The Hidden Room at Ravenswood

Paige Kancz

Alright, team, let’s set the scene. So, last Wednesday at one in the morning—naturally, because these things never happen during business hours—I get this voicemail from Diana Whitmore. Real desperation in her voice. She says her daughter Lily’s talking to someone she calls ‘the lady in the walls,’ and last night Diana woke up to Lily standing at the end of the bed, whispering in a language Diana didn’t recognize. That’s just... parenthood at Ravenswood, apparently.

Noah Kancz

Yeah, and of course, being us, before we even pack a bag, I start digging through public records. You’d think a house that old, built in 1891 by Dr. Harold Crane, would have all sorts of drama—fires, murders, something—but there’s basically nothing. It’s like the place hit delete on its own past: built, sold a bunch of times, abandoned in ’62, just kinda... waiting. If there was ever a red flag for secret ghost history, it’s that, right?

Mitchell Kancz

No deaths, no scandals, no unsolved mysteries—on paper. The real danger, sometimes, is the stuff you can’t find. Look, houses don’t just end up empty for sixty years unless something’s pushing people out. Maybe not violence, but… something.

Ashten Kancz

And, I mean, I don’t know why, but this one got to me immediately. The second I saw the first photo of the house, it was like—grief, rage, and this gnawing hunger, all at once. Like it wanted me to see it. Not good for my blood pressure, but, uh, here we are. Great, now I’m haunted by Zillow listings. Anyway, I couldn’t shake it, and, unfortunately, y’all know I can’t say no to the rest of you dragging me into haunted houses... again.

Mitchell Kancz

So, we show up at Ravenswood. Picture perfect Victorian—if you like your mansions with ceilings that want to eat you alive and hallways that could host a marathon. There’s this... off feeling, even before you go inside, like the whole house is waiting. Watching us.

Paige Kancz

Diana’s leading the tour, Mark trailing behind making nervous mood music, and Lily’s just perched on the stairs like something from a gothic novel, white-knuckling that porcelain doll. Apparently, “the lady” gave it to her, which, you know, is always what you want your kid to say—right before moving into a new place.

Ashten Kancz

Honestly, Lily didn’t even look at me until I passed her, and then I heard this whisper—super soft, super not her voice. It said, “Finally. Someone who can hear.” And, uh, let’s just say, ten out of ten, did not enjoy. I might’ve tripped on the stairs right after. You’re welcome for the entertainment, team.

Noah Kancz

We set up our recorders and EMF meters and all that, because trauma is best experienced in morning-after static. And boom: 3:17 AM, on the dot, every single device catches footsteps. East wing to master bedroom, pause—thirty seconds, exactly—then back the way it came. Nothing on camera. Nobody on motion sensors. Just empty hallway and a lot of goosebumps. Classic.

Paige Kancz

So, I talk to Lily. She’s got this stare—it’s not fear, it’s... resignation? She calls her invisible friend a woman in a white dress, “sad eyes, red marks on her wrists.” The lady apparently knows where the old things are hidden, which rooms are wrong, all the stuff only someone who’s lived there—or, you know, died there—would know.

Mitchell Kancz

Noah’s going over the blueprints while I keep an eye out, and of course he’s muttering, “This doesn’t line up, this doesn’t make sense,” and—he’s right. There’s a room on those plans in the east wing that just... isn’t there. Or it’s hidden. Somebody went out of their way to make sure of it, and not with any of that lazy 1960s stuff. This was done fast and, I’m guessing, for a very good reason.

Ashten Kancz

Yeah, because I felt pulled there. Against my better judgment, I snuck down the hallway. There’s this one wall—cold, almost… breathing? I put my hand on it and, well, you know those jump cuts in horror movies where you get a screaming face, men in coats, a door slammed shut? That’s what I got. Then nothing but darkness and me realizing I’d probably left fingerprints on the wallpaper. Sorry, Diana.

Noah Kancz

I dug into Crane’s history, and, okay—trigger warning for anyone who thought this was just cold spots and flickering lights. This guy wasn’t a misunderstood genius; he ran a private asylum for “women’s hysteria”—which was basically anything men found inconvenient. His “treatments” were considered advanced for the time. Meaning: lock you up, never let you out, and experiment in the name of progress.

Paige Kancz

Town records back it up. At least seven women, all with money, all “troublesome.” Committed by fathers or husbands. They vanished inside Ravenswood. No death certificates, no headstones, no closure. Just gone. You don’t build that kind of silence by accident.

Paige Kancz

And then I find this photograph in the local historical society’s archive room—Crane in front of the manor, six women in white, faces wiped blank but for the wounds on their wrists. On the back, written in ink: “My patients. My purpose. My legacy.” Except for one woman, who’s staring right at the lens, and it’s pure, undiluted fury. She knew. She knew.

Mitchell Kancz

If you want to know who’s haunting your house? Start with the person who’d do anything not to be forgotten—especially by the people who put her there.

