November 17, 2024 • 11 mins
The Danvers State Mental Hospital had the best of medicinal intentions before becoming a new Hell, taking its longest resident, Miranda White, with it on its descent into madness.
Written by Izzie Cava
Narrated by Izzie Cava
Composed by Simon Jones
Logo Design by Dana Gee
Instagram: @epilogue_audio
TikTok: @epilogue_audio
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
(00:00):
Welcome to Epilogue, where I tell you folktales and legends then fabricate my own counterpart
(00:10):
from those root yarns.
I am that one eyed, grey cloak stranger, seeking hospitality on your doorstep, but you can
call me Izzy Kava.
Today I'm taking us to the Danvers State Hospital, otherwise known as the Danvers Lunatic
Asylum.
The hospital was built in 1874 atop Hawthorne Hill.
(00:34):
A Massachusetts landmark renowned for once being the place where John Hawthorne lived,
a notoriously unwavering judge during the Salem Witch Trials and a relative of author
Nathaniel Hawthorne.
The Danvers State Hospital was the state's response to lackluster mental health care.
It contained certain innovations, like the buildings being arranged in a batwing structure
to promote airflow and allow patients exposure to natural light, architecturally known as
(00:58):
the Kearke Bride Plan.
Like most mental hospitals of the time, it was entirely self-sufficient, drawing water
from a nearby lake and boasting of a tunnel system to connect to the institution during
the winter months.
The staff was as impressive as the building.
Initiatives such as Pathological Research, a training program for nurses, and specialized
care for mentally ill children all took place between 1889 and the 1920s.
(01:22):
In short, this was one of the finest mental hospitals a person could be treated at.
The word got out to that effect, and sooner building only ever meant to house around 450
patients was caring for over 2000.
The same year that was true, there were over 250 deaths at the hospital.
The quality of care declined so dramatically that there were reports of trapped people
(01:43):
rotting away in straight jackets, increased use of electroshock therapy, and inhuman levels
of hygiene among patients.
Lobotomies were said to have been refined at the Danvers State Hospital until the rise
of psychedelic drugs in the 60s became the new technique for quelling mental ills.
Funding was cut around that time, so portions of the hospital closed down, beginning a process
(02:05):
that would end with the hospital officially closing its doors in 2006.
The legacy of the Danvers State Hospital is so gruesome that it is said to be the inspiration
for H.B.
Lovecraft's The Thing on the Doorstep, which involves scenes in an asylum in the fictional
town of Arkham, Massachusetts.
If a terrifying asylum in a town called Arkham sounds familiar, that is because it's also
(02:28):
believed that the Danvers State Hospital inspired Arkham Asylum from the Batman comics.
The Danvers State Hospital still stands.
Part of it has been acquired, but the rest has been allowed to keep its wicked vigil on
Hawthorne Hilltop, only to be disturbed by thrill-seeking teenagers and the bravest of
ghost hunters.
(02:50):
And now for our epilogue.
Miranda White had the longest tenure as a patient at the Danvers State Hospital.
Her mother, Joan Smith, was in the first class of nurses to graduate from the training program
in 1921.
Joan married a patient of hers, Curtis White, soon after.
Curtis was a young man who had earned his stripes in the First World War, and like many
(03:12):
of the Americans who returned from the front lines, he brought his ghost home with him.
But it seemed like the open air and the freedom to wander the grounds exercised those ghosts.
So Curtis was discharged from the Danvers State Hospital and married his favorite nurse.
Shortly thereafter, they had a daughter, Miranda.
At that time the number of patients at the hospital was steadily rising, and so too were
(03:34):
the hours that Joan was called into work.
So Miranda was primarily raised by her father.
This proved detrimental to Miranda's development.
Her talk of tensions abroad induced a paranoia in Curtis that made him convinced they were
being watched by foreign spies at all times.
His paranoia bloomed in his daughter, who developed a serious anxiety disorder and acute
(03:56):
agoraphobia.
Presumably it was too much for Joan, the breadwinner of the family, to take care of both Miranda
and Curtis' mental health in the face of the oncoming global conflict.
So Miranda was admitted to the Danvers State Hospital in 1941 at the age of 16.
