October 28, 2025 • 28 mins
In the quiet town of Madison, Ohio sits a building with nearly two centuries of history and more than a few secrets.
Once a school, a Civil War widows’ home, and later a state-run institution, Madison Seminary has become one of the most haunted locations in Ohio.
In this episode, host Robert Barber explores the history and hauntings of the Seminary, including the Civil War wing watched over by Elizabeth Stiles, the shrine-like bedroom of Sarah who asked for money, and the top-floor Asylum where a presence known as the Surgeon is said to linger.
You will also hear about Robert’s own late-night investigation in the Seminary’s basement, where a K2 meter seemed to respond to questions and where the silence carried a weight all its own.
🕯️ EVP Recordings Featured in This Episode:
• “Make It Stop” – Captured in the Surgeon’s Room
• Unintelligible Voices – Captured in Sarah’s Room
Whether you believe in ghosts or simply in the echoes of history, Madison Seminary stands as a place where both still seem to be alive.
State of the Unknown is a documentary-style podcast tracing the haunted highways, forgotten folklore, and unexplained phenomena across America’s 50 states.
👁️🗨️ New episodes every Tuesday — with full-length stories every other week, and shorter mini tales in between.
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Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
SPEAKER_00 (00:02):
The basement of Madison Seminary isn't small,
it's sprawling, divided intoseveral rooms.
But the one we're in is.
It sits in the far corner of thebuilding where two outer walls
meet.
Each wall has a single windowthat lets in just a sliver of
light from outside, barelyenough to outline the stone.
(00:26):
The ceiling is low, the airheavy and stale, the kind that
makes you whisper withoutrealizing it.
It's cold down here, colder thanit should be.
The kind of cold that feels likeit's paying attention.
Near the middle of the floor,there's a rough patch where
(00:47):
cement's been cut away,revealing dirt underneath.
Years back, investigatorsbrought in cadaver dogs and
ground penetrating radar.
The dogs hid on one spot.
The radar showed something else.
A shape a few feet away thatlooked like a human head, or
maybe even a baby.
(01:09):
They dug where the radar said todig and came up empty.
That's where two investigatorsare standing tonight.
One of them sitting in a chairon the opposite side of the
room, holding a pair of dowsingrods.
The others near that hole in thefloor, holding a K2 meter,
(01:29):
basically a handheld EMFdetector.
If you've never seen one, itlights up when it detects a
burst of electromagnetic energy.
The idea is that if spiritsreally do exist, they might be
able to manipulate that energy.
Maybe even use it to answerquestions.
(01:50):
If you can hear me, he says,reach out and touch this device.
Light it up for yes.
Nothing at first.
Just silence.
Then, out of nowhere, everylight on the K2 jumps straight
to red.
They look at each other, one ofthose quick, are you seeing this
(02:10):
too moments?
Were you responsible for awoman's death here?
The investigator asks out loud.
Silence again.
You could count the heartbeatsin it.
And then another full flash.
The air gets heavier, still.
The man in the chair watches ashis rods slowly turn towards the
(02:33):
same answer.
Was it in an accident?
he asks.
Nothing.
The kind of quiet where you canhear your own pulse in your
ears.
Did you mean her harm?
The K2 lights up again, brightand hard.
Over the next twenty minutes,the pattern stays the same.
(02:53):
Bursts of light, long gaps ofsilence.
The answers come quick when theywant to, and not at all when
they don't.
Whoever, or whatever, is downhere says he killed someone.
He says he's not sorry.
He says he can leave, but neverhas.
(03:14):
Then comes the question thathangs in the air longer than any
other.
Have you ever seen the light?
Nothing.
Ten seconds goes by.
Fifteen.
The windows have gone dark,total black now.
The K two's the only thingvisible, a faint green glow
(03:37):
waiting to respond.
Does that mean you haven't seenthe light?
Instantly it flares bright red.
It's so fast, so specific, itfeels like an answer.
And then nothing.
No flicker, no sound, no moreresponses.
(03:59):
Just the kind of silence thatpresses against your skin.
They stand there waiting for onemore sign that never comes.
What you just heard wasn't alegend.
It wasn't folklore or a storypassed around online.
(04:21):
That event really happened tome.
Myself and a colleague went toMadison Seminary to explore the
location as part of research forthis show.
A building rich with history andsaid to have seen more than 200
deaths over its lifetime.
Over the years, this old brickstructure in Madison, Ohio has
been many things (04:42):
a school, a home for Civil War widows, a
mental health facility, and evengovernment offices.
But today it's known forsomething very different.
The energy that builds afterdark, the whispers that seem to
answer back, and the feelingthat some part of its past still
(05:06):
hasn't moved on.
(05:27):
This is the story of MadisonSeminary, its history, its
hauntings, and the echoes thatstill linger inside its walls.
For nearly two centuries, onebuilding in Ohio has stood
through war, reform, and rumor.
And somewhere inside, the paststill seems to breathe.
(05:50):
This is State of the Unknown.
Madison Seminary stands in thequiet town of Madison, Ohio,
about forty miles east ofCleveland.