Mitchell Kancz

We decide to smash through the wall—don’t worry, we got Mark’s okay first, sort of. Inside, it’s like the place was cryogenically frozen: metal bed with restraints, old medical gear, journals. The kind of room you don’t come back from. The smell, by the way, was... yeah. Not great.

Noah Kancz

Journals are all signed “E.M.” She was committed for “excessive independence.” Refused to do wifely duties, whatever that means. Her husband wanted her out of the way, Crane wanted someone to break. He never did, though—I mean, according to the notes, she fought him every inch.

Ashten Kancz

While we’re photographing, it suddenly drops in temperature. Not just cold—like, standing-in-a-meat-locker cold. And then I see her. She’s just there in the corner, white dress ruined, arms torn up, eyes like—like burning holes in the world. She didn’t need to say it: “Get out. Or don’t. Either way, this ends with me.” I have never wanted to run more, but, you know, team loyalty and all. Go Kancz family trauma!

Paige Kancz

The haunting changed after that. No more gentle hints. Now it’s scratches on Diana’s back—words like LIAR, THIEF, MINE—objects thrown instead of shuffled. Mark is still trying to rationalize it, but even he can’t explain the scratches in places Diana just physically can’t reach.

Ashten Kancz

And Lily... Lily’s stopped eating. Says she doesn’t need food anymore, because the lady told her so. Paige tries to talk to her again, and Lily answers—but it’s not Lily’s voice. It’s older, controlled. She says, “You opened my room. You saw what he did. And you’re still here. Why?” Have I mentioned I’d like a normal vacation someday?

Mitchell Kancz

I’m still the rational guy, or I thought I was, until I saw Lily levitate. I’m not talking a little. She floated more than half a foot over her mattress, eyes rolled back, mouth moving with these guttural words that made no sense. Pulled her down, held her until she stopped shaking. When she woke up, she just blinked and hugged her doll. But I’m not the same after that, and I don’t think I ever will be.

Noah Kancz

Found her. E.M. is Eleanor Marsh—maiden name Blackwood. She was only twenty-four when she tried to divorce her husband, Theodore Marsh, for abuse and to claim her inheritance. He had her declared insane so she couldn’t testify against him in fraud court. Then paid Crane a lot to make her “disappear.” And she did. No record of her leaving Ravenswood. Ever.

Ashten Kancz

Eleanor wasn’t just a victim, though. She fought for women’s rights, wrote articles, made noise. That was dangerous back then, and apparently, still is when you’re a ghost. Nobody looked for her grave because nobody believed she even existed long enough to die. But she and the others? They’re out in the woods behind the house. We found their marker stones, bare, but there all along. History erased them. Until now.

Ashten Kancz

This is where I, uh, get to be the thing that goes bump in the night. I started losing time. Wake up somewhere I don’t remember, hands covered in chalk, walls scrawled with symbols I didn’t write. It wasn’t me. It was Eleanor. She was surfacing, using me—my body, my voice. When I’m me, I want to cry or run. When it’s her… everything’s cold and furious and sharp, like a knife pressed under your ribs.

Noah Kancz

Eleanor made her message clear. She wants her life acknowledged. She wants what happened to her and the others outed, not swept away like dust. And she wants the Whitmores gone, because, well, it’s still her house. That’s what she keeps drilling into Ashton. It always has been hers.

Paige Kancz

But she’s not just haunting—she’s looking for company. Lily’s the same age Eleanor was when she started pushing against all those rules about how girls are supposed to act. Eleanor doesn’t want to hurt Lily—she wants to keep her. That’s so much worse, isn’t it?

Mitchell Kancz

Once Eleanor started using Ashton, it was like she sent out an invitation. Suddenly it wasn’t just her—other spirits started surfacing. Clara, committed after postpartum depression. Margaret, locked up for reading the ‘wrong’ books. Helen, refused to marry. Sarah, loved another woman. Crimes against society, apparently. Lawful cruelty.

Noah Kancz

We were running out of time. I reached out to the local historians, journalists, anyone who’d listen. Paige started uploading our evidence, and Mitchell worked out how to manage the danger while we did it. Transparency was our only shot, but—

Paige Kancz

Eleanor did not trust us. She’d been betrayed too often. When I tried to explain, through Ashton, she gave me a vision. Of everything Crane did. I’ll spare you the details, just… I will never, ever say ghosts aren’t real again. I was physically sick afterward. It changes you, you know? Seeing what really happened.

Mitchell Kancz

That’s when Mark lost it—told us to leave, blamed us for making things worse. Diana drew a line in the sand. She knew it wasn’t us putting Lily at risk, it was whatever they disturbed in the house. The family just... splits down the middle. And Eleanor? She’s almost satisfied by it. Misery loves company, I guess.

Ashten Kancz

I finally get one clear minute—just one—and warn everyone: Eleanor isn’t evil, she’s just been dead so long she’s forgotten what mercy feels like. If we don’t give her justice, she’ll take what she wants: Lily. We have three days until the possession is permanent.

