much of this is a blend of your own experiences with fiction?

Fantastic question! I’d say most of the “experiences” up to Samuel attacking Ethan at the end of part two sum up the non-fiction aspect. Although, not as “storybook”, the small things are what really made part one and two connect with my life. I remember being that kid in and out of hospitals and the MHW’s remembering my face, what my triggers were, plus the things I could get away with and how to help those new admittances cope with being in unfamiliar, and often uncomfortable, territory.

And yes…the Salisbury Steak is really that nasty. Ha-ha.

Once again, I’m hoping you enjoyed reading this series as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you to all my readers!

© John Marrows All Rights Reserved

 

NOTE: This is part THREE of the All My Friends Are Freaks short story series! If you haven’t already and would like to check out part one and two I will link them here:

PART ONE: All My Friends Are Freaks

PART TWO: All My Friends Are Freaks: Part Two

Stealthily exiting the unit, Twitch and I can see the rain flood the hospital parking lot.

“Fuck,” Twitch jumps as lightning strikes nearby followed by another boisterous clap of thunder.

“You alright?” I stop.

“I’m fine. Can we please just get away from the windows?” Twitch replies holding his hand over his right eye.

Grabbing Twitch’s arm, I pull him forward. Picking up our pace, we reach a questionable junction. The double doors in front of us lead to intake and the main lobby, whereas the hallway to our left routes towards the day program classrooms, gymnasium, and cafeteria.

“Annie, why are we stopping?” Twitch fervently questions holding his head to the ground.

Before I can answer, I notice the silhouettes of two MHW’s behind the double doors. Blindly dragging Twitch behind me, we dash down the hallway.

BAM! The double doors blow open followed by the hefty footsteps of the MHW’s about to turn the corner.

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit,” I continuously ramble to myself scrambling to open any door within reach.

Finally finding one that’s unlocked, I whip the door open throwing Twitch in front of me gently closing it behind us.

“You don’t have to keep tossing-,” Twitch starts before I forcefully place my hand over his mouth.

Keeping a finger over my lips I raise my hand from Twitch’s mouth. I cringe silently, cutting the lights as I attempt to lock the door behind me without making a sound. The steel from the deadbolt scrapes harshly against the inside casing of the strike plate as the MHW’s make their way down the hallway.

“No patients in here,” one calls out opening the door adjacent from us as Twitch and I hold our breath.

Twitch holds onto me tight as we hear the MHW’s keychain dangle right outside the door. Giving the handle a try, the MHW then rotates through a couple of keys. My jaw moves nervously as the teeth of his keys grind coarsely against the locking mechanism.

WHOMP! An echoing thump comes from above as if a tree has fallen on to the roof. I look to Twitch.

“What was that?” the MHW asks pulling away from the door.

“You. Stay right there!” the other shouts back down the hall.

WHAM! Twitch and I jolt up as an MHW’s body strikes the door. Moving towards the back of the room, I begin to feel around for anything in the form of a weapon to defend us. Grasping nothing but bendy straws, broken crayons, and paper cups I now realize why they had left the arts and crafts room unlocked.

“Here,” Twitch whispers handing me one of the pens we swiped from the nurse’s station.

I can feel my heart attempt to race out of my chest while Twitch and I eye the door. There’s a silence.

“Twitch,” I quietly murmur at Twitch as he starts tiptoeing towards the door.

He stops. Turning slowly to me, we both sport a puzzled expression while an indistinguishable snarl creeps through the cracks in the door.

“What the fuck is that?” I mouth inching closer to Twitch.

A gentle, repetitive knock hits the door accompanied by the sound of someone gasping for air. Sprinting for the door, I immediately reach for the bolt lock.

“What are you doing?” Twitch fretfully demands, pulling my hand away from the door.

“They might have Ethan,” I assertively reply.

“Just be ready,” I caution gripping the end of a ballpoint pen as if it’s a dagger.

Twitch nods as I unbolt the door.