From a distance, the buildinglooks almost too large for the
town around it.
(06:10):
A massive, weather-wornstructure of red brick and pale
stone, nearly 50,000 square feetspread across five levels, a
stone basement buried beneaththe foundation, two main floors
that once served as classroomsand dormitories, and an upper
level that later was used forinstitutional housing.
(06:32):
Above it all is a central towerthat rises above the roof line,
its tall windows catching thelight just enough to remind you
how long it's been standingthere.
It was built in 1847, originallyas an educational facility
called the Madison Seminary.
The name can be misleading.
(06:54):
It wasn't a religious seminary,and there's no record of
students leaving here to jointhe ministry.
In the mid-1800s, seminarysimply meant an academy for
higher learning.
And that's exactly what thiswas: a coeducational school that
served the local community forseveral decades.
(07:16):
Inside, the architecture stillreflects that era.
Long corridors, tall ceilings,sunlight slanting through high
windows.
Beneath it all lies a narrowbasement of stone and cement.
Above, an attic level that wouldlater earn the name the asylum.
(07:36):
Every floor feels a littledifferent.
The kind of place where yourfootsteps echo back at you even
when you're sure you're alone.
After the Civil War, theproperty took on a very
different purpose.
In 1891, it was purchased by theOhio Women's Relief Corps, the
(07:56):
auxiliary of the Grand Army ofthe Republic, a national
organization for Union Veterans.
The Corps used the building as aresidence for widows, wives, and
mothers of Union soldiers who nolonger had families to care for
them.
For many of those women, MadisonSeminary became their last home.
(08:19):
Over the next several decades,ownership changed hands more
than once.
By the early 1900s, the state ofOhio assumed control and placed
the property under theDepartment of Mental Hygiene and
Corrections.
It served a mix of functions,part residential facility, part
(08:40):
custodial institution housingpatients with mental illness,
people with developmentaldisabilities, and at times those
held under state custody.
The building's later use as acorrectional or treatment
facility added another layer toits reputation.
Records from that era areincomplete, but there are
(09:02):
verified accounts of neglect,overcrowding, and difficult
living conditions typical ofstate institutions of the time.
Eventually the statedecommissioned the site, and for
years the old structure satabandoned, windows broken,
plaster falling, nature pushingits way back in.
(09:23):
Local kids dared each other tosneak inside.
Ghost stories startedcirculating, and the legend of
Madison Seminary as one ofOhio's most haunted locations
began to grow.
As word spread, so did thecuriosity.
Madison Seminary was laterfeatured on television
(09:44):
investigations, including GhostHunters, Destination Fear, and
other national paranormalseries, each adding to its
reputation and mystique.
Today the property is privatelyowned and maintained as a
historic landmark.
Restoration has stabilized thebuilding without erasing its
(10:05):
age.
Walking through it, you canstill see the original wood
floors, horn stairs, and narrowhalls that echo with a century
and a half of footsteps.
The exact number of deaths thatoccurred here isn't known.
Some accounts put it at morethan 200, a figure that likely
(10:26):
includes residents from thewomen's relief corps home in
later institutional patients.
A small cemetery behind theproperty holds several of those
women, though how many othersrest in unmarked ground is
uncertain.
What's left is a building thathas served as a school, a
refuge, a hospital, and a stateinstitution.
(10:49):
Nearly two centuries of Ohiohistory contained inside a
single structure.
And for a place with that kindof past, it's no surprise that
people still feel something whenthey walk inside.
Madison Seminary isn't one ofthose places where the stories
(11:13):
center on a single room.
Nearly every hallway and cornercarried its own kind of energy,
its own personality.
Down in the basement where weheld our K2 sessions, the air
feels heavy and cold.
The kind of stillness thatsettles deep in your chest.
(11:34):
That's the area where cadaverdogs once alerted in
ground-penetrating radar pickedup something shaped like a head
or a small body.
They dug and found nothing, butthe stories only grew.
Upstairs, the mood changes.
(11:54):
The Civil War era wing oncehoused the women of the Ohio
Women's Relief Corps, widows andwives of Union soldiers who had
nowhere else to go.
The rooms here are smaller,quieter, and they feel different
from the rest of the building.
Softer, almost protective.
(12:14):
Visitors describe faint humming,the scent of old perfume, and
gentle touches on their arm.
Many believe those experiencesare connected to Elizabeth
Stiles, a woman whose life readslike a novel.
She served the Union during theCivil War, not only as a nurse,
but as a spy, working behindConfederate lines and carrying
(12:38):
coded messages for PresidentLincoln's administration.
After the war, she joined theWomen's Relief Corps and
eventually spent her later yearsinside these same walls.
People describe her presence ascalm and maternal, a quiet
guardian who still checks in onthose who visit.
(12:59):
If Madison Seminary has aprotector, most agree it's her.
A few rooms away, the toneshifts again.
This is Sarah's room, the oneinvestigators call the girl who
wants to go home.
