Episode 33

The foundations of Logan Regional Medical Center and Mountain West Medical Center, it turns out, were not laid on neutral ground. My research, and the whispers of those who have worked and been treated within their walls, led me to a chilling, undeniable truth: both hospitals stand on land steeped in the sorrow of Native American burial grounds and the echoes of brutal massacres. It’s a history that, once unearthed, casts a long, dark shadow over every flickering light and every disembodied sound.

At Logan Regional, the property manager's accounts are particularly disturbing. He’s seen them, not as fleeting shadows or vague impressions, but in full, clear form. He’s described figures appearing as they were when they were brought to the hospital, wearing the clothes they died in, their spectral presence a stark reminder of the land's tragic past. These aren’t just residual hauntings; they are the restless spirits of those whose final resting places were desecrated. The apartment complex across the street, the property manager explained, has become an unwilling host to these apparitions, as if the veil between worlds thins and stretches beyond the hospital grounds, reaching out to the surrounding area.

And then there’s Mountain West Medical Center. I experienced its hauntings firsthand, a terrifying episode that nearly cost me my life. When I coded blue, the medical staff fought valiantly to bring me back. In the midst of their desperate efforts, something else was present in that room, something the caregivers sensed. It was then that two of my caregivers, both Native American, bore witness to something profound. They saw me surrounded, not by the chaos of a medical emergency, but by ancient Medicine Men and numerous Chiefs, forming a protective circle around me. It was a powerful, undeniable intervention, a testament to the spiritual energy that permeates that land, a force that can both harm and, it seems, protect. The white hooded figure I saw, the one crying before my bed, witnessed by Nurse Abigail – was it a manifestation of the land’s pain, or a guardian spirit drawn to my own struggle? The answer, I suspect, is woven into the very fabric of the ground beneath the hospital. The land remembers. And sometimes, it cries out.