“On three,” Twitch states.

“One, two, THREE!” we shout yanking the door open swinging our pens blindly in front of us.

Anchoring my pen, I gradually open my eyes as blood begins to run down my arm.

“Holy shit,” Twitch utters in awe, dropping the pen to his side.

Both MHW’s hang before us by bedsheets like some sort of fucked-up flesh pinatas.

Releasing my grip, I wipe the blood off on his pant leg.

“Let’s go!” I holler at Twitch progressing towards the cafeteria.

“Wait,” he anxiously calls back gesturing under their suspended corpses.

“Look,” he nervously shakes pointing to a chocolate milk carton.

Reaching for the carton, I examine it closely with Twitch.

“You don’t think,” Twitch starts.

“Samuel,” I finish.

A childish chuckle carries through the hallway from the children’s unit shifting our attention. Standing at the ready, Twitch and I cautiously follow the laughter backtracking towards the unit.

“Ethan!” I call out.

“Samuel?” Twitch apprehensively adds.

The laughter subsides and lights begin to flicker as the generator motor finally kicks in. Twitch drops his focus to the floor, shielding his vision.

“Guess the power’s back on. Bully for us,” he jokingly responds.

“Yeah, bully for us. Except all the double doors are locked again which means we’re stuck here,” I add helping Twitch up.

“Unless…” Twitch begins.

“…we borrow some keys-,“ Twitch turns back to the hanging MHW’s in shock to find one is missing.

“Where’d he go?” I ask.

“I don’t fucking know!” Twitch replies.

“Did you hear anything?” I persist.

“No! I was busy trying to not to fuckin’ zombie out,” Twitch answers.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” I yammer on frantically searching the area.

“Even if he fell, we’d have to hear that. We would hear it. His body would hit the floor,” I chat to myself trying to make some sense of the situation.

“Blood,” an elderly voice eccentrically responds turning the corner from the cafeteria.

Immobilized by the menacing tone, Twitch and I stare petrified down the hallway.

A stripped, shriveled, skeletonesque man saunters sinisterly in our direction holding out a spoon.

“I told your friend,” he starts giggling to himself.

“Blood is the key to freedom. Yes. Yes, it is! We just need to bleed, and we’ll be free. Free. FREE!”

The man cackles wildly, then jabs the blunt-edged spoon into his eye socket twisting and digging deeper eventually pulling forth his own eyeball followed by a bit of what could be brain matter attached to his optic nerve. Profusely leaking from his freshly shoveled orifice, he limply collapses forward to the floor; his eye rolls from the palm of his hand across the carpeted hallway meeting the ends of my hospital socks. As if quicksand suddenly formed underneath him, the mans bare and bloodied corpse sinks into the floor.

“Twitch…did you see that?” I stammer running towards the renewed carpet floor.

“Where’d he go? Where the fuck did he go!?” I scream in frustration as panicked tears start rolling down my face.

“Twitch! Twitch? Twitch, where are you?” I call out down both ends of the empty hallway.

“ANNIE!” Twitch cries back.

“Twitch! Twitch, I’m coming!” I shout out grabbing his pen and the keys from the belt loop of the remaining MHW.

Sprinting back towards the children’s unit, I turn the corner to see the parking lot continue to flood and winds tear branches into the roads. The lightning has seemed to subside, but the thunder lingers in the form of a constant rumble. Reaching the double doors at the entrance of the unit I swipe the electronic key fob disengaging the magnetic locking strip. Lightly pushing the doors open, I warily slide my body through. The unit is still. Abandoned it seems. Hurriedly making rounds of the children’s unit I’m surprised to find no one in the day room and all of the patient rooms open and empty.

“Code blue children’s unit. Code blue children’s unit,” an unknown voice states over the hospital intercom.