Legend says that during an EVPsession, someone once asked what
(13:20):
she wanted, and a faint voiceanswered with a single word.
Money.
When you step into the roomtoday, it feels more like a
shrine than a bedroom.
The dresser and floor are linedwith dolls, toys, and small
offerings, even one dollar billsleft behind by visitors hoping
(13:40):
to comfort her or simply paytheir respects.
Some call it superstition,others call it empathy.
Whatever it is, the air feelsdifferent here.
Not hostile, just sad.
When I visited, the room wascompletely still.
No EMF spikes, no voices onplayback.
(14:03):
Even after leaving a few dollarsmyself, the K2 never flickered
once.
Sometimes that silence says asmuch as any response ever could.
Walk the second floor hallways,and you might catch movement in
your peripheral vision, darkshapes slipping between
doorways, footsteps that stopwhen you stop.
(14:26):
Every floor has its stories, andthe deeper you go, the heavier
it gets.
Because above the Civil Warwing, there's another level
entirely.
What people here call theasylum.
The top floor of MadisonSeminary is what people here
(14:48):
call the asylum.
That's not an official name,just something visitors started
saying and it stuck.
During the years the statecontrolled the property, this
level held residents with mentalillness and later inmates under
supervision.
The air changes when you reachthis floor.
The hallways are narrow and echolonger than they should.
(15:12):
Paint curls off the walls, andlight filters through the
windows in thin strips duringthe day, catching the dust as it
moves.
It's quiet, but not thecomfortable kind.
Many visitors describe hearingfootsteps or seeing quick
shadows slide across thedoorways.
Others say the feeling ofsadness or panic can come on
(15:35):
suddenly and vanish just as fastwhen they step back into the
hall.
One of the rooms here has beenstaged to resemble an old
surgical suite.
A metal table in the center,complete with stirrups, tools,
and a single lamp.
Visitors call the presence inthis room the surgeon.
(15:55):
Over the years, some haveclaimed to hear short commands:
hold still, don't move.
There's no verified recording ofthese words, but the story is
repeated often enough that it'sbecome part of the building's
folklore.
When my colleague and I enteredthat room, it was still.
No EMF spikes, nothing on thespirit box.
(16:19):
We ran a short EVP session,asked a few simple questions,
and didn't notice anythingunusual at the time.
Later, while reviewing theaudio, something faint came
through.
You can hear distant voices,other people somewhere else on
the floor, but no one was in theroom with us.
(16:40):
Using headphones, you can hearthere's a whisper that sounds
like make it stop.
Now, I'm not 100% sure that'swhat it said, but the both of us
listening to it, that's what weagreed upon.
It's then followed by more wordsthat we couldn't make out at
all.
It's subtle and easy to misswithout listening closely.
(17:00):
I've posted that raw clip on ourwebsite if you want to hear it
for yourself.
It'll be linked in the shownotes as well.
Whether it's a quirk of therecording or something we can't
explain, I can't say, but it'sthere.
Faint, layered beneath thebackground noise.
A moment that makes you thinkabout what this room might still
(17:22):
be holding on to.
A few steps down the hall isanother space people talk about,
one without an official name.
Visitors describe walking in andbeing overwhelmed with emotion,
sometimes to the point of tears.
It's been nicknamed theemotional room, though that's
(17:44):
just something people startedsaying after enough visitors
felt the same thing.
We didn't experience thatreaction ourselves, but the air
felt heavier, still and dense,like the room itself remembers
pain.
Between the surgeon's room andthat space, this floor leaves a
mark.
Not because of what you see, butbecause of what you feel.
(18:08):
It's the sense that some echoesnever really fade.
The longer you're inside MadisonSeminary, the more it feels like
each floor carries a differentemotion.
The basement is focused andunnerving.
(18:28):
The attic level, the asylum isheavy.
The Civil War era wing feelsalmost protective.
People have come to connectthose feelings to the names that
linger here.
Elizabeth Stiles, Sarah, thesurgeon.
But there's one story thatdoesn't come with a plaque or
verified record.
(18:49):
That's the story of thesuperintendent's wife.
As it's told, she lived hereduring the years when the state
ran the building.
Something happened.
Grief, pressure, or despair, andshe took her own life somewhere
on the upper floors.
Depending on who tells it, therooms change, the year changes,
(19:12):
but the ending always stays thesame.
Visitors say they sense an olderwoman's presence, quiet but
heavy with sadness.
A sudden chill, a quick exhalethrough the ear.
Sometimes it's nothing more thanthat instinct to whisper an
apology when you step into aspace that doesn't feel empty.
(19:35):
There are no public recordsconfirming her death here.
The archives from thestate-operated years are
incomplete, and nothing officialmatches the story.
Yet the tale endures, handeddown through caretakers,
investigators, and tour guideswho have spent decades inside
these walls.
Part of the confusion may comefrom another Ohio haunting that
(19:59):
sounds almost identical.
In 1949 at the Ohio StateReformatory in Mansfield, Helen
Glatkey, the warden's wife, diedfrom a gunshot wound in the
residence above the prison.
