“Hello!”
I banged at the gated front door of Housing Unit 4.
“HELLO!”
I continued to yell, hoping to grab someone’s attention – praying my teacher’s lungs carried far enough to secure a pair of keys.
It was Mother’s Day Weekend. My daughter and I had taken a road trip to Missouri to celebrate our shared love of the paranormal. It’s honestly one of the things where we mesh best, as many of us understand how difficult it can be connecting with a teen. Our first stop was the Belvoir Winery in Liberty, but our main destination was the Missouri State Penitentiary in Jefferson City. We were going to spend two nights investigating the bloody acreage that the prison stands on, listening for stories from those less heard from.
We rented an Airbnb and then hunkered down for our first night at the prison, which would allow us to get our bearings for the second night. It was an interesting free roam investigation best addressed alongside a longer analysis of our whole experience there. Here, though, in this entry, I want to focus on one event that occurred at the end of the night on Saturday.
After a day of rest and recuperation from the previous night, our Saturday night event rolled around, hosted by the ever proficient paranormal professor, Adam Berry. Our status at this event allowed my daughter and I to stay after the standard rotation-investigation to do a free roam of the facilities. We had planned out some of the places we wanted to visit, but as the night wound down, we abandoned attempting to engage in anything in the D3 area of Housing Unit 3 – the location where those who were struggling mentally and emotionally were known to be held– and we found ourselves returning to Housing Unit 4 (HU4) or A-Hall. This is the oldest existing building unit at the site. It is also where the location known as “the Dungeon” is located, behind the showers on the lowest level of the building.
We returned to HU4, hoping to engage with a previously encountered spirit by the name of Palmer.
As we walked in, Adam was there and informed us that we were the last ones in the building, so it would be quiet. I had previously had an incident where our active interaction with Palmer was greatly disrupted by noise from other attendees and caused our communication to cease, so this was welcome news. My daughter and I were thrilled at the thought that we were all alone and we went into the Dungeon to explore the areas we did not see the previous night.
In Housing Unit 4, you walk towards the back of the building and there is a set of double stairs. A light-rope is wrapped around the bannister, allowing for people to see the steps. At the bottom is a large cement block for sitting or putting your things on and behind that are two large open shower blocks that could fit about 2 people each if used appropriately. To the left is a door that takes you into a narrow hallway lined with entryways. Some of these have cell doors and others have solid doors. There are four doorways on this initial side. Inside these rooms is pitch blackness. The prisoners housed here were crammed into these rooms, left with only a bucket for their own waste. Only one meal a day was served, but not of quality food for human consumption. The men were reported to also sleep on straw on the floor – no beds, mats, or other luxuries of comfort. They were left in these rooms for days, weeks, months, and even years.
John B. Johnson (AKA J.B. Firebug Johnson) was kept in the cells after being convicted of starting a riot in an attempt to escape and setting fire to the factory building, resulting in the deaths of at least four inmates and $500,000 in damages. He was kept in the Dungeon from February 1883 until July 1900. He is reported to have gone blind or suffered severe loss of vision due to the amount of time he was kept in the Dungeons. Firebug did go on to write a book, Buried Alive for 18 Years in Missouri Penitentiary, titled as such because he was kept in the Dungeon often during his sentence. The stretches of time varied, but the longest is listed above.
As we stepped through the doors, we turned right and walked down the hallway. At the end, it opens up into a small area where you see another hallway on the other side and a door across from you. Down that back hallway were an additional 4 cells used for the same purpose. The open space we passed through was used for abuse of the prisoners, including whipping them with a cat o’ nine tails.
We passed through this area to look at the cells on the further side and then let our gut instinct choose where to sit. We chose the cell closest to the open space, looking across to the cell on the other side (the initial entrance hallway).
Knowing that our time was limited, we immediately set up two pieces of equipment outside the room and one in the larger space beyond the cell. Our bigger R.E.M. Lantern was in the larger space as its triggering sound is very audible. Our new NOVA was in the doorway, facing down the back hall. It makes an eerie, almost doorbell-esque melody when triggered. My daughter and I both sat down in the cell, started our Spirit Talker app on the phone, and then I hit the record button on our Olympus DM-4. The Spirit Talker started logging us at 11:51:36PM. Our recorder has us stamped as starting our recording at 11:51:44PM.
We asked questions and hoped to have our external equipment go off, but instead, we started to get messages on the Spirit Talker that corresponded well to where we were located.
11:52:52 – I’m upset
I remembered that reports revealed feelings of anger and frustration and depression from those that investigated the Dungeons. We used this to further our questions of who might be interacting with us.
11:53:07 – Salt
Again, it was hard not to think about the prisoners down here being served the cruelest forms of “food” imaginable and a sarcastic prisoner requesting salt for their food.
11:54:19 – Thomas
Thomas Wells is a former corrections officer who worked at MSP for 15 years and then became a regular fixture after the facility closed as a tour guide. He is featured on multiple shows where the prison is investigated. Were they asking for him? Did they want us to know something specific about him?
11:55:20 – Are you ready?
We used this as a launching point for more questions to draw out what was going on in this space, which briefly distracted us from the next two messages that came through.
11:56:08 – Wrong area
11:56:16 – Go over there
My daughter read both of these at the same time that the last one came through. We took a beat and I asked, “Should we move?” My daughter responded with a very affirmative, “yes.” And I said, “okay.”
We were in the process of elevating ourselves off the chairs when we heard a loud yelling from upstairs, but we couldn’t make it out. Upon review of our recorder afterwards, it is one of the guides yelling, “Is anyone in here?” followed by unintelligible and much quieter yelling. This was done, according to our timestamp at 11:56:30PM. We didn’t even hear what she said in real time. We just knew, “They’re calling us out,” as I said to my daughter.
