In answer to Mr. Mustard's post. 

It has been called Peoria State Hospital for the Incurable Insane, Illinois General Hospital for the Insane, Bartonville State Hospital and Bartonville Asylum. Call it what you will, just never go there alone. Apparently, it was such a nice place to visit many a soul decided to stay. Dr. George A. Zeller was a pioneer in mental health and director of this hospital. He instituted on-site cemeteries for patients whose remains were left unclaimed at their death. Originally built in the late 1800’s, by the time it closed in 1972, four such cemeteries were located on the vast property with stones that displayed the patient’s number. It was in the oldest cemetery that the first account of a supernatural event occurred. I assure you that this is no mere folk legend or rumor, but an actual documented haunting by none other than Dr. Zeller himself!

He created a “burial corps” of male patients who were disturbed, but competent enough to take part in the digging of graves. Described as strong and healthy, though completely uncommunicative, A. Bookbinder became one of these men. As the coffins were being lowered into the ground and silent services were said, “Old Book” would remove his cap then walk over, lean against the “Graveyard Elm” that stood in the middle of the cemetery and weep loudly for each patient who had died to vent his grief.




Time passed and eventually Old Book, too, passed away. A well-liked man, over 100 uniformed nurses and male staff members, along with several hundred patients, attended his funeral service, over which Dr. Zeller officiated. Old Book’s casket was placed on two cross beams above his empty grave and four men stood by to lower it into the ground at the end of the serves. Dr. Zeller wrote in his journal, “ Just as the choir finished the last lines of ‘Rock of Ages.’ The men grasped the ropes, stooped forward, and with a powerful, muscular effort, prepared to lift the coffin, in order to permit the removal the crossbeams and allow it to gently descend into the grave. At a given signal, they heaved away the ropes and the next instant, all four lay on their backs. For the coffin, instead of offering resistance, bounded into the air like an eggshell, as if it were empty!”

It is said that half of the nurses shrieked and ran away, while the other half slowly crept toward the grave to see what was going on. “In the midst of the commotion,” Dr. Zeller continued, “a wailing voice was heard and every eye turned toward the Graveyard Elm whence it emanated. Every man and woman stood transfixed, for there, just as had always been the case, stood Old Book, weeping and moaning with an earnestness that outrivaled anything he had ever shown before.”

Dr. Zeller summoned men to remove the lid of the coffin, convinced that Old Book could not be inside of it. As soon as the lid was lifted, the wailing sound completely stopped. Inside the coffin lay the body of Old Book, unquestionably dead. It was said that every eye looked upon the still corpse and then over to the Graveyard Elm, but the apparition had vanished.

“It was awful, but it was real,” Dr. Zeller wrote. “I saw it; 100 nurses saw it and 300 spectators saw it.”

A few days later, the Graveyard Elm mysteriously began to wither and die. Within the year, workmen were told to remove the dead tree. The first cut of the ax caused the tree to emanate an “agonized, despairing cry of pain” and work was immediately stopped. Dr. Zeller suggested the tree be burned, however, as soon as the flames started around the tree’s base, the workers quickly put them out due to the sobbing and crying sound coming from it. Dr. Zeller wrote about his shared experience, “Old Book’s grave remains without headstone or monument, but if anyone asks, those of us in the know point with a shudder to the remains of the Graveyard Elm.”


Trespassing is discouraged at the old hospital, but it hasn’t stopped vandals and would-be ghost hunters from going inside the place over the last three decades. I have been to this building on several occasions over the years and it always scares me. I never go at night and I never go alone. When it first closed in 1972, it was easy to enter, now it stays locked up tight. I’ll never forget seeing the hospital beds, bathtubs used for ice treatments and surgical instruments strewn throughout the place, including the electrical shock machines left behind. Over the years new buildings had been added to care for children and tuberculosis patients.

It is my personal opinion that not all those who were admitted to this hospital were insane, but were often family members, who for whatever reason, needed to be disposed of. How much did they understand the world around them? One has to figure that in death they are just as confused as when they were living. If there was no realism to begin with, does it not stand to reason that in death they are still looking for the safe haven they found in Dr. Zeller’s care? The building has a long history filled with sadness, insanity and yes... even ghosts. If hauntings are the residual effects of trauma being imprinted on the atmosphere of a location, then wouldn’t places where terror and insanity were commonplace be especially prone to hauntings? In 1980, it was auctioned off and is now private property. The new owner wants to make it into a hotel and restaurant. I don’t think I’ll be making a reservation anytime soon.




Much of this information came from articles found at the Peoria Public Library.