A few weeks later, Curtis disappeared from their home and turned up dead a few towns
(04:18):
over.
Some say it was a bar fight that got out of hand, but others weren't so sure.
Either way, the death of her father only increased Miranda's anxiety, so she was assigned to
one of the best doctors in the ward, Dr. Fitzgerald.
A family man through and through, Dr. Fitzgerald was loved by patients and nurses alike for
(04:39):
his care and professionalism.
There are even some photographs of him walking the open grounds with Miranda, treating her
with the light and air that had supposedly cured her father.
Records become spotty after this point, but Miranda kept a diary detailing her fears
and delusions, as well as recording bright moments of the friend she made, the visits
(05:01):
from her mother, and the care from Dr. Fitzgerald.
One of her dearest friends was a pediatrician named Joseph Pryor, an old man who was waiting
for his wife to find him and take him home.
Miranda also happily writes about accepting a roommate into her accommodation, a nice
girl named Molly O'Connell.
By this point, the overcrowding had begun in earnest.
(05:23):
Joan retired as it neared its peak, being too old now to care for so many patients with
so many needs.
Joan's presence had been an important stabilizing factor in Miranda's life, so Miranda's journals
grew darker as her fears met the rising tide of unease at the hospital.
Miranda's journal undergoes a drastic shift at the end of her 20s.
(05:44):
The twisted descriptions of the horrifying world beyond Hawthorne Hill morphs into a
detailed account of the horrifying world within it.
Around that time, Dr. Fitzgerald had a nervous breakdown, in fear of being interred at the
very hospital he worked for, he left, never to return.
He did manage to say goodbye to his favorite patient, Miranda.
(06:06):
She begged him to stay, and he begged her to leave before it was too late.
Unfortunately, she was still suffering under paranoid delusions, and was deemed unfit to
re-enter society.
After the doctor left, the detail in artistry faded from the passages of her diary.
Even her handwriting changed after he was gone.
(06:28):
Her records of increased shock therapy align with these changes, so too does the state
of the hospital surrounding her.
The deaths had begun to climb, and Miranda described the smell coming from the hall as
akin to rotting food, which is likely the closest approximation she had to rotting flesh and
excrement.
When the overpopulation reached its peak, the criminally insane were mixed in with the
(06:52):
rest of the patients, and Miranda's cell housed a third roommate.
Her records have been lost, but Miranda refers to her with the moniker Sissy.
Sissy was cruel to the other girls, and violent.
In her more lucid moments, Miranda wrote about Sissy's piercing, unblinking stare from the
corner of the room, how Miranda almost imagined the whites of Sissy's eyes overtaking her
(07:15):
pupils, and that her teeth were sharper than they ought to have been.
She scared Miranda terribly in those first weeks, until they took Sissy away for a lobotomy.
Not the hospital's first, and certainly nowhere near the last.
When Sissy was returned to them, she was all the more frightening.
Now she really didn't blink, and she didn't speak or move either.
(07:39):
Except for the occasional violent fit of thrashing, screaming, and biting, Sissy was near catatonic.
She bit Molly during one of these fits, and the bite became infected.
Miranda cried out for help, but nobody came.
The bite was left untreated, and Molly died in agony.
Years after her death, they removed Molly's body, and put Sissy in a straight jacket, so
(08:03):
she couldn't harm Miranda.
Miranda's journals became little more than scribbles.
But what was intelligible was kind.
Miranda tried to care for Sissy, to clean the filth that surrounded her, and feed Sissy
what she could spare.
The last journal entry from Miranda White details a nightmare come true, with a hint
of the old fear returning to her writing, and overtaking the fog of the treatments.
(08:27):
Miranda woke in the dead of night to find Sissy crouching over her, eyes white and glowing,
spittle dripping from her awful, sharp toothed smile.
Miranda found a second of comfort in the sight of the straight jacket.
Then Sissy shifted, and it fell away from her shoulders.
Sissy had torn it to shreds, cutting her fingers to the bone in doing so.
(08:50):
Miranda screamed, and again, no one came.
When the nurses finally made it to their cell, it was almost morning.
Miranda White and Sissy were gone.