BAM! The unit doors fly open. Hoisting myself over the service desk of the nurse’s station, I hide as the intimidating steps quickly pass towards the quiet room. Staying low, I crawl towards the edge of the station checking to see if the coast is clear. No sign of any MHW’s, I pop my head up staring closely at the surveillance feed from the quiet room. A few nurses and MHW’s stand calmly in unison around the patient restrained to the table. Unable to make out who the patient is through a greyish blur on the monitor, I wipe the screen with my hand. The blur persists and begins to spread around the quiet room like smoke. Arms by their sides, heads bowed towards the patient, the fumes trail up their chests into their nostrils.

“TWITCH!” I exclaim as the smoke clears his body.

“AHHHH!” an earsplitting shriek carries through the unit over the hospital intercom.

Placing my hands over my ears, I wince and cower under the desk until the shrilling screech eventually halts. Once again, my eye line meets the edge of the nurse’s station taking a quick look around. Skimming back over the surveillance camera, Twitch struggles alone against the restraints. Hastily making my way towards the quiet room, the handle singes my skin. Glimpsing through the square observation window I can see Twitch continue to writhe as the floor around him becomes engulfed in flames. Grabbing a washcloth from a patient’s room, I wrap it tightly around my hand approaching the quiet room door. Samuel stands guard defending the chaos he has produced.

“It’s over Annie,” he calmly starts.

“Move Samuel,” I state, readying my stance.

“Soon, all will be clear,” he continues.

“Just bleed. Just bleed and you too will be free,” he finishes chuckling madly to himself.

“You first,” I spring forward pulling Twitch’s pen from behind me.

Stabbing mercilessly, I continuously dig the pen into his lower abdomen until my arm grows weak. Releasing my grip, his body falls lifeless over mine. Shoving his corpse to the floor, I shudder at what I’ve done.

“Ethan,” I murmur through my immediate grief.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Ethan,” I whimper kneeling to his side.

“Annie,” he faintly returns.

“Bleed. Bleed and you’ll be free,” he demonically snickers unveiling his rotted teeth and uninviting eyes.

I begin crawling backward as he continues to snigger gradually descending into the floor. The flames inside the quiet room cease.

“Twitch,” I jump to my feet pulling the door open running to his side.

Releasing each restraint one by one, Twitch lays unresponsive on the bed.

“Twitch. Twitch, c’mon get up,” I shout unlatching the final restraint.

“You’ve never walked away from anything in your life. Get up!” my tears pile onto his chest.

Goddamnit Twitch! Please! Please, get up. Please,” I lay over him continuing to sob.

In this moment. I feel it’s only us. In this room. In this moment. In this life. Together. Collectively as close and as far apart as we can be. I can hear his heart hang on by a thread and his lungs attempt to fill with air. The rise and fall in his chest keeps me hopeful as I continue to lay there beside him.

Groggily awakening, Twitch turns his body towards me rubbing his eyes with one hand. My remaining tears fall off my cheeks around my grateful smile.

“I know, Twitch. I know, but you gotta get up. Let’s go, I’ll help you up,” I encourage helping him up.

Carefully roaming the children’s unit, I gather some items from the nurse’s station while Twitch uses the bathroom. Noticing our charts behind me, I decide to peruse through while we have a moment to rest. Our charts hold all the information about us during our stay here, or in Ethan, Twitch and I’s case, stays. From admittance evaluation to medications, to outbursts and sedations, what time we fall asleep, how much we ate for breakfast, heck there’s even a number of bathroom visits on here. Little overkill if you ask me. The most important thing listed, however, is the patient’s potential discharge date. That’s all people care about when they’re leaving. For us, the veterans, that’s not something we tend to look forward too. This is our home, for now. And we all seem to be alright with that.

Pulling Ethan’s chart from the shelf, I can’t help but feel upset. Out of the three of us, Ethan was the least happy to be here. He didn’t feel he belonged anywhere. You know how when you’re upset and you tell people “you wouldn’t understand,” well the only person I genuinely believed was Ethan. His feelings seemed so complex and genuine in the most extreme ways.

