If Walls Could Talk
Shakespeare once wrote, "What's in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet."
For those unfamiliar with the name Pennhurst, let me enlighten you. Originally called the Eastern Pennsylvania State Institution for the Feeble-Minded and Epileptic, it was subsequently renamed Pennhurst State School and Hospital. Located approximately thirty miles northwest of Philadelphia, Pennhurst opened its doors in 1908 with the goal of housing, treating and educating Southeast Pennsylvania's mentally and physically impaired children.
To paraphrase Robert Burns, "The best-laid schemes of mice and men often go awry and leave us naught but grief and pain." Sadly, such was the case with Pennhurst. Overcrowded, understaffed and underfunded, the institution was unable to effectively meet the needs of its patients. The children, ignored by society and often abandoned by their own families, eventually fell victim to neglect and, in some cases, abuse. Ultimately, after being found guilty of violating a patient's civil rights in a class-action lawsuit, Pennhurst closed its doors in 1986. Left deserted, the campus became a target for vandals and graffiti artists.
With the question of what to do with the six-hundred-plus-acre site and its crumbling buildings being undecided, a temporary use for the former state school was found. Like Philadelphia's famed Eastern State Penitentiary, it became a Halloween attraction for horror aficionados and thrill-seekers and was rechristened the Haunted Asylum.
The preceding paragraphs are what Dragnet's Detective Sergeant Joe Friday would call "just the facts." Now, let us proceed with the fiction.
* * *
A full-time college student, Paige Lyndon worked a part-time job as a cashier in a discount food store to earn money for gas, clothes, makeup and other personal items. Three evenings a week, she donned her blue vest and reported to work where she scanned barcodes, bagged groceries, counted cash and swiped credit and debit cards.
She was the first to admit her job was far from exciting. Consequently, when she was presented with the opportunity of working weekends in the Haunted Asylum from the middle of September through the first week of November, she didn't hesitate to accept the offer. Unlike many of the haunted attractions Paige had attended, Pennhurst did not feature Jason Voorhees in his hockey mask, Leatherface wielding a chainsaw, Michael Myers in his whitewashed William Shatner mask or Freddy Krueger with his disfigured face and razor-studded glove. Instead, the performers at Pennhurst fell into three main categories: psychiatric doctors, nurses and patients.
In training for her role, Paige was given a white nurse's uniform, a stiff cap and sensible white shoes—all of which were liberally stained with fake blood. White facial powder and black eye shadow helped to transform the pretty college student into a zombie-like healthcare worker. Once in costume and makeup, it was her job to interact with the visitors who walked through the dimly lit rooms and halls of Pennhurst's former administration building, hoping to be scared out of their wits by the macabre surroundings.
Her first day on the job was Friday, September 24. It was early autumn, but the warm summer weather lingered on, and there was no hint yet of the colorful fall foliage that was to come. Paige was stationed in a mock operating room with two other young actors, one portraying a demented doctor and the other, a deranged patient. In addition to these performers, several others lurked in the hallways, following small groups of customers in and out of the rooms.
"Hey, Paige," the young man dressed as a doctor called in the short interval between groups, "a few of us are going to the Sly Fox Brewhouse for beers after work tonight. Do you want to come?"
"I'd love to."
"Great! Pass the word on."
Nine more groups of people walked through the faux operating room before Paige noticed a waif-like girl standing in the shadows of the hallway. Although dressed in a hospital gown, she did not wear any makeup, most likely because her complexion was naturally pale. It was easy to see why she had been chosen to play a patient. Not quite five feet in height and weighing less than a hundred pounds, the girl looked more like an adolescent than a college student.
"Hi, there," Paige called to the girl as they waited for the next customers to enter the room.
The girl's eyes met hers, but she didn't speak.
"You're probably not old enough to drink," Paige continued, assuming the girl was still in high school, "but you're more than welcome to come with us to the Sly Fox. You can always get a soda or iced tea."
