History: 1919-1939
In 1919, "Lost Souls Cemetery" was founded by Capt. John Flagg Moorstone, a European immigrant and decorated infantry medic. His experience as a battlefield doctor left him with a familiarity with and closeness to death. Even under fire by the enemy, Captain Moorestone was determined, even obsessed, with honoring the dead with a final resting place and a token of respect. This honorable reputation earned him an opportunity to immigrate to the United States and accept a contract with the State of Illinois. Under an agreement with the state’s Governor, the Captain was to give a proper burial and final resting place, upon their deaths, to the unwanted persons of whom the state had legal custody or possession. This new state cemetery was to replace the several smaller cemeteries at state run institutions, such as prisons, sanitariums, shelters for abused women, homes for the physically deformed, and orphanages; one location for those unfortunately known as “the unwanted”. The Captain would receive a handsome salary, 50 acres of land, and a private home on the cemetery grounds as payment for his services. This was to be a beautiful new adventure for the Captain and his 12 year old twin daughters, Abigail and Amelia.
The overseas voyage was long and difficult, running into several storms that wracked the ship’s decks and left the passengers weary and exhausted. In this vulnerable state, several passengers fell ill, and it wasn’t long before the twins showed signs of consumption; coughing, blood spattered handkerchiefs and labored breathing. The sea was no place to find care for the helpless, particularly against such a viral monster. Once on land, the Captain used all of his talents and knowledge to save his family from their inevitable fate, but in the end, he could only make them comfortable as they finally succumbed to its grip.
They passed away in his arms on the overland trek across the prairie grass.
Stricken with grief, his family wrapped in linen in the back of the wagon, he continued his now-joyless voyage to his new home. A man of his word, he followed through on his agreement with the state of Illinois. A home must be built and a cemetery created, and a grieving father must find a way to move forward. He poured his pain into creating Lost Souls Cemetery and christened it with his twin daughters’ tomb. Abigail and Amelia were its first inhabitants, and the Captain would be forever tied to this grounds.
This first tomb would not be the end of the Captain’s efforts to memorialize the memory of his children. He continued to build his family’s dream home, even if they did not live to see it. Moorestone Manor would be a monument to his daughters, every room fitted exactly how he’d told them it would be, down to the pink and white bedroom featuring a dollhouse replica of the manor. A father’s promise kept.
With no living family, the Captain dedicated his time and love to his work. The state was very eager to rid itself of the unwanted. Each person they dismissed as trash was received with respect and care by the Captain, and the new inhabitants at Lost Souls were buried with the love one gives to family. Each one of them was special, cared for by the man with nobody to call his own, who saw them only as souls lost in transition that he needed to guide to their final resting places. Tombs and markers were erected to honor the tragic lives of these forgotten souls.
Notwithstanding his deep depression over his loss, his determination and diligence endeared him to the Governor, which elevated the Captain’s status and political power. There was a place at the top for a man who could remove something unwanted, and “Lost Souls” was proving a great benefit to many people in the government.
Although the original name for the state cemetery was “Lost Souls”, appropriately named for its inhabitants (who were forsaken or abandoned by their families), Governor John Altgeld nicknamed it "Hell's Gate". It was the Governor's belief that "anyone buried in that graveyard could not be a good Christian, so if they're all doomed to an eternity in Hell, then this is the front gate." The Captain did not share the Governor's judgment of these people, he displayed an exuberant reverence for each of his inhabitants. He was a man alone and they became his family.
Some have said that this respect for the dead was borderline infatuation, and unhealthy.
They were right.
Instead of remarrying and starting a new family, Moorestone loyally worked the grounds and became devout in his rituals of mourning. He believed that if his family, both old and new, were to be at peace, they must see his dedication and commitment to honoring their memory, their stories. So obsessed with his philosophy of diligent mourning that he was able to convince the governor to award him custody of the children of the cemetery’s “residents”. In all, thirty-eight children were removed from the orphanages and sent to live out their childhoods at Moorestone Manor, on the cemetery grounds in which their parents were buried. Here they would study their lessons during the day and mourn at their parents’ gravesites at night. The Captain was a serious teacher and very strict with the children, but his actions were always motivated by a belief that he was bettering their lives with discipline, education, and the peace that only comes from diligent mourning of the dead.
