A Requiem for Danvers State Hospital

Beverly Massachusetts, October 2004

 “Beverly Tower, November 2496 X-Ray, left base, runway-niner, touch and go,” I reported.

“November 2496X-Ray, Beverly Tower, runway niner, clear touch and go,’” the tower instructed.

"Clear touch and go, November 2496X-Ray."

“On the next circuit, we can break off and see the hospital. Keep your speed up on final, watch your bank,” I instructed Robert, my student.

“Thank you, I heard it is worth it," Robert said.

  “Of course, I'll ask for circle in place over Danvers State,” I said.

    This was my eighth touch and go landing of the flight. The days are long, the weather brutally cold, or scorching hot, and every second matters in flight imparting the skills of aviation to students.

     I taught at Beverly Airport, KBVY, three miles from the abandoned Danvers State Hospital, and with the news of its' demolishing for new upscale condominiums, I have been receiving requests to take some curious observers over the monstrous 19th century Kirkbride.

  “Beverly Tower, November 2496 X-Ray, mid-field, left downwind, runway niner, requests circle in place over Danvers State Hospital," I reported.

    “November 2496 X-Ray, Beverly Tower, continue downwind until over station, report upon re-entry, squawk 5473,” the tower said.

   Flying towards route 95, the true size and nature of the Kirkbride hospital came upon us.

“Oh wow, looks like miles of bat wings,” Robert commented.

     “There is a fascinating draw to it,” I said.

      After some passes, we flew back for one full stop landing.

   After parking and de-briefing, I enjoyed coffee in the flight lounge where I met Stacy, the dispatcher who knew much about local history.

    “How was the flight?” she asked.

    “Smooth air. It was my last flight of the day, so we made the detour over Danvers State,” I said

    “What is it with you and that ugly place? I see the towers of the buildings peer over the trees above 95 every time I drive up to visit my parents in Portsmouth. You should leave it alone,” Stacy said.

“The sanitorium in H.P. Lovecraft's The Thing on the Doorstep is inspired by it."

“It is pulling you into its snare,” she said.

“It is bad land, it’s bad energy. They can’t build condos. The hill is not too far from where the accused witches hanged in 1692,” she said.

“I thought that was Salem,” said Ron, an instructor tallying his logbook on the couch.

“It was not Salem, but Salem Village. In 1757, Salem Village incorporated as Danvers. That is the location of Hathorne Hill, the cradle of Danvers State Hospital,” Stacy said.

         “The connections are uncanny. The land was received from William Hathorne by John Hathorne, the judge of the Salem witch trials," I added.

“Later the property became Dodge Farm. Massachusetts purchased this farm for the hospital. John Hathorne is Nathanial Hawthorne’s Great-Grandfather.” Stacy said.

“He wrote much about guilt, sin, and punishment.” I added.

“Ahh the American dream,” Ron quipped.

“Guilt is a powerful emotion, and Nathanial Hawthorne inserted a W in his name to differentiate from his Great-Grandfather. His 1851 House of Seven Gables novel portrays guilt as curse on Colonel Pyncheon’s lineage. He wrongfully took land from a warlock, Matthew Maule, who was executed for witchcraft,” Stacy said.

"...Matthew..." Ron joked.

"Funny," I said.

“Matt you were lucky the last time you went snooping around the other abandoned Kirkbride hospital, what was...," Ron was asking.

"Metropolitan State in Waltham," I interrupted.

    "The Fernald center, another institution is further down Trepelo Road in Waltham closer to Belmont. I heard parents dumped their unwanted children there under guises of handicaps,” I said.

   “Rumor is Met State was a government plan to house serial killers. My cousin is a cop. They used to drop off drunks there to save the hassle, Stacy said.

“A few years ago, I went to explore Met State in Waltham with a friend. We made a night of it. I had heard they were demolishing the institution, like Danvers State, to build condominiums. I heard it was haunted,” I said.

“What happened the night you and Steven went up there?” Stacy asked.

“You know how skeptical Steven is. I was ahead of him walking towards the lot of the main domed building, I noticed that below damaged windows on the upper floors of the east and west wings, there were appliances and even furniture as if it was all thrown out to save time getting the hell out of there. Suddenly I felt a hand grab my shoulder, and I’ll never forget the frightening noise he made before yelling – “Did you see that? What was that? Get out of here!” and he turned and booked for the tree line we came from. I ran after him. He looked over his shoulder and yelled “up there! He saw an apparition cross the path,” I said.

Ron and Stacy were silent.

"I heard he quit Northern Aviation," Ron said.

“Why would you go to Danvers State?” Stacy asked.

“I know it has a story to tell, and that is the thing with huge oppressive structures like a Kirkbride hospital, a castle, an abandoned mine, or megalith building. When one enters these spaces, absent of light and human life, the structure itself becomes a living breathing organism. It creaks and moans. It speaks. Years of negative energy, illness, accidents, death and loneliness imprints on the walls as if film. Film plays back.