It was like they had vanished, leaving nothing behind to save Miranda's journals and the
bloody straight jacket.
A search began for Miranda and Sissy, but it was short-lived.
(09:12):
Other patients had escaped the hospital, and those that weren't found alive were always
found anyways.
Maybe Miranda had actually escaped.
In the world she was feared and hated, found a place for herself out there, maybe even
had a family.
But maybe she didn't.
Maybe Sissy's blood wasn't the only DNA left in the last place anyone ever saw Miranda
(09:35):
White alive.
Didn't matter anyways.
The hospital began closing shortly after.
The records, the pictures, the journals, they were all stored away until the hospital was
finally cleared in the early 2000s.
It was one of the seasoned nurses who found the journals again in Miranda's file.
Among the pictures of Miranda with Joan and Dr. Fitzgerald, there was also a picture of
(09:58):
Miranda and her cellmates.
Sissy isn't in the picture, and there must have been something wrong with the camera,
because it almost looks like Miranda's eyes are completely white in the photograph.
So maybe when the thrill seekers who trespass on the property hear sounds from the empty
wings, or screams echoing from long dead patients, they should remember that the tunnels were
(10:21):
never thoroughly searched after Miranda's disappearance.
They should also remember that there was never an arrest report made for anyone like Sissy,
and only Miranda was mentioned in Molly O'Connell's file.
But there's also a note on that file, small and easy to miss, that the bite mark didn't
match Miranda's dental records.
(10:43):
It was made by much sharper teeth.
That's the end of today's tale.
I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I've enjoyed telling you.
Please remember to like, share, and tell all your friends.
Join me next time for more fabricated folktales on epilogue.
Welcome to Epilogue, where I tell you folktales and legends then fabricate my own counterpart
(00:10):
from those root yarns.
I am that one eyed, grey cloak stranger, seeking hospitality on your doorstep, but you can
call me Izzy Kava.
Today I'm taking us to the Danvers State Hospital, otherwise known as the Danvers Lunatic
Asylum.
The hospital was built in 1874 atop Hawthorne Hill.
(00:34):
A Massachusetts landmark renowned for once being the place where John Hawthorne lived,
a notoriously unwavering judge during the Salem Witch Trials and a relative of author
Nathaniel Hawthorne.
The Danvers State Hospital was the state's response to lackluster mental health care.
It contained certain innovations, like the buildings being arranged in a batwing structure
to promote airflow and allow patients exposure to natural light, architecturally known as
(00:58):
the Kearke Bride Plan.
Like most mental hospitals of the time, it was entirely self-sufficient, drawing water
from a nearby lake and boasting of a tunnel system to connect to the institution during
the winter months.
The staff was as impressive as the building.
Initiatives such as Pathological Research, a training program for nurses, and specialized
care for mentally ill children all took place between 1889 and the 1920s.
(01:22):
In short, this was one of the finest mental hospitals a person could be treated at.
The word got out to that effect, and sooner building only ever meant to house around 450
patients was caring for over 2000.
The same year that was true, there were over 250 deaths at the hospital.
The quality of care declined so dramatically that there were reports of trapped people
(01:43):
rotting away in straight jackets, increased use of electroshock therapy, and inhuman levels
of hygiene among patients.
Lobotomies were said to have been refined at the Danvers State Hospital until the rise
of psychedelic drugs in the 60s became the new technique for quelling mental ills.
Funding was cut around that time, so portions of the hospital closed down, beginning a process
(02:05):
that would end with the hospital officially closing its doors in 2006.
The legacy of the Danvers State Hospital is so gruesome that it is said to be the inspiration
for H.B.
Lovecraft's The Thing on the Doorstep, which involves scenes in an asylum in the fictional
town of Arkham, Massachusetts.
If a terrifying asylum in a town called Arkham sounds familiar, that is because it's also
(02:28):
believed that the Danvers State Hospital inspired Arkham Asylum from the Batman comics.
The Danvers State Hospital still stands.
Part of it has been acquired, but the rest has been allowed to keep its wicked vigil on
Hawthorne Hilltop, only to be disturbed by thrill-seeking teenagers and the bravest of
ghost hunters.
