On a summer day in 2005, I traveled with my dad, aunt, and cousin to Mansfield, OH to visit the Ohio State Reformatory (and the Shawshank Redemption movie set) — a journey my 5th grade self remembers much differently than it actually was a few days ago. I remember sitting in the back seat with my cousin who liked to scare me with ghost stories and Halloween masks (notably, the skull mask with fake blood that spurts through it). He told me stories about visitors being locked in prison cells by ghosts and banging on metal bars that came from empty corners. I become so anxious on the hour-long car ride that I tried to convince them to turn around — I didn’t want to be locked in a cell with the ghost of a criminal!
Despite my efforts to cancel the trip, and feeling sick from fear, we arrived at the old prison and 5th grade me stood in front of a gigantic staircase leading to unknown haunted hallways. I hesitantly ascended the stairs, digging into my dad’s palm with my tiny fingers, staying near him so he could protect me.
A few weeks ago, I returned to the reformatory to give it another chance, to redeem myself from the terror I felt last time, and actually enjoy the historic building. So, this time, I often strayed from the pack. I walked up a flight of stairs that others seemed to avoid. The dark steps, lit with fading yellow lights led to a collection of less-explored rooms. One led to the next and I began to be worried that my parents couldn’t hear me anymore…you know, if something happened. “DAD!” I yelled to him at the bottom of the stairs. When faintly heard, “Yeah?” I was comforted and continued my exploration. I hear chirping in the distance and it drew closer and closer until a bird swooped out of the rafters and over my head. I shrieked and my parents didn’t come running, so I lost hope of them rescuing me from ghosts in rooms to come.
I remember the exact moment when I began to enjoy the trip years ago. There was once a picture documenting this moment — my cheesy, rabbit-toothed smile as I stood in a crumbling would-be bathroom. I was afraid of standing in the small room alone for the picture, by my dad promised the ghosts would stay away. I thought it was so cool that a movie had been filmed there, and I loved the look of the yellowed wallpaper peeling off the walls and the shattered shower base — you know, my 5th grade aesthetic.
Of course, this experience was toward the end of the tour, and my outlook was quickly changed again. We walked back downstairs to what seemed to me an enormous gift shop where I lost site of my family as I browsed a table with Shawshank props and other prison souvenirs. I picked up a pair of “toy” handcuffs with the tiny key dangling from the short connecting chain. On an impulse, I slapped them on one wrist and locked it…too tightly. My face become cold and tingly as I frantically tried to put the key in the lock and began to cry. I remember the irrational thought of what if they think I’m trying to steal them? As if putting handcuffs on myself was the best way to sneak out with them. What if I never get them off and have to wear them forever? My aunt looked over an saw me sobbing and fuddling with the cuffs, came over and was immediately able to unlock them. I was so shaken up that my hate for the place returned and I was ready for a much needed drive back to Columbus.
This isn’t to say that I didn’t get a little scared from time to time on this recent trip. Near the cell blocks, there are these tall, looming doors that reminded me of the chokey in Trunchbull’s office in Matlida. I assumed it was where they put “bad prisoners,” so who knew what was in store beyond the iron door? We found an open one and my mom dared me to go inside. Afraid of ghosts or spiders or whatever might have lay beyond, I walked slowly into the small room with my phone flashlight on to find that I was in one of the many turrets. When I turned my flashlight to the ceiling, I couldn’t see the end, and all around me were those white, floating dust particles you see when the sun shines through your windows. We needed two flashes just to begin to see the top; I wonder why those supports are so jagged…
Another spooky situation was when we discovered what appeared to be an infirmary. Even though the door was ajar, we walked through several rooms to find that we were definitely off the tour path. We passed a gurney and a mangled, dusty wheelchair and decided it was best to turn around. Just as we headed for the door, we heard something fall behind us — even though none of us had touched anything. If ghosts were anywhere in that prison, the infirmary would be the perfect place for them to hide.
This time, as I entered the gift shop, I was sad we had made it through the whole prison and wished there were more rooms to explore. I walked out with a new reassurance that while the Mansfield Reformatory is a little creepy, there was no cause for my 5th grade self to have debilitating anxiety about it. I bought a t-shirt was a thick, vinyl outline of Ohio and walked out of the big double doors, sipping cream soda, and feeling like a kid again.
Lavender Fischer 