Stacy and Ron put there books down.

"It is in the air and continues to emit energy into the sky, and I have seen it, like when I have flown over Salem, and saw what one would never see from a ground level view, and that is the black. I saw black. The neighborhoods, houses, buildings and rooftops had a seedy dark oily look with smoke rising from chimneys as if it was no longer 2004, but the 17th century. I can see this black on the Danvers location. No condo will last there, I agree. There would be paranormal activity. There would be an eerie atmosphere. No one would stay long. The ghosts will not allow comfortable upscale living. I need to see what I have been called to come for. I am going to go for one night, “ I said.

“No one will join you,” said Stacy.

"I will go alone," I said.

Thursday evening, I drove up to Danvers State. I found my way to the grounds.

    Over one hundred years of anguish cried out to me through the wind wailing through the trees surrounding the playground. I could see a clearing overgrown with weeds. I suddenly heard faint children's laughter permeate the field. I kept walking making care to not fall or get snagged in roots. I stepped on something hard.

My God, it's home plate. This was a baseball field.

         The children’s laughter continued. I felt a rush of wind pass by.

    I do believe. I find that there are many ghosts, possibly hundreds of ghosts running around me, through me, playing not knowing they have passed, not knowing they are gone, and what they see here is not what this tired and frightened man sees. Do they wonder where their families are? Were they abandoned here?

        If this is the playground, what lies ahead must be the cemetery. I had not planned to visit the cemetery and suddenly my head hurt with intense pressure, and I cried out for an instant. A voice came to me.

“Not today Tim, maybe tomorrow”, the voice murmured in my head.

        “But you said that yesterday, I want to see my mommy”, a voice answered.

    I didn't know who Tim was, but he was speaking through me. I had to get out of here. I rather have been frightened sick by an apparition then subject myself to such raw longing for company, a companion, family, anyone to come visit here in this compound through the voices and souls of the departed.

     Another crushing pain in my head, followed by burning nerves in my stomach. I see an image of shadows under the door moving faster as the sun rises until they no longer move in step but move continuously.

    “The nurses are floating! God, they are all floating.” I want to go home. I want to go home!” A voice yelled.

    I no longer heard sound. The wind the tree branches, distant traffic down below on the highway, it was like a dream sequence of blurry images. I am so lonely. I am thirty and alone. I must be dying. I hear no sound. I can barely see colors. Then I see an image in my mind. It’s a birthday party. Mom, dad? Who is that? I don’t remember you. Why are you here? Why are you with my mom and dad?” I asked

“It’s not your time to come home,” the man said.

“I am not staying here!” I yelled.

The man got up and left the party.

I heard a sound from the appendage wing up ahead. I could make out in the dark, that there was an open doorway. I jumped in and instantly regretted it.

I heard noises of feet shuffling but no one was there. Bangs came from the walls, cut with an intermittent moan or the sound of someone crying. I saw a file at my feet. I picked it up. Mary Bathsheda, DOB 11/16/28 Address: 42 Willow Street, Woburn. Admission Date: March 24, 1955. Diagnosis: Psychoneurotic Disorder. It appeared Mary’s treatment of clinical notations and instructions went well into the 1970’s.

I was stepping on rotten wood and plaster. Every square foot held some memory. I found checkers, chess pieces, playing cards, broken teacups and medical instruments of all kinds thrown about the ruined halls. I stopped short and almost fell backwards from fear. There was a lone abandoned and decrepit wheelchair with shattered wheels.

I had heard that when they closed its doors in 1992 they didn't take anything, just shut the lights, turned off machines and locked the doors. Patients went to Tewksbury Hospital. I ran out of there.

The sound of a low flying airplane’s jet engines landing on Beverly’s Runway 9 startled me and brought me back to reality. Watching the jet bank and descend made me lose situational awareness.

I never saw the police officer.

“Can I see your ID?” asked the policeman.

I gave him my license.

“Matthew Kay, from Newton,” he read the license.

“What brings you out here tonight? You know there is a “No Trespassing” sign clearly visible from the path?” He asked.

    I am sorry. Trust me I am never coming back. Just tell me officer. Have you heard of things occurring here?”

“Always, and some officers won’t come here. There is no entry for a reason, “ he said gravely.

“Ok officer, thank you.”

“Where do you work?” the officer asked.

“I’ll be honest. I am an instructor over there at Beverly Airport.”

As soon as the words escaped my mouth I regretted it.

“I’ll give you a warning. If we catch you here again you will be arrested for trespassing. Now focus on flying and not dying. Go home. This land is dead. It’s decay, “ the officer said.

But I could not stay away. The next morning was a wash. Heavy rains swept through the north shore area and turned three flights into ground lessons. It gave me time to plan. I anticipated that I would probably get caught, but there was something controlling my impulses. My friend Mark had warned me to stay away for he had heard of people getting “attachments” by visiting these sacred institutions.

