“The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.”
-John Milton, ‘Paradise Lost’

The night was Hallow’s Eve. It was the perfect evening for spooks and maniacal horror lovers alike. A fan favorite for novice urban explorers like myself. Naturally, it was only fitting for my closest friends and I to finally attempt to fulfill our scariest nightmares by joining together in our first paranormal exploration of the local insane asylum. It was dark and looming, a grand 19th-century structure, sticking out like a sore thumb on the outskirts of our small suburban neighborhood. We’d all taken turns fantasizing about the lunatic patients paired with death row convicts who had once roamed the overcrowded yet understaffed halls of the lost hospital.

The rundown place was the eyesore of Ventrille, Virginia, as described by most of the locals and political officials. It’d been blocked off by the city’s maintenance crews with every taxpayer cent usable for these sorts of things. Subsequently, the city officials responsible for the property hadn’t been able to procure funding for such a massive demolition. For a short while, there were private security details to keep people out, but those were long gone. The prohibited area, which was formerly a picturesque landscape and an amateur photographer’s dream, was now reduced to a hidden alley, nestled within a bleak wooded area, all because of that unspeakable building.