Ruled an accident, but longrumored otherwise.
That tragedy is well documented,and over time, stories of the
(20:22):
superintendent's wife seem tohave bled across Ohio's old
institutions.
So here at Madison Seminary,what we have is oral history,
consistent in tone, thin onpaperwork.
Whether that makes it legend ormemory is up for debate.
For me, it serves as context.
(20:44):
It explains the wave of sorrowpeople describe on those upper
floors, the feeling that thebuilding itself is mourning.
And whether you treat it as anunverified death or a haunting
shaped by empathy, the effect isthe same.
You slow your pace in thosehallways, you speak a little
softer, and you can't shake thesense that someone, somewhere,
(21:09):
still calls this place home.
We haven't found an officialrecord for her death, but the
story you just heard is the sameone told by guides and
investigators for years.
And in a place like this, that'soften how history survives.
(21:30):
Earlier you heard what happenedin the basement of Madison
Seminary, that strange back andforth through the K2 meter.
We've gone over that moment moretimes than I can count, trying
to make sense of it.
The basement sits beneath acentury and a half of
renovations.
Old stone, rough cement, thickair that seems to absorb sound.
(21:52):
There is power in parts of thebuilding, but before we started,
we checked EMF levels throughoutthe room.
Nothing rose above a minimalbaseline reading.
When the spikes came, theyweren't random noise.
They were distinct and timed,far higher than anything we'd
seen during setup.
Paranormal investigators divideactivity into two broad types,
(22:16):
residual and intelligent.
Residual energy is like anemotional recording, an imprint
of past events replaying itself.
Intelligence activity seems torespond.
It listens, reacts, engages.
What we experienced that nightfelt like intelligent.
(22:37):
But whether that intelligencewas ours, environmental or
something else, I still don'tknow.
Just down the corridor sits theold laundry room, a textbook
example of residual energy.
People have reported faintsounds of carts rolling or
footsteps crossing tile, alwaysin the same pattern, never
(22:57):
interacting.
It's not communication, it'srepetition.
A loop of routine still echoingin time.
Science offers its ownexplanations.
EMF meters can react to strayfrequencies, static discharge,
even shifts in the human body'selectrical field.
(23:19):
Expectation plays a part too.
The longer you wait for a lightto blink, the stronger the
moment feels when it finallydoes.
And yet, even after you accountfor every variable, there's
something about this buildingthat defies simple logic.
Maybe that's coincidence.
Or maybe it's the residue ofhistory, emotion, loss,
(23:43):
compassion, recorded in thewalls of a 50,000 square foot
time capsule.
Madison Seminary sits in thespace between what's proven and
what's felt, where history blursinto memory and memory becomes
something else.
Whatever you believe, placeslike this remind us that
(24:05):
curiosity isn't about findingproof.
It's about listening to whatrefuses to be forgotten.
Most of what we experienced atMadison Seminary could be
explained.
The cold spots, the creaking,the faint footsteps, all the
(24:27):
normal signatures of an oldbuilding that's lived a long
life.
But some things still don't lineup so neatly.
The faint voices on therecorder, the yes and no
responses on the K2 that seemedto come almost instantly, too
consistent to feel random.
Those moments stay with you.
(24:48):
What struck me most aboutMadison wasn't just the
unexplained, though.
It was how human the placefeels.
Every floor carries a differentemotion: grief, hope,
loneliness, care.
It's not the story of one ghostor one tragedy, it's the weight
of two centuries of peopleliving, working, suffering, and
(25:12):
trying to find meaning insidethe same walls.
And maybe that's what hauntingsreally are.
Not an apparition or a flickerof light, but the residue of
lives that mattered.
You feel it in Sarah's room,surrounded by small offerings
people leave behind.
You feel it in the silence ofthe basement where questions
(25:35):
still hang in the dark.
And you feel it in the story ofElizabeth Stiles, a woman who
risked her life as a spy duringthe Civil War, who carried
messages through enemy lines forthe Union cause, and who, after
the war, chose to spend herfinal years caring for other
women who had nowhere else togo.
(25:57):
If spirits linger anywhere,maybe it's because their purpose
isn't finished.
And for someone like Elizabeth,whose life was built on service,
maybe that purpose is still towatch over this place.
A quiet guardian making sure thestories of the forgotten aren't
lost.
Science can explain most of whathappens here, but it can't
(26:21):
explain why some of us feelcompelled to keep looking, why
we walk into the dark, not toprove anything, but to connect
with something we can't quitename.
For me, Madison Seminary was areminder that the unknown isn't
always something to fear.
Sometimes it's just historytrying to speak.
(26:43):
And curiosity, if we let it, ishow we listen.
This experience reignited thatcuriosity for me, not to chase
ghosts, but to understand thestories they leave behind.
And that's what keeps me comingback to places like this.
(27:09):
This has been State of theUnknown.
A brick and timber relic in aquiet Ohio town.
A place that's been a school, arefuge, a hospital, and a home.
And somewhere within thosewalls, echoes that refuse to
fade.