“Patient has shown willingness to participate in their treatment plan and has voluntarily complied with prescribed medications. Recommended for discharge within the next week,” I read to myself.

“Where to now?” Twitch asks.

“Nowhere,” I blow Twitch off, hiding some tears with a sniffle.

“Well…we can’t just stay here, can we? Whose chart is that?” he returns.

“No one’s, alright!?” I snidely snap back tossing Ethan’s chart aside.

“You saw him too, didn’t you?” Twitch sympathetically expresses to my back.

“I thought I was just seeing things. Or…I don’t know, that I might have died,” he tries to explain getting a bit emotional.

“He was trying to help me in the quiet room. But he just…it wasn’t him. I think. I think I just really wanted it to be,” he finishes.

“It wasn’t,” I snap again.

“Ethan’s gone. So, let’s just focus on getting outta here alive,” I end continuing towards the unit doors.

“Since when are we trying to get out?” Twitch calls back.

“Where would we go?” he follows.

“What are you even talking about?” I step back.

“Even if the weather was on our side, which it’s not, where would we go if we get out?” he persists.

“I haven’t gotten that far ye-,” I try to reply.

“Home, right? You would go home, and I would just wander the road until the police pick me up,”

“Twitch, that’s not what we’re going to do-,”

“I’m tired, Annie. Tired of just hopping home to home only to get placed back here to rot. I’m tired of everyone telling me that I’m not good enough, that I’m going to be something awful, just another product of abuse and neglect, a loser, a statistic,” Twitch begins to vent.

“What if they’re right? Then what am I fighting for? Why am I trying so hard to fit into a world that clearly doesn’t want me?” he asks turning away from me.

“Twitch, you don’t fight for them…you fight for you. You fight just like every other statistic so that when you come out alright on the other side you can look back and say ‘Fuck You! I did make it. I’m still here and everything you told me I’d be was a lie’,”

“Annie. There are times I look at the patients on the middle unit and I see me. It feels…right? Like that’s where I’m supposed to end up,”

“Twitch, I might not have the answers you’re looking for, but neither do the people working here. People spend their whole lives searching for reason and purpose forgetting just to live and be the person they are. Statistic or not, your struggle is what makes you who you are,” I continue grabbing Ethan’s chart once more.

“And if you won’t fight for you, fight for Ethan. He loved us, dude. He cared more about how we were doing more than himself any time of the day. So, when you’re ready, let’s plan our next move,” I finish handing Ethan’s chart over to Twitch.

Twitch takes a minute to browse through Ethan’s chart while I proceed to search the unit for any extra items. Digging through every cabinet and drawer, besides a few more pens, almost nothing seems viable. Pulling out the pockets of the nurse’s extra scrubs hanging by their station, I hear a jingling come from behind. Tossing the scrubs aside, the most prized item I could ask for presents itself; teasing me with its golden teeth hanging by a thin, blue threaded lanyard, a master key, a skeleton key. Only a handful of head RN’s and psychologists access to some parts of the hospital.

Gripping the lanyard grinning ear to ear, I turn to Twitch presenting the key like a newly awarded gold medal at the Olympics. My smile swiftly fades as I witness a knotted sheet fly over Twitch’s head wrapping securely around his neck. As if he were cattle being wrangled to the ground, his body jerks back as he’s violently dragged across the unit floor.

“Twitch!” I hurdle over the counter watching Twitch reach for the sheet, he clutches the ends attempting to loosen the deadly hold it has on his airway.

The unit doors whip open unveiling the impossibly endless string of bedsheets continuing down the hallway between units.

Running past Twitch, I place the master key into the manual port.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon…,” the doors begin to slowly shut as I brace myself to catch Twitch.

OOMPH! Twitch crashes into me as the doors shut behind us. Fumbling with the sheet around his neck, he struggles as I hastily untie the knots.

Gasping for air, Twitch sits up coughing and gagging.

“Holy shit,” I take a breath in exhaling as I lay my head against the double doors grateful that Twitch is alright.

