August 26, 1954


The chapel was the repository of death.

Tucked away on the third floor of a building constructed long after the disappearance of the asylum, was the chapel.

It was a beautiful room with a domed ceiling and exquisite bookcases around the sides. A bronze plaque hung upon the wall, and upon it were carved the names of those who had done the most for medicine and science in the asylum. Their exploits were cataloged and documented in small, handbound books encased behind glass.

The books, I discovered, were bound in human skin, the ink made from burnt hair and blood.

I found documentation of pain and horror in those books, and I wondered why the staff would have been so foolish as to keep track of their own bad acts.

I had only to remember with whom I was dealing.

There was neither rhyme nor reason to what they did. Any pretense of legitimate research was exactly that: a pretense.

For hours I read the exploits of murderers and torturers. Nothing more or less.

In the end, I was forced to gather up rosters of people who might still be alive in my own time and in my own when.

I would return to Cross soon enough, and when I did so, I would seek them out and purge them from the bloodline of humanity.

My pack is heavy with papers, but my heart is light.

Soon, I know, I will begin to cross names off my lists.

And none of their deaths will be easy or pleasant.

#horror #CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #horrorobsessed #scary #ghosts #DuncanBlood #asylum #insane #ghoststories

August 25, 1954


Sadism ran deep in the asylum.

I do not know which one of the administrators brought the clowns and the elephant in, but the man’s depravity knew no end.

I found the photograph in a small room, where a mural of the circus was painted on the wall. Small beds with iron frames were bolted to the floor, and all the mattresses were gone. There were bars on the windows, of course, and all the glass had been broken out. The single door to the room had a dozen locks upon it, all of which were accessible only from the outer hallway.

In every corner of the room and across the floor, were bones.

The skeletal remains of adults, not children, and the skeleton of an elephant. In one corner, half-hidden beneath the elephant’s skull, I could the blood-stained costumes of the clowns in the photograph.

When I picked up one of the finger bones, I discovered small bite marks on it, and my heart skipped a beat as I realized what had happened.

The clowns and the elephant had been brought in to entertain the children, and I am certain they did. Then, someone locked the children back in their room and fed them the entertainers.

Whether they were all slain at once, or singly, I do not know. It is evident, however, that they were still in their costumes when they were fed to the children.

I looked at the gouges and wondered how a man could live with himself, and I thought hard about what I’d like to do to such a man.

I put the bone in my pocket and went in search of records.

I have had quite enough.

#horror #CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #horrorobsessed #scary #ghosts #DuncanBlood #asylum #insane #ghoststories

August 24, 1954


The sound of weeping drove me outside.

I first heard it when I awoke this morning. A soft, subtle sound which seemed to come from somewhere close by.

I followed the cries, which at times were near me, and at others only distantly heard. The sobs were incessant though, regardless as to the nearness of the person weeping.

As the day progressed, the cries no longer moved away from me. They no longer wandered along the edges of my perception. Instead, they grew louder.

The sound was maddening for there was no way to help the person crying. I did not know if it was an adult or a child, whether male or female. All I knew was that they were in pain, and there was no way to help them.

This was the worst part, my own helplessness. My inability to soothe them, to comfort them. I heard heartbreak and longing, hunger and depression, all of these things heavy in the sobs.

Finally, I could take no more of it.

I went outside and sat down in the grass. I stared at the hospital, desperately hoping to see the crier in one of the windows.

But I saw nothing. Only heard it.

I remained outside for the entire day. The weeping ceased when the sunset, and I went back inside, my own tears blurring my vision at the thought of a suffering which could outlast death.

#horror #CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #horrorobsessed #scary #ghosts #DuncanBlood #asylum #insane #ghoststories

August 23, 1954


He was not difficult to understand, despite the fact that he was missing a fair portion of his mouth.

I found Jean L’homme sans Visage, as he referred to himself, tucked away in a room filled with sunlight. He was alone, his eyes closed, and at first, I mistook him for being alive. He, as it turned out, mistook me for being dead.

He was a Poilu, a French soldier of the Great War, and he had traveled to America to visit a cousin in Boston. Somehow, and he cannot remember exactly, he arrived at the hospital. Soon, he found himself in one of the surgical galleries, and under the watchful eye of a surgeon, young nurses were encouraged to cut away as much as they dared.

One young woman, he discovered to his horror, dared a great deal. When she finished, she had removed the upper portion of his jaw, part of one orbital socket, and a fair amount of his tongue. In all, he told me, he might have minded terribly, if they had then killed him.

Instead, they kept him alive for another year, seeing what foods he could still digest without the assistance of teeth and saliva.

I asked him how he died, and Jean chuckled.

“I found a scalpel,” he informed me.

“Suicide?” I asked politely.

Jean shook his head. “I went looking for hearts in the staff.”

“Did you find any?”

“One,” he answered, and held up his hands. “Unfortunately for me, I could no longer chew properly, and I choked upon it.”

#horror #CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #horrorobsessed #scary #ghosts #DuncanBlood #asylum #insane #ghoststories



My apologies to everyone. Today was long and stressful. I spent a fair amount of time at this fine establishment with my father, so I have been unable to complete any writing. I hope to bring something new to you all for tomorrow. Have a good night!


August 21, 1954


The sound of hammers and saws caught my attention and drew me into a wing I had not yet investigated.

As I entered the wing, the sounds of work grew louder, and for the first time, I caught the sound of adult voices raised in conversation. I heard discussions on baseball and beer, loose women and bad bosses.

Nowhere did I hear the voices of children.

The tone of the conversations was similar, that of privileged individuals speaking. These were men in charge. Men who had no reason to fear the orphanage or the asylum, or to worry that they might end up in treatment there.

