First off, I'm not even a little bit sorry about that title. It's staying.
Secondly, I'd like to disclose upfront that one of my older sisters used to lock me in the toybox as a child and I'm still in the process of publicly shaming her for it. In all honestly, I kind of liked being in there. It was dark and quiet, and she couldn't force me to watch WWE or live coverage of the O.J. Simpson trial when I was in the confines of the big wooden box. But no way I'm telling her that. Healthy family communication thrives on the twin pillars of emotional manipulation and leverage.
Thirdly, it should go without saying that legitimately being trapped in a box is horrifying. We like to keep our posts fun and engaging but we are genuinely saddened that these things happened at any time to anyone.
This week we bring you three terrifying tales of people trapped in boxes. Enjoy!
Octavia Hatcher
Some say it's legend, but for the residents of Pikeville, Kentucky, there is no doubt as to the truth of what happened to Octavia Hatcher.
Born in Pike County, 1870, Octavia married one of the wealthiest men in town. James Hatcher dabbled in coal and lumber, and owned quite a bit of land. He would go on to build a hotel named after himself in Pikeville, which had museum-like displays in the lobby. In one room he had an iron lung. In another, he had displayed his very own custom-built coffin, designed to ring a bell above the ground if the inhabitant was still alive.
James had his specialized coffin built because he was terrified that he would succumb to the same fate as his first and only wife, Octavia. When their son died shortly after she gave birth in 1891, Octavia was deeply depressed and became bedridden. She then fell into a coma, and when she did not recover, was pronounced dead and buried in the local cemetery.
Olivia Hatcher's boudoir doll, made in her likeness. Just a normal, totally not creepy at all thing to have when you're a rich 19th century Kentuckian. Photo courtesy of AppalachianHistory.net.
Shortly thereafter, however, other residents of Pikeville began slipping into comas, only to re-emerge days later. It seems they had been bitten by the African tsetse fly, causing a sleeping sickness to befall them. James immediately had Octavia's body exhumed, hoping he might be able to intervene in time, but it was too late. Her fingernails were broken and bloody, the coffin lining torn into shreds, and her face horribly contorted.
James Hatcher never remarried and had a large statue of his wife erected above her grave. Local legend claims that at night you can hear what sounds like a cat meowing or a baby crying, and that on the anniversary of her death, the statue spins around. RIP, Octavia.
Olivia Hatcher's imposing figure looks down on all of Pikeville. It might spin but we're certain it doesn't clap. Photo courtesy of Find-A-Grave.
Rhoda Derry
By all accounts, Rhoda Derry was a sweet, happy young girl growing up in the mid-to-late 1800s in western Illinois. Sure, her grandmother Moll Derry (or Doering) was supposedly one of the most well-known witches in southwestern Pennsylvania, but certainly none of the townsfolk some 600 miles west in Adams County, Illinois would know anything about that, right? Right?
Word traveled faster than carriages it seems, as when Rhoda fell in love with neighbor boy Charles Phenix, Mama Phenix put the old midwestern kibosh on their burgeoning romance. We suspect the irony was lost on her, but Mrs. Phenix, convinced of the family's witchy origins, threatened to curse young Rhoda if she didn't leave her son Charles alone. For Rhoda, this was enough of a nudge to end things. And by "things," we mean "all things." It was enough, in fact, to end her increasingly tenuous grasp on reality.
Rhoda was terrified of witches and may have believed she had been cursed. Though the impetus for her mental deterioration is unknown, her behavior soon became more and more erratic. Her mother, a family friend reported, frequently shot at invisible evil spirits she believed were living inside their family home, terrorizing her daughter. When viewed through a modern lens, it seems likely that Rhoda was schizophrenic. But 1850s Illinois didn't know what "schizophrenia" was, as it hadn't been discovered yet. Rhoda's parents felt they were no longer able to properly care for her, and they committed her in 1860 at the age of 26. However, there wasn't room for her at any mental institutions in the area at the time, so Rhoda was put in a poorhouse.
Poorhouses (also called almshouses, county houses, etc.) were full-fledged terrordomes that our ancestors created to house people they didn't want to see or interact with in their day-to-day lives. That may sound like hyperbole, but we challenge anyone to prove otherwise. We have encountered many, many stories of clients' ancestors who were committed to these institutions, and none of these stories—not a single one—has a happy ending. Poorhouses were filled with starving people, sick people, addicts, those with untreated mental illnesses, and a healthy sprinkling of children. Inmates were often "controlled" via unethical methods.