"If I could show their [the dead] spirits that I have brought their family here to mourn, they may have peace in the hereafter."
“Our inhabitants left behind a broken legacy. I will put them back on the path.”
- Excerpt from the diary of Capt. John Flagg Moorstone
As “Lost Souls” expanded, the State of Illinois deepened its investment in Captain Moorestone’s endeavors, awarding him a complimentary work detail from the Joliet Correctional Facility to act as gravediggers and maintenance men on the property. Of these prisoners, a man named Luther "The Hammer" Haad was sent to serve out his remaining sentence on the cemetery grounds as a permanent watchman. At 6'10" and 395 pounds, he was fearsome to behold, like an ogre from an old fairy tale wearing overalls and a burlap sack to hide his face (so as not to frighten the children). While he may have looked the part, Luther was in reality a gentle giant that looked after the orphans, respected the Captain’s rituals and stood at the ready, loyal in service to his new boss. The prison warden had required that Luther be chained to a shed at the gates of the cemetery to act as guardian, but it was known to many that the Captain would often invite Luther to the house for a private meal.
Time passed, but time doesn't heal the kind of wound the Captain carried. No matter how much time he spent creating monuments to the unwanted or building his ever-expanding home, his mind was consumed by a fear that his daughters' souls were not at peace in their new home. Caught in a trap of his own mind’s making, he questioned whether or not he had done enough? Did they see the house he built, their bedroom, and the mausoleum that cradled their coffins? Over time this fear festered in his mind, warped his perception of reality and, ultimately, drove him to make extreme and dangerous choices. A man can accomplish great and terrible things when he is acting out of fear.
"I have called out into the void, begged them to come home. Yet, I hear nothing. If I cannot find their spirits with my physical efforts, I will take a more spiritual path"
- Excerpt from the diary of Capt. John Flagg Moorstone
With the state prison maintaining the grounds of the cemetery, the Captain had more time to dedicate to his thoughts. Days and nights were spent obsessing over the loss of his daughters; months spent lost in the fear that they were not at peace in this new land, and that he was to blame for bringing them here. For several years the Captain gathered all that was written on the subject of communicating with the dead and, with the mind of a scientist and the determination of a military captain, he became incredibly well-versed on the subject of the occult. He set a goal to reach out to the twins’ spirits to confirm that they were at peace and, if they were not, he needed to know what he could do to give it to them. After exhausting all literary options, both public and secret, on the subject, the Captain reached out to “experts” in the field of the Dark Arts. As was popular in those times, he would entertain fortune tellers, seers, and other mystics of the day at his home for dinner parties, hosting events for the elite while hiding his dark intentions from the public.
"I feel as if I am consorting with the enemy. Pretending to be one of them, so that I can speak their language. And now I can hear them in the night. I can hear all of them, screaming in my mind. It is my purpose to guide them here, I only want them to have peace."
- Excerpt from the diary of Capt. John Flagg Moorstone
On one fateful night in the year 1923, the Captain held a séance at his home. The attendees were all popular practitioners of the occult at the time, a collection of spiritually powerful people (or, at least, so they claimed). Where as the Captain believed most of them to be charlatans, he did have faith in the power and knowledge of a young fortune teller who had recently immigrated from eastern Europe. Buna was young, beautiful, and had come from a long line of true seers in the old world and, while she may have taken advantage of the occasional rube, her bloodline was tied to true mysticism, even magic. The Captain intended to use Buna’s power to open a line of communication with the other side, and with the knowledge he had gained over the years, he would break through the veil to find his daughters. He couldn’t have known that his plan, conceived in heartbroken love, would unleash an unimaginable and unending nightmare.
The table was set, Buna opened a line, the Captain reached into the Darkness… and the Darkness reached back.
Standing on the table between him and Buna, the Captain saw his sweet Abigail and Amelia looking down to him. For the briefest of moments, he swore he saw them smile. But the moment was fleeting, and its true magic was that it distracted the Captain’s heart long enough that his mind could not see what truly entered his home that day.