And why should they? They were the ones running everything.

The men were in a large room off the left side, and they were busily engaged in finishing construction of what looked like another barracks for patients.

When the men saw me, they were surprised. And why shouldn’t they be? My guns were drawn, the hammers cocked.

I glanced at the five men, and I asked them one question.

“Is anyone here a doctor?”

All five men raised their hands in acknowledgment of their profession.

The sounds of my guns thundered in the room and I slaughtered the men as easily as they had slaughtered children.

#horror #CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #horrorobsessed #scary #ghosts #DuncanBlood #asylum #insane #ghoststories

August 20, 1954


It was an echo and nothing more.

I told myself this as I stood outside, breathing in fresh air, and preparing for a day of exploration. The sun attempted to cut through the clouds, and I admired the beauty of some of the building’s architecture. I took out my pipe and for the first time in days, enjoyed a smoke. There had been undeniable rough spots within the orphanage and hospital, but there was hope that not all the days would be difficult.

As I stood in the sun, smoking, and thinking of both the future and the past, I heard screaming.

The sun’s rays illuminated a section of the hospital where the windows were covered in metal grating. Through it, I caught sight of children.

Dozens and dozens of children. Their heads were shaved, and they wore rough-spun, undyed woolen nightshirts. Their eyes were wide, and their mouths open. The screams which issued forth from those mouths were both terrifying and pitiful.

For nearly a full five minutes, those children screamed. Then, a bell rang in the distance, and as one, they closed their mouths. Nurses came in behind them, and I saw the rise and fall of thick leather straps. The children did not shy away or cringe as they were beaten away by the nurses.

I stood there, my pipe forgotten, and I speak a lie to myself.

It was an echo and nothing more.

#horror #CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #horrorobsessed #scary #ghosts #DuncanBlood #asylum #insane #ghoststories

August 19, 1954


So many of the operations conducted here were unnecessary.

I have found an operating room and far too many pictures of surgeries and amputations. Some were done with the benefit of morphine and medications to manage the pain. Others, however, were not.

This room is called ‘Operating Room Prometheus.’ Whether the person who named it was fond of mythology or an avid reader of Shelley, I neither know nor do I care.

I spoke with the ghost of a young man named Garrett. He speaks with a lisp because half of his teeth were removed for no other reason to see how well he could endure the pain. In our long and dreadful conversation, he told me how he was skinned, inch by inch, over a period of eighty-nine days. Both eyes were removed, and his fingers were stretched until they were displaced.

At one point, the surgeons took suggestions from the other members of the operating staff, and soon Garrett found himself used as a host for a variety of animals. His stomach, the ghost explained, was used as an incubator of sorts.

I asked him if he still felt the pain, and he uttered a pleasant laugh.

“No,” he informed me. “I managed to turn everything off after they removed my teeth. My body was no longer mine. Why should I care what they did with it?”

I asked him if he would like to join me and he politely declined, explaining, “This is my home. One day, I believe, the doctors and nurses will return. I’ll kill them then. One by one.”

I hope they do, and I hope he does.

#horror #CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #horrorobsessed #scary #ghosts #DuncanBlood #asylum #insane #ghoststories

August 18, 1954


Wandering the grounds of the orphanage and asylum today, I stumbled upon the facility’s cemetery. I was surprised to find it. In Cross, the cemetery still remains, the last of its occupants having been interned in 1932.

When I was walking among the markers, I discovered two important facts. First, the most recent marker was carved from a piece of wood and bore the date, ‘1958?’; second, a young boy sat with his back against one of the oldest stones in the cemetery. His expression was one of sadness and exhaustion, as though he had seen much and was ready for all of it to be done with.

I sat down across from him and waited for the child to speak.

After a little more than an hour, he fixed his eyes upon me and asked, “Are you alive?”

“So far as I know,” I told him.

He nodded, fidgeted with his shoelace and then stated, “All my friends are dead.”

“Does it bother you?” I asked.

“No,” the child responded, shaking his head.

“Why not?” I asked the question without any semblance of judgment and the boy seemed to notice.

“I’m dead too,” he said.

“How long?” I inquired.

The boy shrugged. “Long enough, I suppose. What are you doing here?”

“Seeing what became of the orphanage,” I told him.

“Have you seen enough?”

“No,” I responded.

“Good,” he sighed. “There’s much more to see.”

#horror #CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #horrorobsessed #scary #ghosts #DuncanBlood #asylum #insane

August 17, 1954


He called to me as I passed by in the hallway, the door to his room partially hidden by rubble and shadow.

I was able to enter the room easy enough, and I did so with my pistols drawn, the hammers cocked. He was in bed, tucked back in a corner with the late afternoon sunlight filtered by a dirty window. It took me only a moment to catch the scent of death in the air and to realize the man in the bed was still alive, despite the rot in his gut.

He asked me what day it was, and I told him it was Tuesday. The man chuckled, coughed up blood, and told me he thought it was a Friday. When I asked him how long he had lain in bed, he asked me a question in reply.

“When did the war end?”

“Which one?” I asked.

“Huh,” he muttered. “We fought the Kaiser.”

“Thirty-six years,” I told him.

He turned his head, spat a wad of blood-flecked phlegm onto the floor and sighed, “Figures. I ain’t dead yet.”

“Neither am I,” I said.

He chuckled. “Feel like doin’ an old soldier a favor?”

“What’s that?” I asked him.

“Put one of those .44s up against my head and pull the trigger,” he replied.

I stood up, placed both barrels against his temple and blew his brains out over the pillow.

#horror #CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #horrorobsessed #scary #ghosts #DuncanBlood #asylum #insane