Old Book and the Graveyard Elm

Peoria State Mental Institute

The Peoria State Mental Institute For The Incurable Insane was in operation from 1902 until 1973. In its first 25 years, over 13,500 patients had been housed there. Many of them died there. Because there were so many deaths, burial detail teams were established. This was made up of 1 staff member and 6 strong male inmates who, although insane, were competent enough to dig the graves and assist with the burial.

One of the gravediggers was a large, but very gentle man known as A. Bookbinder. He had suffered a mental breakdown while working at a printing house which had left him unable to effectively communicate. The police officer who had taken him in wrote on his report that the man was "a bookbinder" and a court clerk had written "A. Bookbinder" as his name on the intake form. Being unable to communicate, that is how he remained named for the rest of his life. After a while, he had gained the respect of the staff and everyone began to just call him "Old Book" or simply "Book."

Book was soon assigned to the burial detail. The staff found he was especially suited to the work. Normally, after digging the grave and placing the coffin on 2 cross beams over the hole, the workers would stand back a respectful distance until the funeral ended. They would then lower the coffin into the grave and fill it in. Almost every person who died was virtually unknown to the staff or other patients and if they were buried on the property, it meant no family claimed them. The funeral was mostly held out of respect for the deceased who were usually buried with only a patient number on their headstone since most arrived at the hospital with no known name. For this reason, everyone was surprised when at the first funeral he worked, Book removed his cap and began weeping loudly for the departed. He did the same thing at every funeral he worked; first removing his cap then he walked over and leaned against an old elm tree at the center of the cemetery and begin to loudly weep. When he did this several times in a row, he was assigned to each and every funeral and without fail, he would cry his eyes out while leaning against the tree.

A few years later, having attended several hundred funerals, Old Book himself passed on. The staff decided it was only fitting to bury him under the spreading limbs of the old elm tree where he always cried at the funerals for others. The news of his death got out and since he was well liked and had done such an excellent job on burial details, over 100 of the nurses, 50 of the male staff, and 200 patients attended the service for Book. The head of the facility gave the eulogy. When the service was over, 4 men each took the end of the ropes under the casket and prepared to lift it off the 2 crossbeams to lower the casket into the grave. At a signal given by the staff leader of the burial detail, the 4 men gave a mighty heave on the rope ends to lift the heavy coffin a few inches into the air so the other two men in the detail could remove the crossbeams. However, they were instantly all laying on their backs as the coffin easily lifted up as if there was no body within it! 

Of course this caused a huge commotion. The nurses screamed, the male staff was stunned, a lot of the patients began crying or hitting themselves in the head or simply fell to the ground moaning as nobody had seen anything like this happen before. Suddenly, above all the commotion, the people heard a mournful voice keening in despair and loudly crying. They all looked over toward the trunk of the Graveyard Elm where the sound was coming from and over 300 people witnessed Old Book, standing as always against the tree, weeping and crying out with even more earnestness than ever before.

After some seconds to recover from total shock and now convinced that Old Book absolutely could not be inside it, the doctor who had given the eulogy ran over to the coffin and ordered the 4 rope handlers to remove the lid. As soon as it was lifted, the wailing and crying completely stopped. Inside the coffin, seen by more than 100 nurses, staff and the head of the facility, lay the body of the very dead Old Book. When everyone looked back at the tree, the apparition was gone.

Only a few days later, the large old elm which had stood for over 100 years, began to die. Specialists were brought in to save it, but all of their efforts were in vain and within a year, the tree had died. The director ordered it cut down and removed. Three separate teams of men tried to cut it down, but all returned from their task saying they couldn't do it because every time they began to saw, the tree would cry out as if a human were in great pain. The city's fire department was hired to burn it down, but after 2 tries, the firemen stated they had to put out the fire as soon as they lit it because it sounded like a human inside the tree was screaming in agony and a human figure could be seen in the flames. After this, the tree was left alone.

 Over the years, the limbs of the tree rotted and dropped one by one until there was little left except the trunk. Shortly after it was announced the hospital was to be closed, lightning hit the trunk and all but a stump exploded and burned away. 

The buildings are vacant and abandoned now, the grounds deserted. There are No Trespassing signs posted on the property, but that doesn't stop everyone. Those brave enough to be in the cemetery at night have reported hearing a sad wailing and crying which seems to come from the area of the Graveyard Elm stump. A hasty retreat is always the result. Evidently, Old Book is still crying for all the unnamed patients buried on the grounds of the asylum.

Practice Makes Perfect

 There was a man whose name was Frank. The last few years of his life he lived in a place called Serenity Acres. It was a nice place really, with soft white walls and soothing music playing 12 hours each and every day and the little pink pill the nurse gave Frank every evening let him sleep the other 12 hours. Sometimes he didn't even have the nightmare more than 3 or 4 times while he slept. This is the story of how he came to be a resident at Serenity Acres.

Dah-dah-dum-dah-plink. Dah-dah-dum-dah-plink. Frank was getting so tired of his wife hitting the wrong key on the piano. All day and late into the night his wife kept practicing the same song and kept hitting the wrong key at the exact same place. Over and over and over.

Frank and his wife Jean made their home on a tiny speck of an island just off the coast of Florida. He was the lighthouse keeper and he took his job very seriously. Without his continual cleaning and maintenance and repair work to keep the light shining, a ship would surely sail into the rocks submerged just off the end of the island. That wasn't going to happen, not while Frank was the keeper. They lived in the lighthouse and Jean kept the rooms clean and cooked Frank's meals and helped him walk the beach to keep it clean of debris.