The girl lowered her eyes, perhaps considering the invitation.
"That's if your parents will let you go."
"Mother ...."
The girl's voice was soft, barely above a whisper.
"You want to call your mother? Do you have a cell phone? If not, you can borrow mine."
"Mother ...," the girl repeated.
The girl's diminutive size and confused expression made her appear vulnerable, and Paige wondered if she wasn't too young for such a job.
"If you need a lift, you can come with me. I can also give you a ride home afterward." When Paige heard a scream in the adjacent room, she knew the next group was approaching; she headed back to her assigned post, calling over her shoulder, "If you decide to go, let me know."
There was no response.
When the last of the customers left at the end of the night, the lights were turned on, and the actors shed their makeup and costumes. As she made her way to the parking lot, Paige looked for the girl she had met in the hallway.
"Are you waiting for someone?" asked Brad Caldwell, the man who portrayed the operating room doctor.
"I invited one of the other actors to join us, but I guess she's not coming."
"Maybe she already left for the pub. I noticed a lot of the cars in the employee parking lot are missing."
"To be honest, she didn't look old enough to drive."
"If she wasn't, then she'd be too young to work here. When I applied for this job, I was told management only wanted people eighteen or over."
"Either she lied about her age, or she looks much younger than she actually is," Paige concluded.
Forgetting about the girl in the hall for the time being, she got into her car and followed Brad to the Sly Fox.
* * *
Despite public protest against Pennhurst being used as a haunted attraction, crowds of curious people flocked to the former state school. On Saturday, the lines were longer than on Friday, and the groups came through with shorter intervals of time in between.
When Paige saw the waif-like girl in the hallway again, she tried to strike up a conversation and learn more about the timid creature. Time, however, would not permit it.
"I'm sorry you couldn't make it last night," she said when one of the groups left the operating room and headed toward the make-believe morgue. "Maybe the next time we go, you can come with us."
The girl stared at her, her eyes wide and innocent. Paige was struck by the girl's delicate beauty. She looked like a porcelain doll come to life.
"What's your name, anyway?" Paige quickly inquired when she heard the next group approaching.
"Victoria."
No last name, just Victoria.
"Mine's Paige Lyndon. Nice to meet you. Gotta go now. Here come some more people."
When a group of six teenagers headed down the hall, she noticed Victoria slip back into the shadows. She assumed the girl was lying in wait for the unsuspecting customers, but she soon discovered her assumption had been wrong. It was the girl who was afraid, and as a result, she kept to the shadows whenever anyone but Paige approached.
The night wore on, and the groups came at a faster pace. The two women had no opportunity to speak further. From time to time, Paige would glimpse the shy young girl in the shadowy hallway and feel a strong urge to take the petite beauty under her wing.
Isn't that just like me? I graduated from taking home stray kittens and helping wounded birds to wanting to mother a shy young girl.
* * *
Early Sunday evening, Paige met Brad at a local diner for burgers before work.
"I wonder if it will be as busy tonight as it was last night," Brad said, dousing his fries with ketchup.
"I hope not," Paige replied. "I'd really like to have a few minutes to speak to Victoria."
"Who's Victoria?"
"She's that shy girl stationed in the hallway outside the operating room."
"I don't think I ever saw her."
"She's about four-foot-ten, long blond hair, big blue eyes."
"Is she the one you were waiting for on Friday?"
"Yes. I know she must be at least eighteen, but she looks more like thirteen or fourteen."
Brad took a bite out of his cheeseburger, chewed it and swallowed before asking, "What do you want to talk to her about? If you don't mind my asking."
"I'd just like to get to know her. She seems so sad, so lost, like she doesn't have a friend in the world."
"I have a kid brother who's a senior in high school. Maybe we could all get together sometime and go to the arcade in the mall or maybe to the movies."
"That sounds like fun."
"And if my brother and Victoria can't make it, then maybe the two of us could go out."
