The Spirts of Sunland: A Ghostly Encounter

The History

The five-story W. T. Edwards Tuberculosis Hospital in Tallahassee was built in 1952 on property once used as an arsenal for Florida munitions prior to 1834. Some of the site's original pre-World War I buildings were refurbished and used as hospital barracks.  With a $3.5 million dollar price tag and 400 beds, the hospital focused on finding a cure for Tuberculosis and caring for its victims. Many patients, including some children, died from the disease. Some of the dead who had no families were buried in state run cemeteries without the fanfare of a real funeral and a few were cremated in basement furnaces. After medicines were found that dramatically cut into the Tuberculosis death rate, the hospital was temporarily closed and renovated.

In March of 1962, the hospital was re-opened as a state run mental health institution under the name "Sunland." Mentally handicapped adults and children were admitted to the newly named hospital due to overcrowding in Florida's mental institutions. Many of the new patients were mentally ill children and adults who had been diagnosed as schizophrenics and autistics.  Abandoned by their families, many of these children were unwanted, rejected, and alone. In the 1960's, mental illness was not treated with the respect and compassion as it is today. Those diagnosed with psychological disorders were often shunned by society and treated as second-class citizens with no rights. Because there were few professionals willing to take up the causes of the mentally handicapped, some patients were subjected to physical and verbal abuse, experimentation, shock therapy, and deplorable living conditions. Although lobotomies were sometimes deemed effective therapy for seriously ill patients, no such surgeries were done in Sunland; a patient needing this procedure was sent off-site to a better-equipped facility.

The late 1970's and early 1980's, Florida's Children and Family Services investigated allegations patients were drugged for 15 hours at a time to keep them quiet and sedated, metal bars were placed over and around cribs and beds, patients were put in padded cells to deal with dementia and "acting out," and subjected to electric shock treatments.

In 1981, controversy concerning Sunland's ability to care for its patients erupted after nine mentally ill patients died in a Jacksonville hospital after being removed from both the Tallahassee and Orlando Sunland hospitals. Health care professionals attributed the deaths to poor living conditions, asbestos poisoning, over-medication, and a sparse diet. Slowly, patients from both Sunland hospitals were systematically transferred to other hospitals.

In 1982, after a lengthy state investigation, the HRS deemed Sunland a firetrap and demanded it spend $5.5 million to renovate the sub-standard buildings. As the news of Sunland's deterioration hit, the Association for Retarded Citizens (ARC) filed a class action lawsuit on behalf of abused and neglected patients. A Florida Court deemed the hospital inhabitable and immediately called for its closing, citing a lack of fire exits, asbestos contamination, and the questionable treatment of patients. In 1983, the remaining patients and staff were ousted from the facility, leaving behind toys, bedding, books, patient records, and various instruments, monitors, and equipment.

According to an article in the Tallahassee Democrat in March 2004, a Fort Myers businessman has shown interest in buying the property for $4.5 million. What he will do with the 26 acres of land and ruined hospital is anyone's guess, but it is a given that with his purchase he will inevitably find he has many otherworldly tenants who still believe Sunland is their home.

Common experiences of Sunland visitors include:

Ø  Smelling foul or sickly sweet odors.

Ø  Seeing floating orbs (small globes of light), dark apparitions (in the shape and size of a human male), and quick flashes of light (close akin to a bullet firing from a gun).

Ø  Hearing screams, whispers, moans, voices, thumps, and crying.

Ø  Feeling ice-cold spots, especially on the third floor and the basement.

Ø  Being cut, lashed, pushed, or tripped by an unseen entity.

Ø  Overwhelming feelings of dread, fear, pain, and apprehension.

Ø  Feeling a sinister spirit is following close behind.

Ø  Complaints of mechanical failure in cameras, temperature gauges, laptop computers, and the failure of new batteries and DAT packs.

Ø  Hearing the sounds of a lady's heels clicking on the tile floor and running footsteps.

Ø  The sound of objects being dropped or dragged.

The Investigation

Clocking in at 343,374 square feet, Sunland Hospital is an asbestos covered, graffiti ridden, abandoned mental institution swarming with rumors of ghosts. Some people swear it is haunted by the ghosts of unfortunate tuberculosis victims and mentally handicapped patients; many insist it is a severely damaged structure containing asbestos, rats, and spent needles; and a few consider it a lair for criminals, homeless people, and cops. 

The Hunt

I purposely did no research prior to embarking on this investigation to ensure I had no predisposed conclusions. Had I known it was a hotbed of paranormal activity and that asbestos covered its interior like refuse in a sewage pipe, I would have taken a gas mask and a Bible. As it was, our nine-man crew of slightly insane paranormal researchers packed a bare bones supply of provisions:  Two bags of cheese doodles, beverages, first aid kit, several flashlights, two 35mm cameras, an infrared thermometer, EMF Detector, sound equipment and assorted weapons - a pair of dull sewing scissors, a wooden baseball bat, and a rusty Swiss Army pocket knife.  In retrospect, we should have packed a priest, holy water, more beverages, and a machete. 