We take a moment to rest on the firm carpeted unit floor.

“We have to get outta here,” Twitch states.

Chuckling aloud, I jokingly shake my head standing to my feet offering my hand out to him with a smile.

Turning the master key, we both wearily eye the hallway as the doors open once more. Twitch grabs a few of the sheets tying a noose of his own fastening one end to his waist and carrying the other like a lasso. Retrieving the master key, we make way down the hallway where one MHW still hangs.

“What’s the plan?” Twitch asks as we turn the corner towards the cafeteria.

“We’re going to pick up our prescription,” I cheekily voice gesturing towards the pharmacy door with the master key.

Crouching outside the pharmacy window, I reach up inserting the key. I beam with glee turning the key as I hear the steel bolt exit the locking mechanism. I turn to Twitch with a boastful smirk. The door faintly creaks as I gently push it open just enough for Twitch and I to squeeze through.

“What exactly are we looking for again?” Twitch apprehensively jumps in keeping watch of the door.

“Anything really,” I answer opening every drawer and cabinet.

“Yeah, but…do we even know what we’re fighting?” Twitch adds.

“Nope,” I effortlessly reply.

“Jackpot!” I shout carefully unveiling a handful of syringes to Twitch.

“What are we supposed to do with those?” he returns.

“Improvise,” I say taping a few together into one badass shiv.

Opening the pharmacy door, we both continue down the hallway passing by the cafeteria. The harsh lighting from the parking lot on the other side illuminates through onto the empty tables and chairs.

“Thought I’d be more excited to see the cafeteria,” Twitch states staring at the menu board outside the entrance.

“Holy shit! Congrats on leaving the unit Twitch. What’s it been, a week?” I nudge Twitch playfully.

“Try two. Dr. Shaundry’s had a firm grip on my nuts for a while now,” he chuckles to himself.

“You hungry?” he adds.

“More tired, but I could go in for some fuel,” I answer.

“If there’s only Salisbury steak, I’d rather stick these needles in my own neck,” I add pointing at the poorly written menu board.

Twitch and I laugh entering the cafeteria hoping to scavenge something substantial. Working our way towards the line, I glance into the parking lot where rainfall has submerged the few remaining cars tires and telephone poles have fallen. A searchlight shines from above through the shatterproof panel passing right by my face.

“Twitch! It’s a helicopter,”

“Help! We’re in here! Help us!” I shout waving my arms, then banging on the window.

BAM! I jump back as a manic patient’s hand smacks back on the other side of the glass.

I can’t hear him, but I can tell he’s pleased even though the torrential downpour drenches his gown accompanied by the forceful winds. He runs off opportunely towards the entrance road.

Before I stand, I can hear a slight trickle hit the floor behind me.

Twitch stares blankly towards the parking lot as water drips from his cup onto the floor.

Running to his side, I fumble for a moment, then begin to count.

“…1, 2, 3…”

BOOM! A gunshot echoes in the distance outside.

Continuing my count to myself I run to the cafeteria entrance locking us in with the master key checking over my shoulder at Twitch.

BAM! The double doors leading from the center of the hospital whip open.

“Middle unit,” I whisper to myself terrified.

Knowing the lock won’t be enough I frantically pull a few tables hoping to barricade the entrance.

“…36, 37, 38…”

I continue to count throwing chairs on top of the tables as patients line up in the hallway viciously slamming on the glass.

My attention instantly switches towards the kitchen as I can hear the clanging of some pots and pans.

“…49, 50, 51…”

I clench my dagger of syringes circling Twitch readying myself to defend.

TINGTINGTING

A middle unit patient approaches mockingly hitting a pot with a wooden spoon.

“…66, 67, 68…”

“Fuck off psycho!” I scream.

Gloatingly snickering his glance cheekily shifts to the left.

“…71, 72, 73…”

As I turn another patient grasps my throat lifting me off my feet.

“…77, 78, 79…”

The patients in the hallway erupt barreling anything they can find against the window in attempts to breakthrough.