Needless to say, the Adams County Almshouse didn't know what to do with Rhoda. You would hope that they would give her a clean, warm bed and make sure her foundational needs were met and then assess her mental and physical condition in a timely manner. Or maybe even just the clean bed part. You would never imagine they'd put her in a box filled with straw with holes for her excrement to fall out of, right? Because that would be crazy.
The Adams County Almshouse put Rhoda Derry in a straw-filled box with holes for her excrement. Rhoda refused to wear clothing, they claimed, and so they kept a canvas cloth thrown over her, though it likely didn't do much good as she was reported to thrash about in her straw box, being in constant motion and bruising herself all over her body. Mice made homes in the straw with her, and she clawed at her eyes so badly she blinded herself, and eventually punched most of her teeth in.
Rhoda Derry, age and year unknown.
Rhoda lived in these conditions for 44 years, until eventually she was rescued by a Dr. George Zeller who requested her transfer to an asylum in 1904. There she received a proper bed and regular baths, and, miraculously, she seemed to improve. Sadly she would die only two years later.
RIP, Rhoda. You were terrorized, and, on behalf of all human beings everywhere, we are profoundly sorry.
The Utica Crib
A postcard from the New York State Lunatic Asylum, later called the Utica State Hospital. I guess if you send this to your relatives you might want to specify that you're just visiting.
The first director of the Utica State Psychiatric Hospital, Amariah Brigham, disliked the traditional restraints used on psychiatric patients to keep them from hurting themselves or others. So like any young, enterprising American he decided to build something not better, but worse, yet in a different way. Brigham, one of the founders of what would become the American Psychiatry Association, and the man who began the scientific journal The American Journal of Psychiatry (which, by the way, was called The American Journal of Insanity until 1921), developed a type of "covered bed."
The phrase "covered bed" seems innocent for about a millisecond, and then should give you pause. I like to think about Brigham informing his friends of his new invention.
"Wait. Hang on. Huh? You mean, like, on top of the bed there are covers?"
"Well, no, I mean, a cover. It's a covered bed. You know, like, on top of the bed there's a uh, um... well, it's a lid..."
"What?"
"Well, there's a bit of a top part to the bed, on hinges, that can be closed and locked, from the outside, see, so, uh, so you can't get out."
"So, like a coffin?"
"Yeah, but with slats. Like a crib coffin."
Nope. Nope, nope, nope.
Quelle horreur. The Utica Crib measured 18 inches deep, 8 feet long and 3 feet wide. Sometimes it contained a shallow mattress, sometimes it was simply lined with straw. Because it was so shallow, the person confined inside couldn't sit up. And they put people in them. Lots of people. Full body chills.
That's it. That's the whole story. Just imagine it. Go on. And then hug your family and feel glad none of you will ever know the horrors of Victorian-era mental institutions or medical practices.
Happy Halloween!
Sources
"Amariah Brigham," Wikipedia (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amariah_Brigham : 19 Oct 2022).
"The American Journal of Psychiatry," Wikipedia (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_American_Journal_of_Psychiatry : 19 Oct 2022).
Forsyth, Jessica, "The Story of Octavia Hatcher," AppalachianHistory.net (https://www.appalachianhistory.net/2012/04/the-story-of-octavia-hatcher.html : 19 Oct 2022).
Hart, Ada, "The Horrid Story Of Octavia Hatcher, A Grieving Mother Who Was Buried Alive," Ranker (https://www.ranker.com/list/octavia-hatcher/ada-hart : 19 Oct 2022).
Kirkland, Kevin, "Witches on the Water," Pittsburg Post-Gazette, 31 Oct 2021, G1-2.
Nelson, Iris, "The unfathomable case of Rhoda Derry," Historical Society of Quincy and Adams County, 12 Aug 2012.
"Octavia Hatcher: Buried Alive?," RoadsideAmerica (https://www.roadsideamerica.com/story/23884 : 19 Oct 2022).
"Utica Psychiatric Center," Wikipedia (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Utica_Psychiatric_Center : 19 Oct 2022).
Comments