Read about the history of the land and the people that made Hancock Heights possible.
In March 2026, I visited Mansfield, Ohio. This location is most notable for the Ohio State Reformatory.
I was attending an Adam Berry Event from Friday, March 13 – Sunday, March 15. When I first visited the Reformatory in 2015 and 2016, I was a good decade younger and had a lot more stamina. On those previous visits, I drove down to Mansfield from Milwaukee in an exciting seven hour drive, attended the event, and then immediately drove back the seven hours despite being darn tired. I always had a person with me for the 14 hour round trip, but I have to admit there was at least one extended rest area stop with my friend in 2016. We just couldn’t do it and there were no hotels/motels around. I never did straight-through trips like that again. The thing about Ohio State Reformatory is I always felt like there wasn’t a hotel nearby the location. I couldn’t see hotels from the freeway and it left me feeling like if I stayed somewhere it would be really out of the way. This time visiting the Reformatory, though, I already knew I needed to stay the night, because this was a multiday event and I was going to go traveling alone. I needed to have a place to lay my weary head and emotionally regroup if necessary.
As luck would have it, my social media turned up an advertisement for Hancock Heights and a Retro Vibes themed rental that was listed as being directly across from the Ohio State Reformatory. My frugal “you can just walk” mind was in effect, except I started wondering if it wasn’t the best idea for a woman alone to be walking along the road at night. I decided if I stayed, I would definitely drive and it’d just be a short jaunt down the road. The advert showed an enticing red brick house that gave me major historical vibes.
Seeing the building, it just called out to me and I would later learn that this section of houses was built around the time that the Reformatory was being built in the late 1800s. According to the limited information available to me, the homes were built with the intent to provide housing for staff at the new Reformatory, but builders and other workers might have stayed in the houses during the long contracted building periods – a common practice at the time. I recommend reading my history on the land if you haven’t already.
So it was a done deal. I booked it. I couldn’t wait to stay at this historic location with ties to the infamous behemoth that is the Ohio State Reformatory.
The days and weeks and months plinked by and finally it was time to leave for Ohio. My anxiety was high regarding this trip for several reasons. I was nervous about a public event. I was nervous about having dinner with people. I was worried about the weather – going there and coming back. There were so many things running through my head, but I shoved it all in my suitcase and headed out in the wee dark hours of the morning.
I arrived in Mansfield, Ohio half an hour before check-in time, but all I wanted was to park. I had just braved the most epic of winds – saw three semis flipped over on the side of the road and one almost flipped in front of me, but an angel pushed back to save us all. I drove through dust storms being blown up and survived my car being pummeled by detritus. I was so happy when I finally arrived at a stretch of road that felt near to where I remembered the Reformatory being. And shortly I was catching the great building loom up from the horizon as well as the active prisons behind it. I maneuvered my way up the hilly Ohio 545 and there she was: the Ohio State Reformatory. What a visually majestic structure. I took in as much of it as I could as I rode the asphalt wave to Annadale drive.
It didn’t take long to see the homes that made up Hancock Heights themselves and I marveled at how I had never noticed them in my previous two trips. I guess I was too preoccupied with the Reformatory hijacking my attention. But as they came into sight, the majesty of the brick buildings stole a breath or two. I was a little lost as to which one was mine, which was fine, because I drove down the short stretch of road next to the houses and got to see all of the homes before realizing I had arrived at my location.
When I first arrived in the house I had to sit in my car and wait for check-in to clock itself. I felt the car rock back and forth in the wind as I sat in the driver’s seat, preparing my next move. So when the time hit, I quickly went to sort out how to get in and brought my possessions in. That wind was meant to rip the ground out from under you. It was so intense I thought it was going to blow my unloaded car away! Thank goodness I was able to get into the house without too much of an issue. After setting things down in the kitchen, I took a breath and started my rounds of the house to feel out where I wanted to be. Downstairs felt wonderful. You enter the backdoor into the kitchen, which is like stepping into a moment frozen in time from the 1950s. It was an open space, with large amounts of counter space and a beautiful farmhouse sink.
To the left is a very narrow and very steep staircase going upstairs. Looking up you can see a bit of a bedroom waiting to be explored. Continuing left, away from the kitchen, is a hallway and you’ll find a large bathroom and a standing shower with ample room for singing and dancing. Behind the door is a sink and mirror and there’s a toilet nestled next to a warm heating vent. No cold tushie in the middle of night in this weather.