(02:50):
And now for our epilogue.
Miranda White had the longest tenure as a patient at the Danvers State Hospital.
Her mother, Joan Smith, was in the first class of nurses to graduate from the training program
in 1921.
Joan married a patient of hers, Curtis White, soon after.
Curtis was a young man who had earned his stripes in the First World War, and like many
(03:12):
of the Americans who returned from the front lines, he brought his ghost home with him.
But it seemed like the open air and the freedom to wander the grounds exercised those ghosts.
So Curtis was discharged from the Danvers State Hospital and married his favorite nurse.
Shortly thereafter, they had a daughter, Miranda.
At that time the number of patients at the hospital was steadily rising, and so too were
(03:34):
the hours that Joan was called into work.
So Miranda was primarily raised by her father.
This proved detrimental to Miranda's development.
Her talk of tensions abroad induced a paranoia in Curtis that made him convinced they were
being watched by foreign spies at all times.
His paranoia bloomed in his daughter, who developed a serious anxiety disorder and acute
(03:56):
agoraphobia.
Presumably it was too much for Joan, the breadwinner of the family, to take care of both Miranda
and Curtis' mental health in the face of the oncoming global conflict.
So Miranda was admitted to the Danvers State Hospital in 1941 at the age of 16.
A few weeks later, Curtis disappeared from their home and turned up dead a few towns
(04:18):
over.
Some say it was a bar fight that got out of hand, but others weren't so sure.
Either way, the death of her father only increased Miranda's anxiety, so she was assigned to
one of the best doctors in the ward, Dr. Fitzgerald.
A family man through and through, Dr. Fitzgerald was loved by patients and nurses alike for
(04:39):
his care and professionalism.
There are even some photographs of him walking the open grounds with Miranda, treating her
with the light and air that had supposedly cured her father.
Records become spotty after this point, but Miranda kept a diary detailing her fears
and delusions, as well as recording bright moments of the friend she made, the visits
(05:01):
from her mother, and the care from Dr. Fitzgerald.
One of her dearest friends was a pediatrician named Joseph Pryor, an old man who was waiting
for his wife to find him and take him home.
Miranda also happily writes about accepting a roommate into her accommodation, a nice
girl named Molly O'Connell.
By this point, the overcrowding had begun in earnest.
(05:23):
Joan retired as it neared its peak, being too old now to care for so many patients with
so many needs.
Joan's presence had been an important stabilizing factor in Miranda's life, so Miranda's journals
grew darker as her fears met the rising tide of unease at the hospital.
Miranda's journal undergoes a drastic shift at the end of her 20s.
(05:44):
The twisted descriptions of the horrifying world beyond Hawthorne Hill morphs into a
detailed account of the horrifying world within it.
Around that time, Dr. Fitzgerald had a nervous breakdown, in fear of being interred at the
very hospital he worked for, he left, never to return.
He did manage to say goodbye to his favorite patient, Miranda.
(06:06):
She begged him to stay, and he begged her to leave before it was too late.
Unfortunately, she was still suffering under paranoid delusions, and was deemed unfit to
re-enter society.
After the doctor left, the detail in artistry faded from the passages of her diary.
Even her handwriting changed after he was gone.
(06:28):
Her records of increased shock therapy align with these changes, so too does the state
of the hospital surrounding her.
The deaths had begun to climb, and Miranda described the smell coming from the hall as
akin to rotting food, which is likely the closest approximation she had to rotting flesh and
excrement.
When the overpopulation reached its peak, the criminally insane were mixed in with the
(06:52):
rest of the patients, and Miranda's cell housed a third roommate.
Her records have been lost, but Miranda refers to her with the moniker Sissy.
Sissy was cruel to the other girls, and violent.
In her more lucid moments, Miranda wrote about Sissy's piercing, unblinking stare from the
corner of the room, how Miranda almost imagined the whites of Sissy's eyes overtaking her
(07:15):
pupils, and that her teeth were sharper than they ought to have been.
She scared Miranda terribly in those first weeks, until they took Sissy away for a lobotomy.
Not the hospital's first, and certainly nowhere near the last.
When Sissy was returned to them, she was all the more frightening.
