It’s hard to beat graveyards, morgues, and mortuaries for “spooky.” Years ago when I was an undergraduate a friend and his wife were offered an apartment over a mortuary if they would perform cleaning chores and nighttime services like taking phone calls. Needing the financial help while attending college they took the job; but among their several duties there was having to turn off all the lights in the mortuary before ascending the stairs to the apartment for the night. Being the gentleman that he was (and his wife refusing), it fell to him to perform this task. There would usually be a body in one of the “slumber rooms” for viewing by relatives and friends of the deceased, and a floor lamp discreetly placed behind the open casket would be turned on for the benefit of such evening visitors. The doors of the mortuary were closed and locked by 9 p.m. which left my friend all alone to turn off the lights.

He once told me that one of the most difficult parts of his job was reaching over a dead body to turn off that last light and in the sudden resulting darkness keep from running as fast as he possibly could up the stairs to get into the apartment above and shut and lock the door. At that, it took his wife and him some “getting used to” sleeping over the caskets and dead bodies down below them. And, of course, there was the place where the embalmer (canoe maker) did his work, and the fellow would often engage my friend in detailed descriptions of his “art”

Whenever I would visit my friends at the mortuary, I always wanted to be shown the latest models of caskets. These ranged from the “black box,” of pine covered with such thin black fabric you could actually see the knotholes in the wood, hinges made of the cheapest sheet metal and the screw-heads holding the box together showing plainly. Mortuaries are usually required to handle bodies of the indigent, and the black box was made to the minimum requirements. Instead of a mattress, excelsior was used and the box was do shallow I did not doubt the lid would be resting upon the nose of the occupant. Opposed to the box were the top of the line models, some of them very costly.

On one of my visits the mortuary display room contained a marvelous rosewood casket priced at $3,000, and that was a great deal of money in the early 60’s. It looked so beautiful and comfortable that I asked my friend if I took off my shoes whether he would allow me to climb into the casket and see if it was as comfortable as it looked. He readily agreed, and quickly removing my shoes I got into the casket. As I maneuvered my body in the thing, it was indeed very comfortable but was a little too snug for my shoulders though I knew the legitimate, long-term occupant wasn’t likely to complain. Upon finding the most comfortable position in the casket, I folded my hands over my chest and closed my eyes, imagining being in this beautiful coffin for real. My friend suddenly said, “Stay right there while I go get my camera.” I did as he asked and the picture was taken. I wish I still had the color photo, but alas over the years since it somehow was lost.

We all have a fascination with death, knowing none of us will escape it. But there is no need to be morbid about the subject, and while I enjoy ghost stories I was never a fan of violent programs and films but rather the old black and white movies like Dracula, The Mummy, Wolfman, Frankenstein and the versions by Abbott and Costello though I do enjoy those by Brendan Fraser and Rachel Weisz.

While the old Apalatea house here that made #6 on This Old House list of most haunted sites in America, perhaps ghosts and spirits are found around Minter Field? I have many memories of that place having lived there following WWII when the base was open to returning veterans with families; and among my most indelible memories of the place is our coming across the Base Morgue. The following is an excerpt about the base from my novel “Donnie and Jean, an angel’s story.”

    Thinking of Minter Field brought back many memories, including something that was familiar about my feeling in this neighborhood. Minter Field had been very interesting in many ways. Ronnie and I had several other children our age with whom to play and we loved exploring the huge complex of the base. One especially wonderful discovery was a tall tower that had been used to train pilots in bailing out of disabled aircraft.    

    Mounted on the top of the tower was the cockpit section from the fuselage of a fighter. An apparatus with a parachute harness was swung over the cockpit. You could put on the harness and jump out just like you were bailing out of a real fighter. But I was the only one who tried it out. I don't know why the other kids were afraid of it because it was a real thrill.

    There were colorful and detailed posters of various aircraft in the flight tower and the base headquarters. One showed the field of fire for the guns of B-17s, Flying Fortresses. That was fascinating. It made me wonder how any enemy plane could get through such a withering field of fire? But I knew many had. The floor of the base headquarters had a huge American star, the emblem of Army Air Corps aircraft, inlaid in the linoleum and outlined with thin gold-colored metal strips. It was beautiful.

