You Might also like
By Ricardo — 7 years ago
Tech Thursday on Jabber Log – Brought to you and part by Mashable.
Make sure to follow Mashable for all things Tech on Twitter @mashable and Jabber Log for more stories about everything @JabberLog.Post Views: 211
By Ricardo — 7 years ago
I have always been fascinated by ghosts and the unexplainable. The horror genre is my favorite and two local stories have always been a topic of interest. Growing up I heard stories of melon heads in West Michigan. I figured it was simply a story to scare me into good behavior but as I got older I continued to hear the story but in more detail. The story I heard was that of an asylum next to the Felt Mansion that housed the insane as well as children with “melon heads”. They were abused, treated badly, and ultimately left to roam the woods. It was also said that at one time they stayed at the mansion. The story spooked me but I wanted to know more. I actually wanted to see the building and the inside of the mansion. I had gone out to the mansion several times but could never get close to the supposed asylum. It has been destroyed but the mansion remains. I’ve been inside the mansion and although it has been restored, it felt as though I was being watched by something or someone. The stories are endless but after a little research I have found more info on the asylum. According to StrangeUSA.com,
this is located near the Felt Mansion it is a small building that is a behind the BMX track. It is all broken up and windows are busted due to kids. At night if you were to go and look around the house, curtains in the window move and windows open and close, and strange lights are often visible in them. If you were to go inside and walk around you can hear heavy breathing, loud footsteps, screams, and even able to see silhouettes of figures walking. Sometimes you can feel as though something walked threw you and sometimes you may encounter a sudden pain in the wrists of your hands over all the place has just a creepy feel. October 2004 update: This building is the last remaining building of Dunes Correctional Facility. Its the old Trustee Bldg. that housed 80 inmates. This place is now being vandalized horribly and the police ARE prosecuting! The Junction itself is a myth. Allegan County Historical Society has stated repeatedly that “The Junction” insane asylum has never existed.
So the building was once the Dunes Correctional Facility. Where I work it’s known as the old 80 man building. It was a low security prison that was eventually shut down because of funding. This is the story for the public but others seem to believe that much more happened in this area. That this is actually the infamous “Junction Asylum” where the melon heads originated. Wikipedia, who is not always a good or factual resource, had a little more info on the matter. “According to one story, they were originally children with hydrocephalus who lived at the Junction Insane Asylum near Felt Mansion. The story explains that, after enduring physical and emotional abuse, they became feral mutants and were released into the forests surrounding the asylum.” This story is amazing to me because it had to originate somewhere. Something had to happen for this to spread. I’m sure it could be made up but if this is true then someone out there has to have some sort of evidence. Maybe I should walk through the woods and see for myself what’s out there. Can you imagine finding the underground tunnels that were supposedly used by the children who escaped the asylum? It is also said that the melon head children had planned to kill the doctor who abused them. Once they did, there was no where to hide the body so they cut him up and hid parts around the mansion. If you or anyone you know has any solid information on what really happened in this area, I would like to know. Was this correctional facility the site of The Junction? I’ve heard many tales of the hauntings in this area. If you have experienced anything in this area please leave a comment. It’s about time that we solve the mystery of The Junction Asylum that has been said to not exist by the county. Stay tuned for part two and watch the video below. Cheers!
Video Source: Uploaded by grarivpic on Mar 25, 2007Post Views: 370
By Ricardo — 2 years ago
Guest blog post by Shae, 9-1-1 dispatcher out of central Indiana
This smile hurts my face.
I sit around the table for an early Christmas dinner, quietly wondering if anyone has noticed that my smile isn’t real. I’m having trouble faking. Family and extended family are all talking at once and it’s sensory overload.
I excuse myself and sit in the living room with the kids, realizing I have more in common with them than anyone my age – we’re both not interested in “grown up” talk. The houses, the cars, the material goods – they talk about their good fortune and maybe brag a little. And I sit there wondering what families aren’t as fortunate as theirs.
I’m not trying to be a snob, I just don’t have things in common with them anymore. The houses, the cars, the material goods. I’ve come to despise holidays, for the runs I’ve been on and the calls I’ve taken. Years as a medic and now a dispatcher too, my life’s mission to serve the people has cast a gloomier view on these holiday events.
That house we passed on the way to the store is where I’ve told a husband his wife of 60 years is gone. Those crosses by the bridge are where I watched a family of four die – unable to get to them quickly enough. The bag boy loading our Christmas groceries is spending another holiday without his mother – I know, I took his call.
The nightmares I have will never end, I’ve been invited into some of the most intimate moments in people’s lives. I’ve seen pain and suffering, taking it home with me to nestle in bed, awake and scared that their fate will become my own. Worried that what’s worse, it will eventually stop effecting me and that’s when I’ll know it’s time to hang it up.
I’ve got PTSD. Those four letters are hard to say. I’ve spent time afraid that if I say it out loud, someone will question me why – and they do. I feel shame, like what I have I didn’t deserve. They think PTSD is for soldiers, and I’m just a dispatcher. I can’t begin to explain it so I shrug my shoulders and walk away, knowing that someone else’s pain and suffering is now a part of me as a person and I can’t begin to make sense of it for them.
Family gatherings like this are exhausting, for the well meaning but always annoying questions about work, about my worst call. They want to live through me, feel a thrill of a life saved but most of the stories that I carry around aren’t happy ones. No one really wants to know unless it’s a happy one. So I make something up, hoping that it will satisfy them for the moment, and it does. I can go back to sitting at the kids table, content in their chatter.
I look forward to being able to go home, and just be by myself. My own demons feel like better company sometimes. They’re familiar at least. I know what to expect. It’s not that I don’t love my family, I just can’t make them understand and that feels more exhausting to me.
So I smile, nod my head and sit there quietly just waiting to go home.Post Views: 262