With one swift motion, I swing my dagger directly into his jugular, twisting and digging until he releases his grip from my neck.

“…85, 86, 87…”

CRASH! Before the other patient can approach, the window breaks as a dozen more patients stampede in slicing themselves all over the wire within the safety glass.

I sprint towards Twitch tackling him to the ground continuing to count.

“…91, 92, 93…”

Holding him tight, I feel this is our end. Even though with seconds to spare, each moment lasts longer than the last. My tears pile beside us in a puddle. A puddle that reflects not only our fight but our resilience and courage to belong in a world that so clearly tries to define our worth.

ZIPZIP…ZIP…

Bullets pass over our heads as the bodies of patients begin to collapse beside ours.

A few police officers’ flashlights direct their attention over us. I weep gratefully in their direction continuing to count.

“…105, 106, 107…”

Refusing to let go of Twitch, I feel blood pour out of his back from a new wound.

I stop counting and place my ear against his chest. His heartbeat gradually fades as other officers make their way in.

© John Marrows All Rights Reserved

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Opened in 1978 on 315 Travis, Treebeards lives within the Baker Travis building, which is the second oldest building in Houston, Texas. Although the reviews mentioned great food and a lively bar atmosphere, reports of cold spots and a bean cooks description of a full body apparition are what caught my teams eye. Making it a perfect lunch stop on my travels through Houston.

The bean cook describes what could’ve been Mr. Danowitz, an elderly tailor that shared the building with Treebeards when it first opened its doors in 1978. Within a building that’s been standing since the 1870s, Treebeards may be hosting more than just customers at their southern cooking cafe.

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Entrance

Gator

Staircase

Above Art

Upstairs Bar

Barkeep

© John Marrows All Rights Reserved

Constructed in 1926, the Julia Ideson Building located at 500 McKinney stands across from downtowns Main Branch Library in Houston, Texas. Although checking out a book would regularly be on my itinerary while visiting the library, rumors of a past caretaker and his dog’s spirit roaming the grounds are what sparked my team and I’s interest.

Caretaker Jacob Frank Cramer and his German Shephard companion Petey, have been said to be seen roaming the library grounds during their nightly rounds. Sounds of Peteys nails clicking across the tile floor has been enough to keep some believers away from this historical Texas building.

“Unfortunately, we cannot confirm that HPL has a resident ghost – even though we joined Houston Chronicle staff last year in a ghost-hunting exercise. We trekked the halls of the Julia Ideson Building into the wee hours of the night, searching for any sign of Mr. Cramer or Petey. Sadly, we didn’t turn up a single note, click or flash of light. But the legend continues.” – Sandra Fernandez, HPL public relations manager.

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Main Entrance

Side View

Side Door

Front Sign

Texas Historical Mark

© John Marrows All Rights Reserved

Constructed in 1885 within the heart of Austin, the Texas State Capitol Building stands valiantly atop a hill. Monuments scatter the grounds, with a historical museum and gift shop off to the side. Tours are offered to those seeking a more traditional travel experience. However, rumors of spirits that haunt the grounds and building itself are what brought my team and I to the Texas State Capitol Building.

Murdered in his first-floor office in 1903, Comptroller Robert Marshall Love has been reportedly seen walking up the promenade of the Texas Capitol Building. You may see him wandering the grounds towards the capitol entrance on a misty morning sporting a top hat and coat tails.

An unidentified politician once held secret trysts in a stairwell located on the third floor. His lover, an unknown woman in red, has been spotted by cleaning crews in his third-floor office but vanishes as they turn the corner attempting to approach her. This section of the capitol is not open to the public.

In 1983, despite the heroic efforts of Austin firefighters, a 23-year-old man burned to death in a fire within the capitol walls causing severe damage to the East Wing. Rumor states that however many times you clean the window, handprints appear on the glass when the humidity is high. The very same window firefighters failed to break open in attempts to free the man trapped inside.