Noah Kancz

Which left us with two choices, neither good. Force Eleanor out—maybe destroy her completely, which just repeats the crime of erasure. Or trust she’d let go if we gave her the truth and some kind of, I dunno, peace? If that’s even possible. I didn’t want to be the guy who plays god, but there’s no right answer here.

Paige Kancz

We argued, a lot. But the one thing that stuck: erasing her again felt worse than risking ourselves. Maybe ghosts aren’t the only things left behind by bad choices.

Noah Kancz

I called in every marker, every favor. Got a journalist who actually cares about injustice. We turned our files over—left out the ghost stuff, obviously, but gave her the hard facts: Eleanor, the other women, Crane’s torture, the bricked-up lies. The article exploded online. Suddenly, family members were coming forward—stories they’d never spoken aloud, but always wondered about. The local historical society found Crane’s real records, hidden for decades. Now the county’s finally starting to exhume and try to identify the bodies.

Ashten Kancz

When the article went live, I felt Eleanor inside me. Not angry for once—almost… awed? Like, for a second, she could maybe rest. But not enough. She looked at Lily and she still wanted a second chance at life, through her. I could feel her weighing it, and it scared me more than anything else had in that house.

Paige Kancz

This is where I get reckless. I offered myself instead of Ashton—told Eleanor, “Take me, talk through me, but leave Lily alone.” She took the bait. For ten minutes she used my mouth, my voice. She talked about her life, what Crane did, how she screamed until she didn’t know her own name anymore. Nothing left but the need to be heard and never forgotten.

Mitchell Kancz

It... it got heavy. When she started talking about wanting to protect Lily, not destroy her, about how she couldn’t stand to watch another girl crushed by the world, something just... snapped for me. I told her about my sister—how she was locked up in the ’90s, different generation, same cruelty. Mental illness, not disobedience, but still punished for being different. That’s when Eleanor finally listened. She looked at me, really looked, and I think, for the first time, she considered letting go.

Noah Kancz

Our compromise: a memorial, a proper ritual acknowledging all seven women. If Eleanor released Lily, we’d tell their stories for real. She agreed, but only if the Whitmores actually witnessed it—no more looking away.

Paige Kancz

We gathered in the hidden room. Diana and Lily by the bed, Mark standing like his shoes are glued down. Noah reads their names, I tell their histories, Mitchell keeps watch for, you know, poltergeists. Ashton’s just… open, like a human antenna. One by one, the spirits show up. Not to threaten, but to be mourned. For once, someone sees them for more than just ghosts.

Ashten Kancz

It was... it’s hard to explain. The air felt electric, and then peaceful, almost warm. Clara, Margaret, Helen, Sarah—the others whose names time erased. They just stood around Eleanor, finally witnessed. Finally, finally not alone.

Paige Kancz

Eleanor comes last. She doesn’t look angry anymore—she looks young. She kneels in front of Lily and, I swear, the whole world just… stops to listen. “Be loud. Be difficult. Be everything they tell you not to be. Promise me.” And Lily—Lily nods, like she understood all of it.

Ashten Kancz

Eleanor turns to me. Two words: “Thank you.” And that’s it—she’s gone. The others vanish with her. Suddenly, the room feels warm, the house even... safe? But before we leave, we find Eleanor’s journal. It wasn’t there before. The last words make me lose it: “If anyone finds this, know that I existed. Know that I fought. Know that I never stopped believing someone would come.” I mean, we came—just a century late.

Mitchell Kancz

Whitmore family’s staying. Diana says they’re converting the hidden room into a memorial for Eleanor and the others. Nobody’s brushing the past under the rug again.

Noah Kancz

Lily’s normal now—ish. She doesn’t remember being possessed, but she remembers Eleanor’s words. She’s writing stories about women who refuse to be erased. Her mom says she has no idea where the inspiration’s coming from, but I think we all know.

Paige Kancz

We drive away, another investigation in the vault. I’m saying into the recorder, “Case notes for Ravenswood, end of file,” but Ashton is just watching the rearview, real silent. Sometimes haunting sticks to you. Sometimes it lets you go. This one... did both. Anyone else ready for a boring case in a motel six?

Ashten Kancz

If it ever happens, let me know. I’ll be the one outside, not going in. But… thanks, all of you. For not letting them stay forgotten.

Mitchell Kancz

Alright, file this one under closure, sort of. Paige, Noah, Ashton—good work, even if I still don’t want to believe in poltergeists.

Noah Kancz

Yeah, and next time, if the walls start whispering, can we agree, like, pizza instead of exorcism?

Paige Kancz

We’ll be back soon, folks, probably too soon. Until next haunting—thanks for listening to the Frightengale Files. Goodnight, everyone.

Ashten Kancz

Night, guys.

Noah Kancz

Bye all.

Mitchell Kancz

See you next time.