Paige smiled at Brad's roundabout way of asking her out on a date.
"That sounds like even more fun," she opined, her response bringing a beaming smile to the young man's face.
A half-hour later, the burgers, fries and Cokes were finished. Brad paid the bill with only a token protest from Paige.
"It's early yet," Brad observed after pulling into Pennhurst's near-empty employee parking area. "We have some time to kill before the Haunted Asylum opens."
"Have you gone through the museum yet?" Paige wondered, referring to the collection of photographs, papers and artifacts from Pennhurst's days as a state school, which were currently on display in the Haunted Asylum.
"No. Have you?"
"No, but I'd like to."
"Then why don't we do it now?"
Two other employees were viewing the exhibits when they entered the museum area. One commented on a photograph of Pennhurst's baseball team.
While Brad was reading an old article from a local newspaper, Paige examined a photograph of the school circa early 1920s. One of the faces in the picture made her gasp with astonishment.
"What's wrong?" Brad asked.
"That's her," she cried, pointing to the aged photograph. "That's Victoria!"
Brad leaned forward to get a better look at the picture. The girl at whom Paige was pointing certainly fit the description of Victoria she had given him.
"Perhaps that photograph was taken recently and made to look old," he suggested.
"I don't think so. Look at the building: there are no broken windows, and the front lawn is neatly landscaped. This picture was taken before the school was deserted."
"Graphic artists can do wonders editing pictures with Photoshop."
"But why go through all the trouble? Most people just glance at these pictures as they walk through."
"Okay," Brad conceded. "Even if the photograph is authentic, there's no way the girl in the picture is Victoria."
"I don't know how or why she's in this picture, but that's her," Paige insisted.
"There are two possible explanations. One, her image was superimposed over an old photograph of the school."
"And the second?" Paige prompted.
"Victoria is a ghost."
Paige, who did not believe in the supernatural, favored the first explanation.
* * *
Sunday was as busy a night as Saturday had been. It wasn't until the haunted attraction was about to close that Paige saw the mysterious girl in the hallway.
"Hi, Victoria," she greeted her. "I saw your picture in the museum. I like the way your image was placed over an old photograph of the school."
The girl didn't reply at first. But her naturally pale complexion became even whiter.
"You know, you take a good picture. Have you ever thought of becoming a model?"
"Mother ...?"
"No, I said a model."
"Mother ...."
Paige was distressed to see tears brimming in Victoria's eyes.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you," she apologized.
A voice came from the next room.
"Dylan," a teenage girl whined, "hold me. I'm scared!"
"I'd better go. There's another group coming," Paige declared, but the melancholy girl had already vanished into the shadows.
* * *
During the following week, Paige's thoughts kept straying to Victoria and the sadness she had exhibited when she spoke of her mother. When Brad telephoned on Tuesday night, she brought up the subject during their conversation.
"It's really weird. I feel sorry for her, yet I don't have any reason to. After all, I don't know anything about her. We've only spoken a few times. Well, actually, I did most of the talking."
"Maybe she's on drugs. She wouldn't be the first teenager to go to work stoned."
"No, she didn't seem like she was high. She seemed more—what's the politically correct word these days?"
"Mentally challenged?"
"Yes."
"That would be ironic, considering the history of the building where we work."
"I never thought about that."
Paige felt a chill; she shivered and pulled her fleece bathrobe tighter around her.
"Let's change the subject," she suggested.
"Okay. How would you like to go see a movie with me?"
"We work all weekend."
"What about next Thursday night?"
"All right, but I can't stay out too late. I've got an early class the following morning."
* * *
Friday evening, Paige got to work early so she could wait near the entrance in hopes of seeing Victoria arrive. The employee parking lot was empty; that was a good sign. For forty minutes, she greeted fellow actors as they reported for work, but there was no sign of Victoria.
"Please say you're waiting for me," Brad teased when he saw Paige standing by the door.