Now she really didn't blink, and she didn't speak or move either.
(07:39):
Except for the occasional violent fit of thrashing, screaming, and biting, Sissy was near catatonic.
She bit Molly during one of these fits, and the bite became infected.
Miranda cried out for help, but nobody came.
The bite was left untreated, and Molly died in agony.
Years after her death, they removed Molly's body, and put Sissy in a straight jacket, so
(08:03):
she couldn't harm Miranda.
Miranda's journals became little more than scribbles.
But what was intelligible was kind.
Miranda tried to care for Sissy, to clean the filth that surrounded her, and feed Sissy
what she could spare.
The last journal entry from Miranda White details a nightmare come true, with a hint
of the old fear returning to her writing, and overtaking the fog of the treatments.
(08:27):
Miranda woke in the dead of night to find Sissy crouching over her, eyes white and glowing,
spittle dripping from her awful, sharp toothed smile.
Miranda found a second of comfort in the sight of the straight jacket.
Then Sissy shifted, and it fell away from her shoulders.
Sissy had torn it to shreds, cutting her fingers to the bone in doing so.
(08:50):
Miranda screamed, and again, no one came.
When the nurses finally made it to their cell, it was almost morning.
Miranda White and Sissy were gone.
It was like they had vanished, leaving nothing behind to save Miranda's journals and the
bloody straight jacket.
A search began for Miranda and Sissy, but it was short-lived.
(09:12):
Other patients had escaped the hospital, and those that weren't found alive were always
found anyways.
Maybe Miranda had actually escaped.
In the world she was feared and hated, found a place for herself out there, maybe even
had a family.
But maybe she didn't.
Maybe Sissy's blood wasn't the only DNA left in the last place anyone ever saw Miranda
(09:35):
White alive.
Didn't matter anyways.
The hospital began closing shortly after.
The records, the pictures, the journals, they were all stored away until the hospital was
finally cleared in the early 2000s.
It was one of the seasoned nurses who found the journals again in Miranda's file.
Among the pictures of Miranda with Joan and Dr. Fitzgerald, there was also a picture of
(09:58):
Miranda and her cellmates.
Sissy isn't in the picture, and there must have been something wrong with the camera,
because it almost looks like Miranda's eyes are completely white in the photograph.
So maybe when the thrill seekers who trespass on the property hear sounds from the empty
wings, or screams echoing from long dead patients, they should remember that the tunnels were
(10:21):
never thoroughly searched after Miranda's disappearance.
They should also remember that there was never an arrest report made for anyone like Sissy,
and only Miranda was mentioned in Molly O'Connell's file.
But there's also a note on that file, small and easy to miss, that the bite mark didn't
match Miranda's dental records.
(10:43):
It was made by much sharper teeth.
That's the end of today's tale.
I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I've enjoyed telling you.
Please remember to like, share, and tell all your friends.
Join me next time for more fabricated folktales on epilogue.
Popular Podcasts
Stuff You Should Know
If you've ever wanted to know about champagne, satanism, the Stonewall Uprising, chaos theory, LSD, El Nino, true crime and Rosa Parks, then look no further. Josh and Chuck have you covered.
Dateline NBC
Current and classic episodes, featuring compelling true-crime mysteries, powerful documentaries and in-depth investigations. Follow now to get the latest episodes of Dateline NBC completely free, or subscribe to Dateline Premium for ad-free listening and exclusive bonus content: DatelinePremium.com
On Purpose with Jay Shetty
I’m Jay Shetty host of On Purpose the worlds #1 Mental Health podcast and I’m so grateful you found us. I started this podcast 5 years ago to invite you into conversations and workshops that are designed to help make you happier, healthier and more healed. I believe that when you (yes you) feel seen, heard and understood you’re able to deal with relationship struggles, work challenges and life’s ups and downs with more ease and grace. I interview experts, celebrities, thought leaders and athletes so that we can grow our mindset, build better habits and uncover a side of them we’ve never seen before. New episodes every Monday and Friday. Your support means the world to me and I don’t take it for granted — click the follow button and leave a review to help us spread the love with On Purpose. I can’t wait for you to listen to your first or 500th episode!