(27:29):
Madison Seminary endures notbecause the stories are proven,
but because no one has everquite proven they aren't.
Some say it's memory.
Some say it's energy.
Maybe it's both.
If you've been enjoying State ofthe Unknown, thank you for
listening and for helping thislittle show keep growing week
(27:52):
after week.
The best way you can support itis simple.
Leave a quick rating or review.
On Spotify, it's just a tap.
On Apple Podcasts, a few wordsmake a huge difference.
I read every single one, and Ican't tell you how much it
means.
Until next time, stay curious.
(28:13):
Stay unsettled.
And whatever you do, don'tlisten too closely when the
lights go out.
The basement of Madison Seminary isn't small,
it's sprawling, divided intoseveral rooms.
But the one we're in is.
It sits in the far corner of thebuilding where two outer walls
meet.
Each wall has a single windowthat lets in just a sliver of
light from outside, barelyenough to outline the stone.
(00:26):
The ceiling is low, the airheavy and stale, the kind that
makes you whisper withoutrealizing it.
It's cold down here, colder thanit should be.
The kind of cold that feels likeit's paying attention.
Near the middle of the floor,there's a rough patch where
(00:47):
cement's been cut away,revealing dirt underneath.
Years back, investigatorsbrought in cadaver dogs and
ground penetrating radar.
The dogs hid on one spot.
The radar showed something else.
A shape a few feet away thatlooked like a human head, or
maybe even a baby.
(01:09):
They dug where the radar said todig and came up empty.
That's where two investigatorsare standing tonight.
One of them sitting in a chairon the opposite side of the
room, holding a pair of dowsingrods.
The others near that hole in thefloor, holding a K2 meter,
(01:29):
basically a handheld EMFdetector.
If you've never seen one, itlights up when it detects a
burst of electromagnetic energy.
The idea is that if spiritsreally do exist, they might be
able to manipulate that energy.
Maybe even use it to answerquestions.
(01:50):
If you can hear me, he says,reach out and touch this device.
Light it up for yes.
Nothing at first.
Just silence.
Then, out of nowhere, everylight on the K2 jumps straight
to red.
They look at each other, one ofthose quick, are you seeing this
(02:10):
too moments?
Were you responsible for awoman's death here?
The investigator asks out loud.
Silence again.
You could count the heartbeatsin it.
And then another full flash.
The air gets heavier, still.
The man in the chair watches ashis rods slowly turn towards the
(02:33):
same answer.
Was it in an accident?
he asks.
Nothing.
The kind of quiet where you canhear your own pulse in your
ears.
Did you mean her harm?
The K2 lights up again, brightand hard.
Over the next twenty minutes,the pattern stays the same.
(02:53):
Bursts of light, long gaps ofsilence.
The answers come quick when theywant to, and not at all when
they don't.
Whoever, or whatever, is downhere says he killed someone.
He says he's not sorry.
He says he can leave, but neverhas.
(03:14):
Then comes the question thathangs in the air longer than any
other.
Have you ever seen the light?
Nothing.
Ten seconds goes by.
Fifteen.
The windows have gone dark,total black now.
The K two's the only thingvisible, a faint green glow
(03:37):
waiting to respond.
Does that mean you haven't seenthe light?
Instantly it flares bright red.
It's so fast, so specific, itfeels like an answer.
And then nothing.
No flicker, no sound, no moreresponses.
(03:59):
Just the kind of silence thatpresses against your skin.
They stand there waiting for onemore sign that never comes.
What you just heard wasn't alegend.
It wasn't folklore or a storypassed around online.
(04:21):
That event really happened tome.
Myself and a colleague went toMadison Seminary to explore the
location as part of research forthis show.
A building rich with history andsaid to have seen more than 200
deaths over its lifetime.
Over the years, this old brickstructure in Madison, Ohio has
been many things (04:42):
a school, a home for Civil War widows, a
mental health facility, and evengovernment offices.
But today it's known forsomething very different.
The energy that builds afterdark, the whispers that seem to
answer back, and the feelingthat some part of its past still
(05:06):
hasn't moved on.
(05:27):
This is the story of MadisonSeminary, its history, its
hauntings, and the echoes thatstill linger inside its walls.
For nearly two centuries, onebuilding in Ohio has stood
through war, reform, and rumor.
And somewhere inside, the paststill seems to breathe.
(05:50):
This is State of the Unknown.
Madison Seminary stands in thequiet town of Madison, Ohio,
about forty miles east ofCleveland.
From a distance, the buildinglooks almost too large for the
town around it.
(06:10):
A massive, weather-wornstructure of red brick and pale
stone, nearly 50,000 square feetspread across five levels, a
stone basement buried beneaththe foundation, two main floors
that once served as classroomsand dormitories, and an upper
level that later was used forinstitutional housing.
(06:32):
Above it all is a central towerthat rises above the roof line,
its tall windows catching thelight just enough to remind you
how long it's been standingthere.
It was built in 1847, originallyas an educational facility
called the Madison Seminary.
The name can be misleading.