Frank and Jean had been married for 13 years now. The first 10 years they had been happy except for the 2 miscarriages Jean had suffered. They had both wanted children, but after the second miscarriage, the doctor had advised them it would be best if Jean did not get pregnant again. And so Jean had begun to turn down Frank's advances. He wasn't happy about this, but he understood and he spent even more time working to keep the lighthouse in tip-top condition. 

About a year later, Jean decided she wanted to learn to play the piano. Frank supposed it was her way of filling in the time she now had since he was so devoted to his work. He had argued against it, knowing she didn't have a musical bone in her body, plus they couldn't really afford one, but Jean was adamant. Eventually, Frank gave up arguing about it and before he changed his mind, Jean bought a cheap, used model and had it brought to the lighthouse in a boat. The thing weighed a ton and even though the 2 strong men who brought it over lent a hand, Frank thought he was going to have a heart attack before getting it through the lighthouse door and into the living room. 

Before Frank had paid the 2 men and they had departed, Jean was already sitting at the piano practicing. She practiced and she practiced and she practiced. Always the same tune because, she said, she wanted to perfect that song before moving on to something else. At first, every note Jean played sounded off, but Frank ignored the awful sounds, hoping and sometimes even praying that with time and practice, she would get better.

It took months, but finally Frank was able to make out a melody - at least in most parts of the song she had been butchering for so long. But there was always that one passage she just couldn't get - dah-dah-dum-dah-plink. Every time, over and over, hour after hour - Dah-dah-dum-dah-plink. He begged her to start playing a different song, but Jean refused. "I'm going to practice until I get this one perfect," she said. "Remember, practice makes perfect!" Dah-dah-dum-dah-plink, dah-dah-dum-dah-plink.

Frank's job kept him in the lighthouse most of the time of course, and Frank felt trapped; no way to escape that infernal sour note! He tried putting wax in his ears, but he could still hear it. He went walking on the beach, but the island was so small he could still hear it even at the farthest end of land. Every night Jean stayed up into the wee hours practicing and she awoke early in the mornings to practice more. Frank went to bed hearing dah-dah-dum-dah-plink, dah-dah-dum-dah-plink. He woke up hearing dah-dah-dum-dah-plink, dah-dah-dum-dah-plink. He dreamed dah-dah-dum-dah-plink, dah-dah-dum-dah-plink. Hour after interminable hour, dah-dah-dum-dah-plink, dah-dah-dum-dah-plink.

One day a storm was coming in. The sky was dark, the wind began to blow and the waves began to grow. Frank asked Jean to stop playing until the storm passed as he had to concentrate to ensure the light was lit and bright so no ships would be in danger from the rocks. Jean said she couldn't stop now as she felt in her bones that she would soon get it right if she just kept practicing. She sat back down and started playing again. That's when Frank lost it.

A while later, Frank was sorry he had chopped up the piano with his ax. He could have sold it and gotten at least most of his money back for it. He wasn't sorry at all about Jean though. As soon as the storm had abated, Frank put on his rubber rain gear and dug a big hole behind the tool shed. He buried the pieces of Jean with the pieces of the piano because he figured that's what she would have wanted. After filling in the grave and stacking fireplace logs on top, Frank went to bed and had the best sleep he'd had in months. When he woke in the morning, he was refreshed and had so much energy! He spent most of the day cleaning away the blood from the floor and walls. When the water in his bucket turned red, he ambled down to the ocean where he exchanged it for another bucket of clean salt water. He whistled while he worked and he even took several breaks to leisurely walk the beach and listen to nothing but the waves washing ashore and the seagulls chattering as they rode the wind overhead. The seagulls didn't have a care in the world, and neither did Frank. 

When he finished the cleaning chore, he made a note in the lighthouse log book about the tragedy that had befallen Jean. Poor, poor Jean had been swept out to sea by a huge wave during the storm while she bravely walked on the beach with a lantern to ensure no ships came to harm. It was a terrible tragedy.

He then made himself a supper of lamb stew, his favorite meal and afterwards, he enjoyed a glass of brandy while smoking a fat brown cigar. He went to bed very contented, thoroughly enjoying the silence. 

In the middle of the dark night though, Frank was awakened by an all too familiar sound - dah-dah-dum-dah-plink, dah-dah-dum-dah-plink. I must be dreaming Frank thought, because hearing that particular sound is now impossible. She's buried behind the tool shed! He jumped out of bed reaching for his ax. Damn! He must have left it in the tool shed yesterday. He grabbed a stick of firewood and slowly, carefully, crept into the living room.

He staggered when he saw the odd glowing green piano which stood again in it's old place. His mind began to crack when he noticed he could see through the piano to the table and chair directly behind it. The phantom piano was playing all by itself - dah-dah-dum-dah-plink, dah-dah-dum-dah-plink. Over and over it played. Suddenly, above that god-awful sound, Frank heard the strong, clear, unmistakable voice of Jean behind him. "Frank, I told you," it said, "I'm not going to quit until I've mastered this one. You should have listened to me."

Frightened though he was, Frank turned around and there on the stairs he saw the translucent white figure of his dead wife. And in her hands, she held his ax.

He began to scream as he ran out of the lighthouse. He ran to the pier and jumped in the island's boat and made it to the mainland, screaming all the way. The early morning beach walkers found him sitting there, facing toward the light house, unblinking eyes wide open, mouth grotesquely twisted in fear. And as the nice men in white coats led him into the back of the Serenity Acres van, he screamed and screamed.