If you continue down the hall, it opens into a large living room – a cabinet hiding a television on one side and a couch and some tables on the other. There was plenty of seating and it felt really inviting. From there, I backtracked and went upstairs to scout out which bedroom I wanted to claim.
Each step up the stairs felt a little more odd than the previous step. It wasn’t just the steep incline of them, but the fact that I was entering into someone else’s energy. I finally made it to the top and immediately said, “Oh! Hello! I feel ya’ hon.” It came out with a heavy midwestern accent like I was Frances McDormand in Fargo. This happens sometimes with me. I felt a little silly but I also knew for certain that I felt someone up there with me. The knowledge was as clear as if I had midwestern oped right into her. She did not present as hostile or irritated. She just made herself a known entity in the house. So I stepped into the bedroom at the top of the stairs and looked around. The view of the Reformatory to my right was amazing. I was also very aware of the traffic, so I opted to take a peak into the other room to see what it had to offer.
The second bedroom, adjacent to the first one, was much cozier and quieter and I felt really very at ease in it. But I was also aware that the woman who had made herself known to me also felt the same way about this room and had already claimed it as her own. I don’t typically let that stop me. Spirits need to accept that they share space with us among the living, but I made a note of it for later when I had to finally go to bed and continued my evaluation. I knew for a fact that I would not be hauling my luggage upstairs, so my concern over which bedroom to stay in was somewhat moot for now.
I went back downstairs and prepared for my first night of excitement and investigations at the Ohio State Reformatory.
When I arrived home, sometime after midnight, I walked up to my back door and stopped. I took a few deep breaths and I tried to gauge what was going on inside before I took a step into the physical house. Was the lady going to be downstairs and a little less pleasant? Was she going to have gone on to another location, realizing someone was staying the night, or maybe she was just still hanging out upstairs with the beautiful view of the Ohio State Reformatory?
I punched the code into the door and entered the dark kitchen. I locked the door and then turned to the room, standing there, waiting for something to happen. Almost expecting something to happen. A few moments passed and I made the turn left to head around the hallway and to the living room. I took one step out of the kitchen, putting the stairs directly to the right, and I looked up. I didn’t see anything, but I felt a very clear message come tumbling down those steep stairs: “Don’t come up here.”
Yep. Nope. I’m going to the bathroom instead… and I quickly stepped into the bathroom. Afterwards, I went to the living room and chatted on the phone with my husband for a bit and organized my books and went over the agenda for the next day. I kept glancing down the hallway, thinking I would see her walking around the corner or peeking her head around to see if I was staying downstairs.
Finally, I worked up enough courage to make sure all the lights in the rest of the house were off and I made myself comfy on the couch. I left on a light and I let my laptop play a TV show at a very low volume. Sleep finally found me, but I was disrupted several times in my sleep by this nagging feeling that someone was watching me from down the hallway. I would change directions frequently throughout the night and turn off whatever was playing on my laptop. The next morning did not find me waking up fresh and ready for a new day of exploring and investigating. I tried to reach out to the woman, but I felt so muddled from the night that it was difficult and I knew the best thing for me was to focus on getting myself out and on my way.
When I returned to the house, again after midnight, I was exhausted. It had been a long day and, as a reminder, the Ohio State Reformatory is made up of stairs for days. I may not be as fit as a fiddle, but I’m going to tell you it did a number on my right knee. So much so, I am seriously going back to physical therapy, because the pain is a bit much for me. It wasn’t just a general 4-station investigation that did it, it was the historical tour and the museum and the private investigation, etc. I did almost 20,000 steps from noon to midnight. And I’m not going to lie, my average daily steps due to housewifery and my sedentary creative endeavors is about 6,000 steps at best. I have a small condo, but I have stairs there, too. So believe me when I say I was exhausted!
I gathered up only the required items needed for the night and I left everything else in the car. I got myself into the house, where then I grappled with the resolution I had set for myself upon realizing my level of pain and exhaustion: “I am sleeping in the bed, not on that couch again.” I set my jaw, gave a curt nod, and turned to put myself squarely at the foot of the stairs and I looked up.
Still nothing there. Despite my exhaustion, I pushed out to see if I could still feel her in the house and I did. And she was up there, but her voice was much quieter. “Just stay down there.”
The frustration was real, but I took a moment and rationalized crawling up those stairs and sleeping without my personal pillow or emotional support fuzzy blanket. Not worth it when someone who claims this space is also gently asking me to not come upstairs. I gave a defeated nod and went about getting ready for bed.