(06:54):
It wasn't a religious seminary,and there's no record of
students leaving here to jointhe ministry.
In the mid-1800s, seminarysimply meant an academy for
higher learning.
And that's exactly what thiswas: a coeducational school that
served the local community forseveral decades.
(07:16):
Inside, the architecture stillreflects that era.
Long corridors, tall ceilings,sunlight slanting through high
windows.
Beneath it all lies a narrowbasement of stone and cement.
Above, an attic level that wouldlater earn the name the asylum.
(07:36):
Every floor feels a littledifferent.
The kind of place where yourfootsteps echo back at you even
when you're sure you're alone.
After the Civil War, theproperty took on a very
different purpose.
In 1891, it was purchased by theOhio Women's Relief Corps, the
(07:56):
auxiliary of the Grand Army ofthe Republic, a national
organization for Union Veterans.
The Corps used the building as aresidence for widows, wives, and
mothers of Union soldiers who nolonger had families to care for
them.
For many of those women, MadisonSeminary became their last home.
(08:19):
Over the next several decades,ownership changed hands more
than once.
By the early 1900s, the state ofOhio assumed control and placed
the property under theDepartment of Mental Hygiene and
Corrections.
It served a mix of functions,part residential facility, part
(08:40):
custodial institution housingpatients with mental illness,
people with developmentaldisabilities, and at times those
held under state custody.
The building's later use as acorrectional or treatment
facility added another layer toits reputation.
Records from that era areincomplete, but there are
(09:02):
verified accounts of neglect,overcrowding, and difficult
living conditions typical ofstate institutions of the time.
Eventually the statedecommissioned the site, and for
years the old structure satabandoned, windows broken,
plaster falling, nature pushingits way back in.
(09:23):
Local kids dared each other tosneak inside.
Ghost stories startedcirculating, and the legend of
Madison Seminary as one ofOhio's most haunted locations
began to grow.
As word spread, so did thecuriosity.
Madison Seminary was laterfeatured on television
(09:44):
investigations, including GhostHunters, Destination Fear, and
other national paranormalseries, each adding to its
reputation and mystique.
Today the property is privatelyowned and maintained as a
historic landmark.
Restoration has stabilized thebuilding without erasing its
(10:05):
age.
Walking through it, you canstill see the original wood
floors, horn stairs, and narrowhalls that echo with a century
and a half of footsteps.
The exact number of deaths thatoccurred here isn't known.
Some accounts put it at morethan 200, a figure that likely
(10:26):
includes residents from thewomen's relief corps home in
later institutional patients.
A small cemetery behind theproperty holds several of those
women, though how many othersrest in unmarked ground is
uncertain.
What's left is a building thathas served as a school, a
refuge, a hospital, and a stateinstitution.
(10:49):
Nearly two centuries of Ohiohistory contained inside a
single structure.
And for a place with that kindof past, it's no surprise that
people still feel something whenthey walk inside.
Madison Seminary isn't one ofthose places where the stories
(11:13):
center on a single room.
Nearly every hallway and cornercarried its own kind of energy,
its own personality.
Down in the basement where weheld our K2 sessions, the air
feels heavy and cold.
The kind of stillness thatsettles deep in your chest.
(11:34):
That's the area where cadaverdogs once alerted in
ground-penetrating radar pickedup something shaped like a head
or a small body.
They dug and found nothing, butthe stories only grew.
Upstairs, the mood changes.
(11:54):
The Civil War era wing oncehoused the women of the Ohio
Women's Relief Corps, widows andwives of Union soldiers who had
nowhere else to go.
The rooms here are smaller,quieter, and they feel different
from the rest of the building.
Softer, almost protective.
(12:14):
Visitors describe faint humming,the scent of old perfume, and
gentle touches on their arm.
Many believe those experiencesare connected to Elizabeth
Stiles, a woman whose life readslike a novel.
She served the Union during theCivil War, not only as a nurse,
but as a spy, working behindConfederate lines and carrying
(12:38):
coded messages for PresidentLincoln's administration.
After the war, she joined theWomen's Relief Corps and
eventually spent her later yearsinside these same walls.
People describe her presence ascalm and maternal, a quiet
guardian who still checks in onthose who visit.
(12:59):
If Madison Seminary has aprotector, most agree it's her.
A few rooms away, the toneshifts again.
This is Sarah's room, the oneinvestigators call the girl who
wants to go home.
Legend says that during an EVPsession, someone once asked what
(13:20):
she wanted, and a faint voiceanswered with a single word.
Money.
When you step into the roomtoday, it feels more like a
shrine than a bedroom.
The dresser and floor are linedwith dolls, toys, and small
offerings, even one dollar billsleft behind by visitors hoping
(13:40):
to comfort her or simply paytheir respects.
Some call it superstition,others call it empathy.
Whatever it is, the air feelsdifferent here.
Not hostile, just sad.
When I visited, the room wascompletely still.
No EMF spikes, no voices onplayback.
(14:03):
Even after leaving a few dollarsmyself, the K2 never flickered
once.