"Sorry," she laughed and kissed him on the cheek.
"Let me guess. You're looking for Victoria."
Paige nodded.
"She's not here yet."
Brad looked at his watch.
"She'd better get here soon. We'll be ready to open in a few minutes."
Paige decided to abandon her post.
"Wait for me, Doctor Frankenstein," she called to Brad.
"Certainly, Nurse Ratched."
As she headed toward the operating room, Paige kept her eyes on the shadows of the hallway. No one was there. Throughout the evening, she returned to the hall, but Victoria was not to be found.
"Maybe she quit," Brad theorized when he and Paige went to the Sly Fox after work that night. "From the way you describe her, working in a haunted house doesn't seem like a good job for her."
"I just can't help worrying about her. She seemed so ... pathetic, and I don't mean that in a derogatory sense."
"Perhaps she took tonight off. If so, she'll probably be back tomorrow night. Why don't you forget about her for now?"
Paige did as he advised. She forgot about Victoria and turned her attention to the Phillies baseball game on the bar's widescreen TV.
When Victoria was not there on either Saturday or Sunday night, she decided to abandon her crusade to befriend the girl and concentrate on her schoolwork and her blossoming relationship with Brad Caldwell.
* * *
The next week passed quickly. Paige had two exams to study for and a research paper to write. Thankfully, the following weekend would be a long one since Columbus Day would be celebrated on Monday. She and Brad had made plans to spend the day in Philadelphia, but she was still in the process of waking up when he arrived at her house at nine o'clock.
"I could really use another cup of coffee," she said, inviting him inside. "I'm exhausted."
Paige was busy making the coffee, so she couldn't see the troubled look on Brad's face, but she didn't miss his lack of response.
"Is something wrong?" she asked, turning to face him.
"I talked to the boss after work last night."
"Oh? Why the long face? Is one of us getting fired?"
"No. I asked him about Victoria."
Paige felt her heart lurch in her chest. Had something happened to the girl?
"What did he say?"
"He never hired anyone named Victoria."
"Are you saying she lied about her name?"
"No. I described her to him, just as you described her to me."
"And?"
"None of the actors fits her description. I don't know who you saw, but she doesn't work for the Haunted Asylum."
There was a look of relief on Paige's face.
"That explains everything. She must have snuck into the building, which was why she wasn't wearing any makeup and why she was reluctant to come out of the shadows. She must have been afraid she would get into trouble."
"There is another explanation," Brad pointed out hesitantly.
"Are we talking about ghosts again?" she asked skeptically.
"People have said Pennhurst is haunted."
"People say there are aliens in Roswell, too, but that doesn't make it so."
"What about the photograph in the museum?" he argued.
"Photoshop, like you said."
Nonetheless, Paige's conviction was weakening.
"That seemed the most logical explanation at the time, but now I'm not so sure," Brad confessed.
"Do you really think the girl I saw was a ghost?"
"I'm saying she might be a ghost."
* * *
Halloween, a Saturday, was the busiest night of all for the Haunted Asylum. Groups were sent so close together that they often merged along the route.
"I really have to go to the restroom," Paige told Brad midway through the evening. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
When she walked out the door, she was shocked to see Victoria standing in the shadows of the hallway once again.
"You've come back!"
"Help me."
The girl's voice was so soft that Paige wasn't entirely sure she'd heard it.
"What do you want? Are you looking for your mother?"
"Mother ...."
The sadness returned to Victoria's face, and tears filled her eyes.
"Did your mother leave you here?"
Victoria put her hands on her abdomen in a gesture of protection.
"Mother."
"You're trying to tell me you're a mother," Paige surmised. "Was your child here in Pennhurst? Are you trying to find it?"
"Mother ...."
Victoria's voice trailed off and faded as she vanished before her coworker's eyes.
It was nearly forty minutes before Paige returned to the operating room.
"Are you all right?" Brad wondered. "You were gone so long; I was beginning to worry."
