Michele D.
Yelp
When I was a little girl, my father went away for a time to work on the Alaska Pipeline. He came back months later with a straggley mustache and a wild look in his eye. I understand now, me being isolated from every living being up here in the Northern wilds of Inwood, mere steps away from the subway, but oh so far away, conceptually, from downtown. What do I do, sitting wild eyed and clean shaven in my humble abode, where the winter wind whistles through the gaps in the window frame and the pre-war drywall births a new crack every day, threatening to cave in on me and my overpriced prefab BedStuy warehouse furniture? I browse the internets, Gentle Reader, and write nonsense on Yelp...I overuse commas and write run on sentences, I read old tales of my environs*, of Tubby Hook, of Dyckman Pier, of Indians and Dutchmen, of ghosts and madmen....
Inwood Park. Fairly inocuous, you say? But here, covered by time and dirt, resides some interesting history. You have heard tale of the prehistoric forest and Indian caves, I will now lead you up the old Bolton Road, which in present day roughly coincides with one of the paths through the park. Several houses and large homes once existed at the edges of Bolton Road, now since grown over, one of the most notable being the House of Rest for Consumptives. This was a home for the dreaded TB, the white plague that slowly drained, it whitened formerly ruddy faces, and so threatened the hale and hearty that they exiled the afflicted to this shady spot. Many delicate handkerchiefs were bloodied here, my friends, so tip your hat as you pass the fragile birch trees that house the spirits of these dear departed gentlefolk.
Slightly more northerly on Bolton Road stood the dark and imposing House of Mercy, fitted with barred windows. This rather forbidding exterior was even more forbidding inside, it was essentially a Victorian era dumping ground for unruly teens, philandering wives and other women who did not conform to the social norms of the time. Lock her up, Mr. Rochester, so you can have your little Jane Eyre! Mwahahaha! According to some old yellowed newspaper clippings, the conditions in this place were horrible, there was starvation both figurative and literal, the shaving of heads, and various punishments administered by sadistic nuns...ah I can still hear their screams now, carried by the western winds, and I hear in the distance the rattling of the bars, and their cries for revenge...
Later, through some sort of cosmic karma, or deliberate act, the entire place burned to the ground and only the foundation remains. Who is to say that the tormented souls of the long dead do not return here on a crisp winter night and voice their disapproval, wraiths who fly at intruders and scratch and bite, banshees that wail their sorrow and send a chill to the heart of man...dare ye visit this place? The map shows an approximate area in extension of 207th street that I think can be still be seen as a small U shaped mark on google satellite maps of the area.
As we flee in terror back down towards Dyckman, note the little row of houses across from the southeastern end of the park, one of which was the residence of Mrs. Houdini after the famed magician's death. The Houdini House looks not at all spooky or magical, but perhaps that is only illusion....behind the rather commonplace little door may lie a secret entrance to the underworld, or another dimension...something nasty and Lovecraftian, or gentle and kind witchery, depending on your taste and worldview. Or perhaps it is only a house after all, and the spirits prefer to fly through the sky above it. Look sharply now, for Mr. Houdini might fling a lock pick down on your head, or a tarot card, as he was a notorious showman in life and in the afterlife might be unable to resist putting a bit of a scare into a midnight passerby...
Do not go here at night alone, as the park is rather shady (seriously), as evidenced by numerous empty drug bags. Other nasties of present day have also happened in other parts of the park, so be aware. I much prefer the distant tales of woe, as they are slight and harmless melodrama, and would welcome any pictures of the old houses' foundation, or precise locations if you can find them...someone with a compass and an eye for old maps should be able to pinpoint the site...
* cudos to the webmaster at MyInwood.net, chock full of Inwood history