    We would inspect the numerous, now empty barracks on the field. It was interesting to see stainless steel mirrors in the bathrooms. Of great interest were the numerous posters of various kinds. Among the usual warnings like The Slip of a Lip Can Sink a Ship, one that held all us boys spellbound warned about venereal disease and the proper use of condoms. None of us had ever seen such material before. Especially not right out in the open like these posters. Most of us didn't know anything about a condom until then.

    Another thing that contributed to the excitement of living on the base was shooting jackrabbits, which were plentifully abundant around the abandoned airstrips. Many of the returned veterans had military rifles, some of which were Japanese and German souvenir weapons. Some nights, our step-dad would take me along when he and some of the other vets went shooting. For some reason, Ronnie didn't want to come along on these excursions. But regardless my experience with grandad’s .410 and .22, I was considered too young at the time to do any of the actual shooting with those high-powered rifles; but it was still exciting. The large bore guns really tore a jackrabbit apart.

    I particularly remember one very large old jack being cornered in a revetment. These semi-circular earthen-works dotting the field had been built in order to park and protect aircraft. Caught in the glare of the headlights of the cars, there must have been more than fifty of the rabbits. As the men began shooting at them, this one big jack came bounding out straight at us. One of the men swung his rifle by the barrel like a baseball bat and smacked him with the stock like he was hitting a home run. The old jack had gone sailing off in a spray of blood. I wondered why the man would risk splitting the stock of the rifle just to kill a jackrabbit? But guns and killing were in the blood, it seemed, of many of these men.

    I also remembered our coming across the site of a crashed trainer on one of these excursions. It had hit at about a 30-degree angle and buried itself in the earth clear up to the windscreen of the cockpit. I wondered at the time whether the pilot had been able to bail out before the crash? It was obvious no one could have survived such an impact. Had the pilot been an instructor with a cadet? If so, had they both gotten out okay?

    Once while exploring our surroundings, we had come upon a large building with a sign proclaiming it to be the Base Hospital. Ronnie and I, together with three other kids, got inside and began to wander throughout the building.

    Then we saw it; double glass doors with black lettering: Morgue.

    That one word held us all spellbound. A morgue! That was for dead bodies! Wow!

    One of the kids, I don't remember which, exclaimed, “Hey, I'm not about to go in there!”

    But the thought of going into such a place fascinated me. I'd only seen morgues in the movies. And here was a chance to see one for real! Ronnie was tugging on my sleeve and exclaiming, “Donnie, don't go! There might be a dead body left in there! We don't wanna go someplace where they put dead people!”

    But I had to see for myself. With the other kids hanging back, I pushed open the doors and entered the dread sanctum. There were a couple of long, metal trays mounted on wheeled frames like hospital gurneys. The trays were indented and had a hole about three inches in diameter in the middle of them. I guessed this hole was to drain the body fluids during an autopsy.

    Then I saw the lockers in one wall. They looked just like the ones I had seen in movies. I knew these had to be the cold storage units where they put the dead bodies. Ronnie and one other kid had finally screwed up their courage and joined me. Curiosity had gotten the better of them.

    I walked over to the wall with the lockers and opened one of the doors. Sure enough, there was a long, narrow metal tray in it. I pulled it out. Our imaginations were really working in high gear as we thought about the actual purpose of the thing and how many dead bodies may have occupied this particular tray and locker.

    Then a strange thought suddenly entered my mind. I wondered what it would be like to crawl on to that tray and have Ronnie push me into that long, dark recess and lock the door? What would it feel like to inhabit such a cold black place, a place of the dead? Several words kept coming to mind: Creepy! Spooky! Morbid! Macabre! But there was no denying the fascination of the idea.

    “Hey, Ronnie,” I found myself saying, “how about if I crawl up on the tray and you push me in?”

    “No way!” Ronnie nearly shouted.

I knew there was no use arguing. Neither Ronnie nor the other kid was about to cooperate in the experiment. Just looking into that deep, dark tunnel and thinking about its purpose was enough for them, I guess. We all got out of there. It was a real relief to leave that building, no matter its fascination, and get back into the sunshine. I wondered why I should suddenly be thinking about something so spooky now? What on earth had called it to mind?