The rain cleared. I wore my usual black for these outings and drove up the hill. After walking through the paths, I found myself back in the hallway, but this time, I saw something I had not noticed last time. There was an open door to a large ward of at least thirty hospital beds. Then I saw something that could not be. It was a fluorescent light emitting from within.

“Matthew”. I heard my name. Fright and shivers ran up my back.

I couldn’t stop. I kept walking. It was a hallucination. It had to be. I persisted in entering the ward and saw that there was a black bag on one of the beds. I walked and heard the crunching and rustling of glass, metal, and clutter under my feet with every step.

I opened the bag. It was my flight gear, my headphones, my E6-B, my plotter, knee board, charts, flight logs. There was my priceless logbook. I was scared. I did not understand the message.

I touched my logbook; it rotted and fell apart to the touch. I screamed and dropped it. Inside the bag the rest of the gear was rusted and worn. It appeared to be decaying before my eyes. I looked at the table. There was a file where 5 minutes ago there was none. I looked down. I heard a loud crash out in the hall, the door slammed shut, and I what I saw took every breath and fiber of my being to not die of fright right there. I choked and began to vomit.

Patient: Matthew Kay DOB March 26, 1974, Admission Date: October 10, 2004, Newton, Diagnosis: Delusions.

I ran like a banshee from Hell into the hall, now with a rising crescendo of moans and banging. The walls were coming alive, breathing, shifting inward, coming down on me. I ran towards the door, and an arm suddenly grabbed me. I cried out and saw a young woman with long dark-hair, green eyes, staring straight at me in a white hospital gown.

She didn’t have to say anything. I knew who she was.

“Mary!”

“I am, “ she said.

“Why do you torment me, why do you torment us?” she asked.

“I am not here out of belligerent actions. I am here out of respect. I had to see for myself”.

“You had to disturb. You needed to make some fun out of our memory. We had no choice. You did, and your choice was to come here where we suffered from over-crowding and neglect. Consider yourself warned. The others are watching. We do not want to summon Mr. Drake.”

“Who it that? He sounds ominous," I said.

“We call him Sam. Sam watches over us and ensures our safety,” Mary said.

There were no parting words. I ran out the door right into two police officers, but this time, there was no warning. The cold steel handcuffs cut in to my wrists as I felt the cold metal of a squad car on my right cheek.

“You’re being arrested for trespassing. You been drinking? I smell alcohol," he asked.

“No, I am a pilot," I said nervously.

“Probably drugs. You do cocaine?” the second officer asked.

“I hear all pilots do cocaine,” the first officer said.

“You on medication?" the second officer asked.

“No," I pleaded with them.

“You sound nervous,” the first officer said.

The car descended the hill but to my horror, got on the highway and passed the exit for the town center where I know the police station was situated. Soon we arrived at Lahey Hospital in Peabody.

“This is all a mistake. I admit I should not have been there, but I am a professional in the community,” I pleaded to the ER doctor.

“The officers said they heard you talking to yourself inside,” the female doctor said.

“No, you don’t understand, I was…There was another person there, a woman,” I said.

“They said you were alone. No one was there,”she quipped.

“What do you do for work?” she said flatly.

“I am a pilot,” I answered.

“Why do you think you’re a pilot?” she asked.

          “I am a pilot. I work at Beverly Airport. I “...

“You are NOT a pilot. You are delusional. There is something wrong with your brain,” she said bluntly.

“I have to work tomorrow. I just want to go home and sleep,” I said.

         “I am putting you in for a bed at Tewksbury Hospital,” she said angrily.

“I’ll lose my license; you must believe me,” I pleaded.

I thought of the decaying flight bag at the hospital. It was a warning.

I pulled out my wallet to show my licenses. The doctor slammed her fist down on the wallet.

“You are not a pilot!” she was livid.

Her frown changed to a subtle grin. Thirty years of life ran out of my fragile body when I looked at her hospital badge.

Dr. Mary Bathsheda M.D.

Emergency Medicine

PHYSICIAN

I thrashed out of my chair and ran for the hall but was tackled against a wall by a large security officer. I was held down, and the last thing I saw was a needle, and then the last thing I felt was a sting and pinch followed by a slight burn and tingle. I awoke in an ambulance.

April 2007

The letter arrived just as fire burned down the condos under construction on Hathorne Hill. The cause remains a mystery. They never would let people live on that land. I should have listened to Stacy and left it alone.

Dear Mr. Matthew Kay:

It has come to the attention of the FAA, that you have unreported medical visits. This matter has prompted the Office of the Flight Surgeon, in the interest of public safety to immediately suspend your Medical Certificate until a hearing establishes your qualifications. You are ordered to surrender your Medical Certificate to your nearest Flight Standards District Office and call 202-646-4952 for further instructions.

Sincerely,

Samuel Drake M.D.

Chief Flight Surgeon