           

We arrived at the hospital just before 2 a.m. Before entering, I apprehensively glared at the fetid, crumbling building and tried to picture it as nothing more than the cold façade of an empty, soulless waste of space that had outlived its usefulness. Logic told me ghosts could not harm us, but my gut instinct told me to beware. The crew was already complaining of feeling a horrible sense of dread and sadness, and I was no exception.

Framing the dilapidated five-story building like a cloak, the blackened night sky hung ominously over our heads, suffocating any illumination from the moon and stars.  Like an intimidating fortress daring onlookers to step inside its asbestos laden abyss of darkness, the building itself exuded an aura of both fear and power. Ivy, small trees, and weeds covered the exterior as if nature itself was swallowing the building whole. Strange shadows darted and slithered across the face of the hospital, but when I tried to focus on the fleeting apparitions, they would suddenly disappear. I quickly stopped looking for dark specters when my ears heard ethereal voices whispering from the darkness and odd sounds rushing through the trees on the wind. I strained to hear what the voices were saying but could not pick out any coherent words. The soft tones slowly deepened and became harsher, then abruptly climaxed into guttural screams. I backed away and quietly returned to the group.

                                                                                   

I led the group in a silent prayer to God for safe passage and courage. It is not unusual for paranormal researchers to use religious icons such as crosses to ward off any evil presence they may encounter. To find demons and malevolent spirits in a haunted building is not commonplace, but very possible. Any individual investigating a haunting should use every spiritual tool at his command.

After gathering our equipment and doing a last minute check on supplies, the crew and I cautiously entered through the rear loading dock. Twenty-one years of neglect and abuse had left Sunland in a terrible state. Crackled paint and graffiti littered the once pristine white walls.  The checkerboard tile floors were covered with silt, mud, and standing water. A large tiled locker room complete with showers and urinals had been spray painted with assorted graffiti as warnings to visitors. Trash and empty beer bottles littered the floor of the large warehouse and lobby. 

The first floor, like every floor above it, had small patient rooms, bathing areas, and offices on each side of the concourse, nurse's stations and swinging doors every hundred or so feet, a day room and open air atrium at each end, three sets of elevator bays tucked into alcoves, and many wheelchair accessible unisex restrooms. Intersecting each level's main hallway were three long, pitch-black corridors that lead to the cafeteria, recreation area, and fitness center.  These alternate passageways once contained procedure rooms, radiology departments, and physical therapy units, but are now badly damaged and nearly impassible. The connected building is decaying much faster than the main building and due to the corridor's soft floors, water damage, and crumbling ceiling, we did not attempt to investigate the gymnasium or dining hall.

As our group passed an elevator shaft on the way to the first floor stairwell, out of the corner of my eye I caught the glimpse of a dark apparition in the distance quickly moving toward the first floor stairwell. I tried to snap a picture of the specter, but it moved much faster than I do. Within seconds, the entity disappeared into the darkness. We continued on our original path, taking readings and snapshots. Our temperature gauge showed many anomalies and read sudden changes in temperature. As I was looking into one particular room, the AC vents directly over my head kicked in, and thump, thump, thumped as if someone had just turned on the air.  It seemed to be a common occurrence on every floor, regardless of the fact there had been absolutely no electricity in the entire building since 1983.

           

On the second floor, just outside the stairwell, were more small rooms. In one of these rooms was a shallow, flat porcelain tub built just above waist level with a large grated drain at its base. Tubs of this nature were primarily used to bathe patients, but allegedly, they were also used to administer electric shock therapy. Clumsily draped over the tub, a blood soaked hospital sheet with the name "Sunland" stamped on the side laid tattered and sullied.  Dark crimson colored dried blood dripped over the side of the tub itself, like a river of mud slides over a steep cliff.  Blinking in disbelief, I shook my head, muttering to myself that I had to be hallucinating. Quickly, I snapped a shot of the tub and backed out of the room, knowing this disgusting vision was not a remnant of the original hospital, but rather a souvenir of some horrid event that took place recently

Directly across the corridor was a small cluster of rooms surrounding a glass observation area and an attendant's station. One room was wholly constructed of concrete. It had no windows or door; only a 4' by 4' square opening cut out of the center and framed by an unlocked metal bar gate. Apprehensively, I shined my flashlight into the room and noticed black iron shackles hanging from the back wall near a stone slab "bed" and a graduated drain positioned in the middle of the floor. I can only speculate that this room was used for solitary confinement or as a containment cell for quarantined patients. For roughly two seconds I heard the sounds of chains rattling. Nothing registered on the voice recorder but the temperature dropped slightly. As I moved away from the room, I felt the uneasy feeling of being watched from the inside.

The remaining four 10' by 10' rooms were surrounded by glass and in the middle of each was another raised, shallow white ceramic tub. Sickly sweet odors hung in the air. Small pockets of ice-cold air, a full 15 degrees colder than the rest of the area, darted back and forth between the attendant's station and one of the glass-enclosed rooms. I took temperature readings and two photos: one of the nurse's station and one of the concrete room. Later, after developing the film, I noticed five distinct faces floating directly in front the upper cabinet in the station, but strangely, the photo of the concrete room was blurry and indecipherable.

