Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:03):
Most taking contains content that may not be suitable for
all audiences. Listener's discretion is advised less taking. He eases
the door of his father's old sedan closed and stands
(00:23):
for a moment in the evening chill, as if waiting
for warning lights that never come. He's seventeen, and he's
heard about every ghost story that comes with this place,
Tales of tb patients gasping in iron lungs, and the
children who followed, locked in rooms where nobody bothered to listen. Tonight,
(00:47):
he hopes to find some of them, or at least
their echoes. Beyond the boiler room, San Haven rises like
a wounded demon, walls cracked, roof sagging, and windows bricked
in like empty eyes. Up close, it's less imposing, more
(01:11):
like something built to last but left to die. He
steps through a gap in the west wall, and he's
greeted by a draft that not only smells but taste
of rust and rod. Inside. The flashlight flickers twice before
burning steady. The beam cuts through the dark, revealing strips
(01:32):
of peeling wallpaper and what appears to be a lonely
child's tricycle leaning against the wall. He remembers one of
the stories he's heard, room two thirteen, where a girl's
scratch marks scar the doorframes like desperate prayers, or, more importantly,
desperate attempts to escape. He half expects to see them soon.
(01:57):
He lifts his foot onto the first stare. The board
groans underneath his weight, as if warning him to leave now.
He pauses, his heart racing, He takes a breath, and
then follows the hallway's crooked spine toward the second floor.
Every step feels borrowed, heavy, the same kind of weight
(02:22):
you might expect your legs to feel in the Nightmare.
On the landing, a wheelchair lies overturned in a corner.
It spokes bent. A child's shoe peeks from a pile
of plaster debris in trash. For a moment, he believes
some of these stories might be real. He crosses the hall,
(02:47):
searching each doorway until the beam finds the faded number
two thirteen scrawled above a jagged gap in the wall.
The floorboards here look sponge soft. He leans in curiosity,
thick in his chest, then comes to crack, a single,
(03:11):
terrible crack that snaps the night open and reminds him
This isn't a nightmare, this is real life. He stiffens,
breath caught, but there's no time to step back. The
wood gives way beneath him. He drops into the darkness
(03:31):
with the sound of his own body striking the concrete.
The flashlight skitters away. It's being dying against the floor,
and soon silence floods the entire ward. San Haven was
(04:02):
meant to be a sanctuary and isolated tuberculosis hospital nestled
in North Dakota's Turtle Mountains, but over decades it's mission blurred.
Patians vanished, ned lock wards, whispers of mistreatment spread, and
the buildings themselves begin to decay. Today San Haven stands
(04:22):
gutted and silent, a monument to good intentions gone horribly wrong.
Thank you for checking out this preview of San Haven.
The next episode from Less Taken Season four, Hollo Lands.
In this upcoming episode, we explored the horrific history and
legends surrounding the former San Haven Sanatorium in North Dakota.
(04:48):
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Let's Taken Pod. A quick note on our storytelling. While
(05:13):
we do our best to stick to the facts, we
sometimes take creative liberties to maintain narrative cohesiveness. I'm Steam
Humphries and this is Less Taken. Real life horror stories
from the Midwest