"I saw her. I saw Victoria. You were right. She is a ghost."
* * *
The actors at the Haunted Asylum gave their last performance on the first of November. When Victoria did not appear, Paige gave up all hope of learning her identity.
Later that month, a terrible storm struck the Mid-Atlantic Seaboard, and many trees came down in the southeastern Pennsylvania area. Brad worked double shifts with his father's landscaping company to clean up the debris.
Having a day to herself, Paige returned to Pennhurst. All signs of the Haunted Asylum were gone. The former state school was once again deserted. While she walked around the grounds, she took digital photos of the structures that surrounded the administration building, including Hershey, Philadelphia, Quaker and Mayflower Halls. Walking back toward Commonwealth Drive, she heard a voice.
"Who's there?" she called.
"Mother ...."
"Victoria, is that you? Where are you?"
"Mother."
"I can't see you."
"Help. Please."
Victoria's voice sounded so pitiful that Paige took her cell phone out of her purse and called 911. She realized the police might think her insane, but she didn't care. No matter how slim the chance of locating the lost soul, she had to take it.
"Are you the one who called, miss?" the police officer inquired as he approached Paige.
"Yes. I was walking along this path, taking photographs, and I heard someone call for help. I looked, but I couldn't find anyone."
"Hello," the officer shouted. "Is anyone there?"
"We want to help you," she added her entreaties to those of the police officer.
"Maybe what you heard was kids fooling around. They come here all the time. They break the windows and spray paint the buildings. The government ought to condemn ...."
"Help ...."
"Did you hear that?" Paige asked excitedly.
"Yes, I did. Where are you?" he shouted.
"Mother ...."
Paige turned to the officer and asked, "Was the sound coming from the tunnel below us?"
He nodded and headed toward the door of the administration building.
* * *
After Brad finished removing a large fallen branch from the roof of a nearby preschool, he hurried to Paige's house in response to her urgent cell phone message. When his girlfriend answered the door, he saw that her eyes were red from weeping.
"Oh, Brad!" she sobbed, seeking the comfort of his muscular arms. "It was so horrible! The police officer and I heard someone crying for help, and then he went down into the tunnel, broke through a wall and found Victoria's body. Because her corpse had been sealed inside the wall, it became mummified. The poor girl's blond hair was still intact. And the baby .... Oh, I can't bear to think about it!"
Paige shivered with revulsion, unable to continue speaking.
"Don't cry, honey. It's all over now."
"No, it[s not. We don't know who killed her and put her body in that wall."
"It's not likely that anyone will learn who did it. After all, Victoria and her child have been dead for close to a century. The killer must have died years ago."
While Brad was correct about the killer being long gone, he was wrong about his identity remaining unknown. DNA taken from the mummified fetus identified him as Vaughn Timms, a former orderly who had worked at Pennhurst and several other care facilities. Investigators were able to trace him through his granddaughter, who had submitted her DNA to an ancestry website.
Timms had been convicted in 1967 of sexually molesting a minor in a mental health facility. Suspected of similar crimes in other institutions where he worked, he received a long prison sentence and died while incarcerated.
"Thanks to you, at least Victoria and her baby were given a proper burial," Brad said as he and his fiancée left the cemetery where the girl was buried.
"I wish I could have done more for her," Paige cried, brushing a tear from her eye.
Three years later, she and Brad were married. Two years after that, Paige gave birth to a baby girl with pale blond hair and blue eyes. One look at the tiny infant, whose coloring was so different from their own, and Mr. and Mrs. Brad Caldwell named their child Victoria and welcomed the little girl back into the world.
I wrote this story after visiting the Haunted Asylum at Pennhurst. My daughter gave me the idea for the ending later that night at the Sly Fox Brewhouse when she mentioned Poe's The Cask of Amontillado.
What is a haunted house without a black cat? (At least that's the argument I used when I tried to leave Salem at Pennhurst.)
