As a child, the world was a lot safer, and I could explore my neighborhood for hours without supervision. Weekends and summers began early and ended late into the night. My transportation was my purple three-speed bike with a white banana seat. I visited a well know place and will now tell you about an experience I had there.
Waverly Hills was a tuberculosis hospital from 1910 to 1961. It was then turned into a geriatric facility in 1962-1981. I visited this place when it was a geriatric facility, but most of my visits happened after 1981.
Roughly 7 miles from my childhood home sits this multi-story gothic-style building. A doctor bought this in the early 80s and left it open to kids like me to go explore. This was not his intent, but what happened.
Waverly could hold over 400 patients at one time. It had elevator shafts, wide stairwells and a “death chute”. More on that soon. There was a morgue, and the place was littered with hospital beds, wheelchairs and various medical equipment. Toys for young kids.
Waverly’s principal building has multiple floors and a roof access. Each room has large double doors that opened to a balcony overlooking the grounds. On the other side of each room, they up into very long hallways that provide views from one end of the structure to the next. On the roof there is a smaller area that has large windows that open to an expansive flat rooftop that was used by patients.
The basement housed a small morgue that connected to the “death chute”. The death chute was a large tunnel that had concrete steps on one side and a concrete ramp on the other side. This tunnel was 525 feet long and completely underground. The primary purpose of this structure was to take the dead patients out without the living seeing them. Patient morale was important. Staff would transport the bodies down the 525 feet to awaiting vehicles blow which drove them away to be disposed.
As a young teenager, this was a perfect place to play. My buddies and I would go run the halls, play hide and seek, and occasionally spend the night. Tag and other games were unsupervised as we played for hours.
A few years back I took a “tour” and learned of all the ghosts in the building. I never saw one as a child or even that day I “toured” the property. But let me tell you about an experience I had.
One night after telling my parents we were spending the night at my buddy Jack’s house, and him telling his parents we were staying at mine, we headed out on our bikes in the late evening. A bike ride away, we arrived at the bottom of the death tunnel and began the long climb up. We had flashlights, snacks, and water, and off we went. The echo of the tunnel was amplified by each step, but eventually we made it to the top. Jack, I and a few more guys ran upstairs to the roof where we each chose our spot for the evening.
I have heard stories of ghost at this place, two in particular. First is a boy named Timmy. Timmy was a six or seven-year-old boy who died at Waverly. Visitors often bring a ball to entice Timmy. People have claimed the balls will move on their own, but I feel it is likely from uneven floors or more particularly a draft.
The most famous ghost is a nurse up on the 5th floor at room 502. Per legend, this nurse was impregnated by a doctor at the sanatorium, but he wanted nothing to do with the baby or her. Again per legend she hung herself in room 502 and thus her spirit still dwells on the property.
Each of us caught our breath as we sat or laid down and watched the sunset. The first challenge was issued. “I dare one of you to go down to the morgue without a flashlight and stay there for 10 minutes”. With everyone’s eyes as big a saucer, I don’t know why but I raised my hand. There were gasps from the guys as they all starred at me, but I took the challenge. No turning back.
I got up, handed my flashlight over, and then headed to the empty stairwell. Within seconds, I came back. I could see the smiles, as they were all ready to ridicule me, but I quickly stated I could not see. I asked someone to follow me down to the area and then return my flashlight after 10 minutes. Jack agreed.
There were deep thuds from each of my steps as we headed down the concrete and metal staircase. From the 5th floor I made my way to the 4th floor, then the 3rd, next to the 2nd floor, followed by the 1st and then into the basement. My heart raced and my imagination took me to a scary place. My fear of being teased for not following through outweighed the fear of being down there alone. Soon I was in the room. Jack said, “good luck” grabbed my light and scampered off.
In the dark, I blindly searched and found a long metal table with wheels. Investigating with my hands, I found the table to be clear of anybody or thing and sat/lay on it. I realized on my tour a few years ago that table was used for dead bodies (and there are some still there). Every pop, creek, and crack made my heart race. My eye adjusted to the light. I slowed my breath and wondered how long I had been down there.
I could hear the guys a few floors up, as every sound carried throughout the building and bounced off the walls. A door slammed. Was it down here, or just the guys a few floors above? I heard what sounded like whispering and freaked, as I didn’t recognize a voice or what was being said. A low level of light was present (it was a full moon) and I saw things moving around me. These shadows darted around in the distance and weirdly I could only see this movement in my periphery. I was constantly turning my head to see if I could see what I thought I was seeing. Nervously, I got off the table and shuffled my way back into a corner of the room. The air was cool and damp, but I was sweating.
I thought I heard footsteps. Was it the guys above me, or was something down there with me? The air got cool and still. My focus was on the steps I was hearing. Turning my head to lockdown the direction of the sound, I determined the steps were fairly close and down the hall from me!
I reached around to see if I could find a pole, stick, or something to defend myself. Dragging my hand across the broken concrete, I felt for a surgical tray. One used in hospitals that would hold surgery instruments. I grabbed it. This tray was going to be my only line of defense.
The steps got closer and closer. I was in the corner of a room with no windows and only one entrance and exit. What was my play here? Should I make a run for it?
Surprise and defense I felt were my best option. I quietly and quickly positioned myself to one side of the door. If it was alive and came through the door, it was going to get smacked by that tray. I squeezed that tray as hard as I could and positioned myself for a strike. I crouched down. Every muscle was tense.
The steps slowly got closer, and closer, then stopped. I could hear breathing on the other side of the door from behind me. Sweat covered my body. My eyes squinted and pupils dilated. I did my best to see in the low light.
Time seemed to stand still. I heard the gravel scrape the ground only inches from me on the other side of the wall. I imagined shoes scraping on an old dusty concrete floor. An exhale (not sure by me or it). I felt a presence. Whatever or whoever moved through the doorway. With a firm grip, I uncoiled my arms and body, then I swung that tray with all my might.
Until next time,
Tim
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