At the very end of the third level corridor was a screened in porch with wood plank floors, chipped pale green wall paint, and white lattice arm rails. Patches of freezing cold air dotted the room. My breathing was laborious and difficult. I felt as though something was squeezing my chest; it was a most uncomfortable experience. I swallowed hard and snapped a fast photo, hoping my shaking hands would not let my camera fall to the ground. Something menacing was in that atrium and did not want to let me go. I did not need any instruments to tell me that I was in the midst of a ghost.

           

As our group slowly and carefully moved up each floor, the cold spots became more pervasive. I tried to chase the pockets of pressurized air and the bizarre shadows that   darted to and fro, but I could never shake the feeling I was the one being chased.  A few times I shivered uncontrollably, as if someone was slowly tickling the nape of my neck and upper back with fingertips...it was close akin to the feeling of a bug crawling along the skin. 

           

After making our way up to the top floor and all the way back down again, we decided to investigate the basement.  Gurneys, left abandoned in the middle of the corridor, were   piled with debris, asbestos dust, and mud.  Wet, foul-smelling sludge oozed from the corners and sides of the floor and walls, leaving a very narrow walk space. Storage rooms, still filled with rotting lumber, bent steel rods, and broken beds, seemed airless and cold.  Odd little rooms surrounded by plexi-glass and connected to larger, open-air observation rooms sporadically littered the basement.  Metal bars bolted to the walls appeared to have been once latched to the steel chains dangling from the ceiling.  Tiny rooms with nothing but concrete slab beds and porcelain toilets lined the very end of the basement. 

           

It was not just the appearance of the basement that was unnerving. The atmosphere was thick and foul. Immediately upon entering this sublevel, I felt extremely sad, fearful, and depressed. I desperately wanted to run and hide, although I did not know from who or what. I could feel an anxiety and pain that was so elusive and subconscious, I could not comprehend what I was feeling, as if I were running off of someone else's emotions, not my own.

The basement had a strange effect on two more crewmembers. Sarah Matheson, sound tech, felt angry, vengeful, and aggressive, remarking her adrenaline was peaked to an unacceptable level. Normally calm and rational, Sarah's demeanor was completely altered. She became illogical and easily angered. Her husband Chris, EMF tech, was shaking and nervous like a school kid at a final exam. He was outwardly anxious and very interested in concluding the investigation immediately.

           

Five hours and two and half rolls of film later, we completed the investigation portion of our paranormal research and conclusively found that the Sunland asylum is haunted. Even before the film was developed, the crew unanimously agreed the haunting is authentic. When the photos were produced we found several anomalies and many blatant depictions of ghosts. If I ever return to Sunland, I will go with fewer people, a Super 8 video camera, a better weapon for protection, and a priest.

Who could be haunting Sunland? While there are demonic forces present, it is my opinion that the majority of spirits in the facility are harmless. Could the ghosts be those of doctors or staff members? It is not uncommon for a ghost to return to the site where he lived, worked, loved, or hated, regardless of where he died. If, in life, a health care professional at Sunland was a malevolent or cruel person, it is quite possible his ghost would return to "the scene of the crime," but not likely. Perhaps more likely is the scenario of the nurturing nurse. Visitors to Sunland have reported encounters with the spirits of many children and a woman who paces the corridors. A health care provider may stay in Sunland to protect the children's spirits from some otherworldly force.

Other ghosts haunting the halls may be the spirits of those who died of Tuberculosis. Victims of TB who used the "Iron Lung" to stave off the disease often died a slow, painful death. They may be hanging on to the last strands of life by remaining earthbound. Other trapped spirits may be playing a waiting game. Perhaps they refuse to cross completely into the next realm because they have unsolved issues or unfinished business to complete first. Conceivably, other spirits could be waiting in vain for a loved one to return. As with any accidental, premeditated or premature death, the spirits may not understand or accept they are deceased, cannot or will not "go the light," or are angry their life was maliciously taken from them.

Conceivably, some of the ghosts that haunt Sunland may have never visited the hospital in life. The land on which the institution was built has been used since the early 1800's. Munitions stockpiles for the Florida militia were stored on the property until 1834. During the Civil War and World War I, the land was used for assorted military operations. Abandoned WWI barracks, infirmary, and office buildings were refurbished or reconstructed for use in the W.T. Edwards Tuberculosis Hospital. Throughout these years, many people died from various plagues, yellow fever, and typhoid fever. It is possible that some of the spirits who still wander the site are not aware a hospital was ever built.

It is our belief that the majority of the ghosts haunting Sunland are sentient, perceptive, and autonomous. However, we think there are two major haunted hotspots in Sunland: The basement near the experimentation observation room and the third floor atrium. In both of these cases, residual psychic phenomena, manifesting itself in the form of green "psychic fog," multiple orbs and apparitions, cold spots, foul odors, and many unexplainable sounds are irrefutable evidence these two rooms are haunted.

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