Sometimes that silence says asmuch as any response ever could.
Walk the second floor hallways,and you might catch movement in
your peripheral vision, darkshapes slipping between
doorways, footsteps that stopwhen you stop.
(14:26):
Every floor has its stories, andthe deeper you go, the heavier
it gets.
Because above the Civil Warwing, there's another level
entirely.
What people here call theasylum.
The top floor of MadisonSeminary is what people here
(14:48):
call the asylum.
That's not an official name,just something visitors started
saying and it stuck.
During the years the statecontrolled the property, this
level held residents with mentalillness and later inmates under
supervision.
The air changes when you reachthis floor.
The hallways are narrow and echolonger than they should.
(15:12):
Paint curls off the walls, andlight filters through the
windows in thin strips duringthe day, catching the dust as it
moves.
It's quiet, but not thecomfortable kind.
Many visitors describe hearingfootsteps or seeing quick
shadows slide across thedoorways.
Others say the feeling ofsadness or panic can come on
(15:35):
suddenly and vanish just as fastwhen they step back into the
hall.
One of the rooms here has beenstaged to resemble an old
surgical suite.
A metal table in the center,complete with stirrups, tools,
and a single lamp.
Visitors call the presence inthis room the surgeon.
(15:55):
Over the years, some haveclaimed to hear short commands:
hold still, don't move.
There's no verified recording ofthese words, but the story is
repeated often enough that it'sbecome part of the building's
folklore.
When my colleague and I enteredthat room, it was still.
No EMF spikes, nothing on thespirit box.
(16:19):
We ran a short EVP session,asked a few simple questions,
and didn't notice anythingunusual at the time.
Later, while reviewing theaudio, something faint came
through.
You can hear distant voices,other people somewhere else on
the floor, but no one was in theroom with us.
(16:40):
Using headphones, you can hearthere's a whisper that sounds
like make it stop.
Now, I'm not 100% sure that'swhat it said, but the both of us
listening to it, that's what weagreed upon.
It's then followed by more wordsthat we couldn't make out at
all.
It's subtle and easy to misswithout listening closely.
(17:00):
I've posted that raw clip on ourwebsite if you want to hear it
for yourself.
It'll be linked in the shownotes as well.
Whether it's a quirk of therecording or something we can't
explain, I can't say, but it'sthere.
Faint, layered beneath thebackground noise.
A moment that makes you thinkabout what this room might still
(17:22):
be holding on to.
A few steps down the hall isanother space people talk about,
one without an official name.
Visitors describe walking in andbeing overwhelmed with emotion,
sometimes to the point of tears.
It's been nicknamed theemotional room, though that's
(17:44):
just something people startedsaying after enough visitors
felt the same thing.
We didn't experience thatreaction ourselves, but the air
felt heavier, still and dense,like the room itself remembers
pain.
Between the surgeon's room andthat space, this floor leaves a
mark.
Not because of what you see, butbecause of what you feel.
(18:08):
It's the sense that some echoesnever really fade.
The longer you're inside MadisonSeminary, the more it feels like
each floor carries a differentemotion.
The basement is focused andunnerving.
(18:28):
The attic level, the asylum isheavy.
The Civil War era wing feelsalmost protective.
People have come to connectthose feelings to the names that
linger here.
Elizabeth Stiles, Sarah, thesurgeon.
But there's one story thatdoesn't come with a plaque or
verified record.
(18:49):
That's the story of thesuperintendent's wife.
As it's told, she lived hereduring the years when the state
ran the building.
Something happened.
Grief, pressure, or despair, andshe took her own life somewhere
on the upper floors.
Depending on who tells it, therooms change, the year changes,
(19:12):
but the ending always stays thesame.
Visitors say they sense an olderwoman's presence, quiet but
heavy with sadness.
A sudden chill, a quick exhalethrough the ear.
Sometimes it's nothing more thanthat instinct to whisper an
apology when you step into aspace that doesn't feel empty.
(19:35):
There are no public recordsconfirming her death here.
The archives from thestate-operated years are
incomplete, and nothing officialmatches the story.
Yet the tale endures, handeddown through caretakers,
investigators, and tour guideswho have spent decades inside
these walls.
Part of the confusion may comefrom another Ohio haunting that
(19:59):
sounds almost identical.
In 1949 at the Ohio StateReformatory in Mansfield, Helen
Glatkey, the warden's wife, diedfrom a gunshot wound in the
residence above the prison.
Ruled an accident, but longrumored otherwise.
That tragedy is well documented,and over time, stories of the
(20:22):
superintendent's wife seem tohave bled across Ohio's old
institutions.
So here at Madison Seminary,what we have is oral history,
consistent in tone, thin onpaperwork.
Whether that makes it legend ormemory is up for debate.
For me, it serves as context.
(20:44):
It explains the wave of sorrowpeople describe on those upper
floors, the feeling that thebuilding itself is mourning.
And whether you treat it as anunverified death or a haunting
shaped by empathy, the effect isthe same.