Here is where the insanity begins. We immediately gathered equipment, which made lots of loud noises (R.E.M. ParaLantern and the NOVA) and shut down our space. My daughter yelled up from the back, but I had concerns over us being heard, being in the Dungeon surrounded by thick stone walls and all. So we moved as fast as we could, packing up our few pieces of equipment and shutting off our recorder. My daughter was flustered, apologizing to the spirits she had connected to that she felt were guiding her somewhere else to speak.
As I crammed equipment into my bag, rushing to get to the stairs, I picked up my phone and saw the final message that came through the Spirit Talker: “We need you to help us” at 11:57:02. This final message haunted us, especially my daughter, as we thought back to those final rushed moments of interaction with someone. Whether or not the message legitimately came from a spirit, it felt too appropriate for the Dungeons of the Missouri State Penitentiary and those who needed us being left behind.
At nearly 30 seconds after hearing the guide yell something from upstairs, we rounded the corner from the Dungeon into the showers and hustled up the stairs. When we made it to the dark open space of the first level, we saw no one, but knew we still needed to hurry to the door. So like a character in your favorite epic adventure, hoping to make it to the exit before all hope is lost, we charged to the front door of Housing Unit 4.
My final steps launched me into the closed door and I met only resistance that radiated true fear through me. I raised my right fist and pounded once, twice, three times with my weight behind it and the door burst open. I felt a sense of relief that I had made it through the first locked door. But a few steps took me to the next obstacle: the crosshatch, wrought iron exterior prison door.
I pushed and there was no give. Only about 40 seconds since we heard the guide’s voice and we were already locked in. I took a brief 3 seconds to listen for someone nearby and heard no one. I started to yell with the full capacity of my being and I let loose all my anger and fury that I keep bottled up for just such an emergency and I beat my fists upon the door.
“Hello!”
I banged at the gated front door of Housing Unit 4.
“HELLO!” I continued to yell, over and over again – punctuating each hello with a beating of my fist and forearm. I hoped and prayed someone would hear me. Over half a minute passed before someone finally yelled back, “Someone’s coming. Hold on.”
While it may only have been a minute or two locked inside, I had several thoughts desperately flash across my mind while standing at that front door, such as wondering if I had certain phone numbers I would need to contact Adam or the staff. Did I have cell service? How long would we be trapped here and would I be out in time to check out of our Airbnb? I can look back on this and laugh at being accidentally (or deservedly, as the guide implied) locked in, but I truly did feel fear for my daughter and for myself during that long minute or so at the thought of having been trapped behind bars out of no fault of our own.
Finally, I was face to face with the person who had locked us in. Instead of having any kind of empathy, we were confronted with accusations of not responding and ignoring an officer. We were additionally told that our only option would have been to call 9-1-1 and that 9-1-1 wouldn’t be able to do anything. Why? Because the 9-1-1 team would need to get a hold of a staff member at Missouri State Penitentiary and our guide told us that they don’t answer their phones once they are off duty. So this guide told myself and my 15-year-old daughter that we would have been left locked away until tomorrow when someone came to open.
The other shocking discovery was that the two officers were sitting on the railing within earshot of Housing Unit 4 and a cluster of guides were also standing all around the porta-potties nearby. And yet our cries for help were ignored for a significant amount of time. I was not blind to their humored faces at our suffering. I say this, because my daughter, who is very aware of the behavior of people, saw how she was treated. Let me tell you, she knew we had followed the rules. She likes to point out injustices as the younger generation is wont to do and this here, in her opinion, was an injustice against us– undeserved blame and scolding.
I joked things off as I entered the main room to join those who had made it out in time, knowing I needed to put on a strong, brave face for my daughter after having just felt honest terror at the thought of being left inside overnight. I joked that I was going to stand closer to the front door so that I would be the first out. But the treatment by this staff towards guests was truly unprofessional and this was not the only incident I noted over my two days at the prison. It just happened to be the most telling of their poor “we’re cool prison people and we’re going to be like prison people” attitudes. It’s wrong. I’m not a criminal. Never have been. Do not speak down to me. Do not accuse me of doing something wrong when you were in the wrong. Be decent people.
And yes, I was one of the first people to step out of there and, yes, I did make a small dramatic reaction to being on the outside. I also learned from another attendee that people inside the main building had heard us yelling and seemed surprised that nothing was happening. Even Adam, when I walked in, said he had heard me. Someone else said they thought someone was missing. I guess it makes you feel better to know that you were heard and missed, but the sting of being blamed for the incident still lingered.
Suffice to say, I have no plans to ever return to this location, not because of the history or the spirits. Maybe not even because of the type of people I encountered on my Friday night free roam. (Do I need to write a manual on free roam etiquette?) I will not be returning to the Missouri State Penitentiary or Jefferson City because of the staff at MSP and their unprofessional behavior and attitudes. Which is an absolute shame, because my daughter found her experiences to have been one of the most notable she’s had as a young investigator.
As we reviewed the night and thought about what we had experienced, we started to wonder if those messages about moving were spirits warning us to get out of the building – to start moving ourselves to another area. Or were they threats? My daughter still feels that they were an invitation to go to another location to interact with them. I felt they were encouragement from those left behind to get out or be locked in by the overbearing lady guide. What do you think was being relayed with those messages?
Don’t worry about me, though. I have a joke to laugh off and a reference for the rest of my life. Prisons aren’t new to me. My adopted-brother is incarcerated and I used to visit him at his various prison assignments. The guards were always jerks and the encompassing nature of the prisons was always overwhelming. Yet, with this experience I’ll move forward, knowing I’ve spent more time behind prison bars than your average “innocent” person. However it is an experience grounded in a haunted trauma. I was able to leave, but so many who were sent to this place were never able to find that same sweet taste of being granted their freedom.
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