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Texas Capitol Building Cover Unedited

Front Yard

Main Lobby

Ceiling

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Against fair warning from locals in 1839, Gideon White decided to build a home in proximity to Shoal Creek. After three years of residency, Gideon was reportedly murdered by passing Native Americans. Once his corpse was discovered, the remains and shallow graves of many more were uncovered in the surrounding area. The majority of the graves were victims of yellow fever and cholera. Reports of unusual noises, cold spots, and vanishing apparitions are common from those who wander through this scenic running and biking route. Authorities claim pedestrians are not permitted on the trail after 10:00PM due to the amount of activity reported.

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Historical Marker

Creek One

Creek Two

Creek Three

Sewer Hole

Boulder Seating

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Once thriving in the early 20th century as a cotton shipping center for the central Texas area, Bartlett now stands mostly baron. Most of the buildings hold some sort of historical significance as the early 1900’s storefront remains on the main road. Approximately 1,600 residents reside in Bartlett scattered around the outskirts only driving into town to pass through. Split between Bell and Williamson counties, Bartlett is known to locals as “the best little town in Texas”.

My team and I were surprised to see some of the aging, vacant storefronts still in search for renters. Although this portion of town seems to be abandoned, Bartlett fights to stay on the map. Many events are still held throughout the year including an Old Town Festival and Antique & Collectible Auctions. If you happen to be passing through, my team and I highly recommend visiting this piece of Texas history!

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Town Entrance

Storefront One

Storefront Two

Storefront Three

Back Alley

Storefront GUNS

Town Exit

© John Marrows All Rights Reserved

The Hewitt House in Granger, Texas. As seen on Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2003). Originally standing on the current grounds of the University of Texas, this architectural piece of horror film history moved to Granger, Texas in the 1930s. Current residents assure visitors and fans of the films that no one was murdered at this house. No Trespassing signs are posted around the gated entrance with a flyer stating they “do not offer tours, nor can you come closer to take photos”, but encourages guests to take photos from the road.

NOTE: “This is a working farm and people do live here.” If you’re a fan of the films and are planning a visit, please be respectful of the grounds and the family that lives there.

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© John Marrows Some Rights Reserved

Meet My Ghost is “a podcast of short ghost stories where you’ll hear a collection of quick but spooky encounters. Because a ghost story doesn’t have to be long, to be creepy. I’ll bring you eerie tales recounted by those who experienced them. And maybe some freaky fictional creeps now and then too…”

-Sandy Tufts

Creator and Narrator of Meet My Ghost

Be sure to give Meet My Ghost a listen on Apple Podcasts and all other podcast platforms!

Follow Meet My Ghost on Instagram and Twitter: @meetmyghost

Have your own story? Head over to MeetMyGhost.com to submit!

Around the age of seventeen, I spent the majority of my time with my two best friends Haley and Stan, who also happened to be a couple. We spent many weekends at Stan’s grandfathers’ house chatting about obscure slam bands and how “untraditional” our home life was. One early evening, while Haley and I were chain smoking our poorly rolled cigarettes on the porch, we couldn’t help but overhear Stan arguing with his mother on the phone. Stan’s grandfather is going away for the weekend and he’s supposed to watch his German Shepard, Bear. AKA, we’re all going to drink beers in the basement playing video games and listening to metal music. Of course, Stan’s mother being the manipulative drug addict that she is, attempts to guilt trip Stan into coming home. She was rambling about his dad being drunk again and taking the truck somewhere, but knowing Stan’s father, he probably didn’t make it very far. Broken teenagers from broken homes. Labeled by society as outcasts, losers, deadbeats, I’m sure you understand what I mean. “The spawns of white trash”, I remember our teachers would say referring to our tight-knit clique. Haley and I always thought that White Trash Spawn would make a perfect band name. Stan always voted for more brutal names like “Trailer Park Carcasses” or “Orphanage for Dumpster Fetus”. Who am I kidding? A band wasn’t really in our wheelhouse, but a kid could dream.