You slow your pace in thosehallways, you speak a little
softer, and you can't shake thesense that someone, somewhere,
(21:09):
still calls this place home.
We haven't found an officialrecord for her death, but the
story you just heard is the sameone told by guides and
investigators for years.
And in a place like this, that'soften how history survives.
(21:30):
Earlier you heard what happenedin the basement of Madison
Seminary, that strange back andforth through the K2 meter.
We've gone over that moment moretimes than I can count, trying
to make sense of it.
The basement sits beneath acentury and a half of
renovations.
Old stone, rough cement, thickair that seems to absorb sound.
(21:52):
There is power in parts of thebuilding, but before we started,
we checked EMF levels throughoutthe room.
Nothing rose above a minimalbaseline reading.
When the spikes came, theyweren't random noise.
They were distinct and timed,far higher than anything we'd
seen during setup.
Paranormal investigators divideactivity into two broad types,
(22:16):
residual and intelligent.
Residual energy is like anemotional recording, an imprint
of past events replaying itself.
Intelligence activity seems torespond.
It listens, reacts, engages.
What we experienced that nightfelt like intelligent.
(22:37):
But whether that intelligencewas ours, environmental or
something else, I still don'tknow.
Just down the corridor sits theold laundry room, a textbook
example of residual energy.
People have reported faintsounds of carts rolling or
footsteps crossing tile, alwaysin the same pattern, never
(22:57):
interacting.
It's not communication, it'srepetition.
A loop of routine still echoingin time.
Science offers its ownexplanations.
EMF meters can react to strayfrequencies, static discharge,
even shifts in the human body'selectrical field.
(23:19):
Expectation plays a part too.
The longer you wait for a lightto blink, the stronger the
moment feels when it finallydoes.
And yet, even after you accountfor every variable, there's
something about this buildingthat defies simple logic.
Maybe that's coincidence.
Or maybe it's the residue ofhistory, emotion, loss,
(23:43):
compassion, recorded in thewalls of a 50,000 square foot
time capsule.
Madison Seminary sits in thespace between what's proven and
what's felt, where history blursinto memory and memory becomes
something else.
Whatever you believe, placeslike this remind us that
(24:05):
curiosity isn't about findingproof.
It's about listening to whatrefuses to be forgotten.
Most of what we experienced atMadison Seminary could be
explained.
The cold spots, the creaking,the faint footsteps, all the
(24:27):
normal signatures of an oldbuilding that's lived a long
life.
But some things still don't lineup so neatly.
The faint voices on therecorder, the yes and no
responses on the K2 that seemedto come almost instantly, too
consistent to feel random.
Those moments stay with you.
(24:48):
What struck me most aboutMadison wasn't just the
unexplained, though.
It was how human the placefeels.
Every floor carries a differentemotion: grief, hope,
loneliness, care.
It's not the story of one ghostor one tragedy, it's the weight
of two centuries of peopleliving, working, suffering, and
(25:12):
trying to find meaning insidethe same walls.
And maybe that's what hauntingsreally are.
Not an apparition or a flickerof light, but the residue of
lives that mattered.
You feel it in Sarah's room,surrounded by small offerings
people leave behind.
You feel it in the silence ofthe basement where questions
(25:35):
still hang in the dark.
And you feel it in the story ofElizabeth Stiles, a woman who
risked her life as a spy duringthe Civil War, who carried
messages through enemy lines forthe Union cause, and who, after
the war, chose to spend herfinal years caring for other
women who had nowhere else togo.
(25:57):
If spirits linger anywhere,maybe it's because their purpose
isn't finished.
And for someone like Elizabeth,whose life was built on service,
maybe that purpose is still towatch over this place.
A quiet guardian making sure thestories of the forgotten aren't
lost.
Science can explain most of whathappens here, but it can't
(26:21):
explain why some of us feelcompelled to keep looking, why
we walk into the dark, not toprove anything, but to connect
with something we can't quitename.
For me, Madison Seminary was areminder that the unknown isn't
always something to fear.
Sometimes it's just historytrying to speak.
(26:43):
And curiosity, if we let it, ishow we listen.
This experience reignited thatcuriosity for me, not to chase
ghosts, but to understand thestories they leave behind.
And that's what keeps me comingback to places like this.
(27:09):
This has been State of theUnknown.
A brick and timber relic in aquiet Ohio town.
A place that's been a school, arefuge, a hospital, and a home.
And somewhere within thosewalls, echoes that refuse to
fade.
(27:29):
Madison Seminary endures notbecause the stories are proven,
but because no one has everquite proven they aren't.
Some say it's memory.
Some say it's energy.
Maybe it's both.
If you've been enjoying State ofthe Unknown, thank you for
listening and for helping thislittle show keep growing week
(27:52):
after week.
The best way you can support itis simple.
Leave a quick rating or review.
On Spotify, it's just a tap.
On Apple Podcasts, a few wordsmake a huge difference.
I read every single one, and Ican't tell you how much it
means.
Until next time, stay curious.
(28:13):
Stay unsettled.
And whatever you do, don'tlisten too closely when the
lights go out.
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