Steve Doyle

The Tormented Souls of Tewksbury

On impulse Jeanie Montano turned her bike from the main path, the one she usually took through these woods, and followed the smaller trail to the right. She had no fear of getting lost. Paved roadways bordered this small wooded area on two sides and farmland stretched along another. The fourth abutted the grounds of the Tewksbury State Hospital and Infirmary. The massive three and a half story red brick building that dominated the hill was still visible through the towering pines.

To avoid a fallen log, she briefly left the path, but in doing so her front tire struck an object and jerked violently to the right. The bike went over and Jeanie crashed to the ground. Luckily, she wasn’t seriously injured, a thick carpet of pine needles cushioned her fall. Upon opening her eyes, she gasped at the object which came into focus, a small metal circle about three inches tall with a cross in the middle. She lifted herself onto an elbow to have a closer look. It was a bit rusty; she could barely make out a number on the cross: 102. Glancing around she noticed many similar markers littering the ground. She refocused her attention on the one directly in front of her and reached out a hand to touch it.

The scene disappeared when Jeanie took her hand away. She stood up and, without even brushing herself off, walked a few feet to another encircled cross. She bent down and put her fingers on the number 431.

Jeanie could hardly believe the visions coming through. She moved to another cross, 47, and put her hand on it.

Jeanie’s scream echoed through the woods as she pulled her hand back and scrambled away. Blind with fright, she grabbed her bike and pedalled as fast as she could, not slowing down until she’d made it home. Exhausted, she flung herself on her bed and sobbed until sleep gave her respite. Thankfully, she did not dream.

She awoke a few hours later, somewhat refreshed and feeling better, and immediately called her sister, Jennifer. “I know I’ve ridiculed you in the past for your claims about being able to converse with the dead, but you’ve got to come with me to this place.”

“Are you putting me on?”

“In the woods behind the State Hospital I found hundreds of these little grave markers. Every time I touched one I got a vision…yeah, me. You’ve got to come with me and see what you can pick up.”

Jen agreed and that afternoon both women took a trip to the pine woods. Even before they’d entered Jen claimed to be getting powerful vibes. “Well, I can tell you’re not pulling my leg at least. There’s definitely something here.” The wind whispered through the pines.

As they approached the site of the burials, Jen covered her ears and shouted at Jeanie. “What have you done?! There aren’t hundreds of them, there are thousands! And they’re all screaming! We have to get out of here!”

In the next instant the girls were running back toward the car. Once they’d reached it and stopped they took a moment to catch their breath. Jeanie confronted Jen. “I thought you could communicate with the dead.”

“Communicating with them is one thing.” She lifted an arm and pointed in the direction from which they’d come. “All they’re doing is screaming. I don’t know if it’s out of fear, pain, anger or what. Anyway, I couldn’t possibly deal with so many of them. Believe me, they are legion in those woods. We need professional help.”

“Professional help from who?”

“The Paranormal Research Institute. I’ll call them. They’ll know what to do.”

That was how we got involved. My name is Harry Alexander, president of the Boston chapter of the PRI, an international organization dedicated to investigating supernatural phenomena. Normally I would have conducted a preliminary examination of the premises before assembling an entire team, but Jennifer Montano convinced me the area was teeming with earthbound souls. What was needed was a rescue circle to help those poor departed find peace.

So I put together a team of ten of the finest psychics in the business and explained the situation as we made our way north to the town of Tewksbury, about thirty minutes away.

We met the girls on Livingston Street at the edge of the woods and introductions were made all around. The group of psychics I had brought with me were: Scott Elkins, Steven Noah, Susan Caudill, Hugh Spencer, Paula Conrad, Rosie McMahon, Christine Blackwell, Linda Sorensen, Rosyln Davenport and Graham Douglas, who headed up the team.

Jen asked how we would be able to make ourselves heard once the screaming began. Graham fielded that question. “Aeschylus said, ’Soft speech is to distempered wrath medicinal.’ That is the approach we should take.”

We hadn’t gone very far into the woods when we were confronted by a man who held up his hands to stop us. “Whoa. Who are you people? This isn’t a tourist attraction; it’s state property. No trespassing.”

I said, “We’re here to help.”

“Help how?” He eyed me suspiciously.

“These woods are inhabited by restless spirits. We’ve come in an effort to release them.”

“You mean the patients?”

“Yes.” I was surprised that he actually believed me. “You know about them?”

“Of course I do. I used to be president of the board of trustees for this hospital.”

“You?” I’m afraid I could not hide my shock. “Did you authorize the anonymous burials?”

“Hell no! I didn’t authorize any such thing. In fact I’m trying to drum up support for a restoration committee that will make an effort to identify as many of them as possible.”

“Do you know how many are buried here?”

“No; Unfortunately the records from the first thirty-seven years of the hospital’s operation have been completely lost. But between 1891 and 1930 there were 9,369 interred here, all but five anonymously.”

Someone in the party said, “That’s disgraceful.” I don’t know who verbalized the comment but I couldn’t have agreed more.

“They were paupers.” The man shrugged. “Many of them immigrants with no money and no family to claim them. An epidemic of tuberculosis, diphtheria or influenza would sweep through the ward and kill so many the bodies literally piled up and needed to be dealt with. They were buried together in trenches. It is a disgrace which is why I’m trying to do something about it. But I can’t do it alone.”

“I commend you on your efforts to identify the bodies. We’ve come to do what we can for their souls. You’ll allow us to do that, won’t you?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “You’re not just curious tourists. Did you know in the early days of asylums they were open to the public? People would pay a fee to view the patients in their cells—exactly like a zoo.”

“That’s disgraceful.” The same voice as before.

Our group moved deeper into the woods. I didn’t hear anything myself, but some of the others began looking around and up into the trees as if trying to find the source of some noise. Jen grabbed my arm. “They know we’re here.”

I heard it then. A crescendo of blood-curdling screams. I was reminded of the monkey cages I’d visited as a child. I couldn’t believe the racket and I’m not even a medium. I had never before heard voices from the ‘other side’.

With hand signals Graham directed us to form a circle. We joined hands and followed his lead in softly repeating the words, “We’re here to help” over and over again.

At one point I closed my eyes. My mind’s eye beheld a vision of horror and pity. I saw people in straight waistcoats struggling to get free. People strapped to cots and chained to benches wearing iron manacles and shackles. People being pelted with pressurized water and people being dragged kicking and screaming toward operating tables where surgeons stood waiting, gleaming instruments in hand. It looked more like a place of torture than a medical facility. I tried to concentrate on reciting those four little words.

I lost track of the number of times we repeated the phrase, but after a few moments the woods fell silent. Even the birds were quiet.

Graham spoke to the sky. “We’re here to help but we need your help, too. We don’t know why you’re here.”

A woman’s voice shattered the silence when she shrieked. “Nobody knows who we are!”

Graham responded simply and quietly. “Tell us your names.”

We waited. The woods remained eerily silent.

Jeanie broke from the circle and ran over to one of the crosses. She knelt down next to it and placed her hand upon it. She called out to the group, “Edward Haggerty, 1893.” She touched the marker next to it and nearly shouted, “William Thornycroft, 1895.”

We disbursed through the woods, touching crosses and recording in our investigative notebooks the names and dates that came almost instantly to our minds. We realized it would take several trips to cover the entire area and locate all the grave markers, some of which were almost completely hidden by undergrowth.

It took thirteen of us five days and I’m not entirely sure we found them all, but I’m told the woods are quiet now. Once we’ve compiled our list, the trustees have agreed to have a plaque made in remembrance of the ‘Tormented Souls of Tewksbury’.