“Just make sure Bear gets fed while I’m gone,” Stan’s grandfather said passing us on the porch shaking his head in disappointment.

“We will,” I abruptly replied as my cigarette singed the ends of my fingertips.

Haley laughed under her breath as I shook out my hand. Bear began aggressively barking by the front door as Stan’s grandfather pulls out of the driveway.

“Shut up!” we heard Stan shout at Bear joining us for a smoke.

“You bailing on us tonight, or what?” Haley mockingly asked Stan.

Cracking open a fresh can of beer, he rolled his eyes before chugging its contents.

After a few more cigarettes, a walk to the gas station, and pellet gunshots at some bottles, we made our way inside. Grabbing some snacks and collecting a few more beers, I remember rushing to the basement hoping to grab the game controller before Stan. Stan wasn’t very open about his feelings and either secluded himself from everyone or lashed out with spouts of aggression when uneasy topics arose. Looking back, I feel our friendship only worked because of our obvious sense of wanting in a society that continued to shut us out. Throwing on some tunes in the background, Haley and Stan began to get amorous next to me on the couch. As the music played, Stan’s hands ran up Haley’s legs gently tugging at her already torn fishnets. Uncomfortable, and a little more inebriated than I thought, I paused the game standing to my feet. Stumbling over a few empty bottles, Stan and Haley laughed as I attempted to find my way to the stairs. Grasping the railing on the way up, I eyed the door at the top of the stairs hoping my balance wouldn’t betray me. This was probably the first time I’ve felt the full effect of being drunk without blacking out. Ascending the towering flight of poorly crafted steps, Bear woefully greeted me at the door whimpering as he followed me closely into the kitchen. Opening the fridge door, I shuddered from the brightness of the lights as Bear continued to whine behind me.

“There’s no food in here for you Bear,” I said petting his head.

“Stanley,” an elderly voice called out from the living room.

Immediately closing the fridge door, I glanced towards the dark living room. The television was on, but nothing was playing. Just an annoying low hum as the empty black screen dimly lit the living area. Bear continued to whine lying on the kitchen floor. Shaking my head, I quickly open the fridge once more grabbing as many beers as I could hold shuffling back to the top of the basement steps.

“Stanley, Stanley is that you?” the elderly voice called out from the darkness.

“No, sorry. Not Stan…just a friend,” I nervously answered back.

“Oh, that’s alright. Could I bother you for a cup of tea?” they requested.

“Ummm…sure,” I answered, gently placing my beers on the floor.

Fumbling through an old packaging of tea leaves I somehow managed to prepare a proper cup.

“Three sugars,” they humbly requested from across the room.

Carefully making my way towards the living room, Bear stayed in the kitchen continuing to moan. Placing the tea on a television tray, an aging woman, frail and fading, reached her hand out to mine.

“Thank you,” she graciously stated.

“No problem…anything else you need?” I stammered.

She pulled me in closer and whispered into my ear.

Still intoxicated, and a bit confused, I carefully descended back down into the basement. Stan and Haley playfully wrested upon the couch as I found my seat.

“You get lost up there?” Stan kids with a spirited jab to my abdomen.

“Your grandma’s upstairs in the living room, she asked me to make her some tea,” I explained.

“What?” Stan angrily replied.

“She’s sitting in front of the TV, why didn’t you tell us she was going to be here?” I asked.

Stan’s stunned silence frightened me. I didn’t know what he was thinking or how he might react.

“His grandma’s been dead for a couple of years,” Haley adds.

“No, I just saw her,” I said.

“C’mon you guys, stop messing with me,” I anxiously smiled, hoping they were messing around.

“Did she say anything?” Stan sharply questions.

“Uhhh…” I mumbled as Stan violently towered over me.

“What? What did she say!?,” Stan belligerently eggs me on.

“She said…just tell Stanley I say hello,”.

© John Marrows Some Rights Reserved