I had a similar night to the one before. This time, for some strange reason, I had two lights on in the living room, but the hallway felt even darker than the previous night. I wasn’t scared. I simply had this feeling of being watched. I let go of it the best I could, but my subconscious was working overtime to keep me checking for someone in the hallway.
By the time my alarm went off and I started packing up and cleaning up, I knew I needed to take a moment and talk to this woman before I left. So after I had everything but a few small items packed in the car and I was ready to leave, I took out my divining rods, acknowledged her presence in the hallway and asked her to come forward to speak with me.
Her energy was peaceful, just as a stranger’s would be to someone they don’t know but also aren’t threatened by. I introduced myself and shared why I was here in this home for the weekend. I explained that I’d love to know her story and who she is and why she is here. And over the next thirty minutes, she shared with me what she could in the way that worked best for her: sending me mental messages and images alongside communicating via the divining rods.
Her name is Margaret Ann. She is from Mansfield, Ohio, but Mansfield is not what she would call her hometown. She was married, but her husband died before she did. He was not associated with any of the prisons and Margaret Ann never lived in the Hancock Heights homes. Her husband and herself never had children, but had nearby family.
When asked about why she chose this house as a place to take up residence as a spirit, she said it was the red brick. She had always known about the homes and the red brick style had drawn her to them. Margaret Ann was already present in the home when it was purchased and changed into an AirBnB rental. It was confirmed that she likes what the new owners did with the house and she does not find fault with the people who stay here. She does, though, like the quiet of the upstairs back bedroom and tries to send the message to visitors, but most do not hear her. I asked her if that was her I felt at the top of the stairs and she confirmed my feelings were correct.
I inquired about her level of comfort discussing how she had passed. Margaret Ann said she didn’t pass away in Mansfield, but somewhere nearby – in whatever facility was taking care of her and her illness. I felt her sharing her illness with me, something related to her stomach or abdomen. I asked about stomach cancer and she confirmed that was what she had had, but part of me still didn’t feel like that was the whole answer. I became a bit overwhelmed with emotion at that time, because I felt this peaceful loneliness that she felt when she passed. She said she was alone, but assured me it wasn’t an issue.
Margaret Ann and I wrapped up the conversation, as I had to start the long drive back to Wisconsin in questionable weather conditions. I thanked her for sharing and then she did something I didn’t expect. She swung the rods wide, to the point where it hit my arms. I asked if she meant to do it and she confirmed that she did. I pressed further, inquiring about her wanting a hug. Margaret Ann did affirm this and also shared that my Guides had told her to do this if she wanted to.
I have been shocked by how many conversations have ended with the rods swinging wide for a hug with a spirit. And when I inquire, I learn that my guides have shared this practice with the spirits and that I would know what it means. Then I lean in and give them a hug, feeling full of ghost fuzzies or goosebumps. I thank the spirit and tell them they are loved and to reach out if they ever need anything that I could try to help them with. It has become a dependable and standard goodbye with spirits I have positive divining rod sessions with. And I wonder if it makes them feel a little more present in the physical world– at least for a time.
Once I had left Mansfield, Ohio, I had an opportunity to dig deeper with the information Margaret Ann had given me. While hunkered down in a hotel in Slinger, Wisconsin, after an accident that totaled my car and left me stranded for two days, I did some research using the tools at my disposal. Sometimes I find a person and sometimes I don’t. But this time, I found Margaret Ann.
It was her, through and through. I knew it in my bones. I knew it was why I wanted to visit the cemetery that Saturday, but couldn’t. (The wind storm had knocked down trees, blocking the path.) I was being drawn to her grave by that intuitive push and pull of Margaret Ann in the house I was staying in. But now I can honor her and what I have learned about her. I loved learning that she was a baker and went to the same type and name of church I went to in my own youth. And now I can share her with you. She is not unhappy. She is not stuck. Margaret Ann is peaceful in the next phase of her soul’s existence.
The most beautiful connection of this, though, is to one of the original landowner of this space – Phoebe Wise. While she did not get married, she did live out her days as a strong independent woman who was thankful for the peace and solitude her own home offered her. If I would have known about Phoebe at the time I met Margaret Ann, I would have asked Margaret Ann about Phoebe. I have this feeling that Margaret Ann would have shared something about her, as she was a resident of Mansfield long enough to experience the legendary Phoebe Wise.
Read about the history of the land and the people that made Hancock Heights possible.
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