Randolph County Asylum

A four-story, 58,000-square-foot asylum completed in 1899 as a county poor house. Approximately 500 people died here over the decades from age, disease, suicide, and murder. Now operates as a paranormal attraction with overnight investigations.

The Randolph County Asylum stands at 1882 US 27 South in Winchester, Indiana, a massive four-story brick building that has witnessed over 170 years of human suffering, death, and alleged supernatural activity. The first asylum on this site was built in 1851 -- a modest wooden structure on a 350-acre farm that housed nineteen people, many of whom were mentally or physically disabled, elderly, or simply destitute. In 1854, residents accidentally burned the building to the ground, and it was quickly rebuilt. A brick replacement was erected in 1855-1856. The current structure, a 50,000-square-foot building featuring six tenant wards, laundry and kitchen facilities, and separate dining rooms for men and women, was completed in late December 1899, built partially on the foundation of the original wooden asylum.

From 1899 to 2006 when the facility finally closed, approximately 1,487 people called this place home. Over those years, roughly 200 people died at the asylum from a variety of causes including old age, disease, suicide, and murder. Tuberculosis outbreaks in the late 1800s and early 1900s claimed many lives, and the facility's role as a catch-all institution for society's most vulnerable -- the poor, the mentally ill, the physically disabled, the elderly with no family -- meant that death was a constant presence. The building was converted to the Countryside Care Center in 1994 with just twelve residents, and by the time the facility closed in 2008-2009, only five residents remained.

In 2016, the property was purchased and converted into a paranormal attraction, and the ghosts that had been whispered about for decades were given a public stage. The paranormal activity reported at the Randolph County Asylum is extensive and has been documented by investigation teams, media crews, and thousands of visitors.

The most prominent identified spirit is Doris, a kitchen worker from the early to mid-1900s who was also a former resident of the asylum. Her bedroom, which has been preserved, contains a collection of porcelain dolls that reportedly move due to unseen forces -- repositioning themselves when no one is watching. Objects in the kitchen where she worked also exhibit unexplained movement, as though Doris continues to perform her daily tasks from beyond the grave.

A second identified entity is the Judge, a former magistrate who allegedly held hearings in the building's attic to determine who would be committed to the asylum and under what terms. His gruff, angry voice has reportedly been captured on audio recordings by past investigators, and the attic remains one of the building's most intensely active areas. A child's tricycle stored in the attic is known to roll around the floor on its own, apparently toyed with by the child spirits that are known to linger throughout the building.

Additional paranormal phenomena pervade the entire structure. Slamming doors are heard constantly, particularly near the holding cell. Disembodied footsteps echo on the first and second floors. Children's voices, laughter, and screams ring through the corridors. Full apparitions and shape-shifting shadow figures have been reported by both staff and visitors. EVP recordings have captured unexplained voices throughout the building, and objects move without explanation in multiple rooms.

The asylum's reputation has attracted national media attention. It was featured on Paranormal Lockdown on Destination America and Destination Fear on the Travel Channel, with both shows documenting significant activity during their investigations. Today, the Randolph County Asylum hosts private investigations, public ghost hunts, large-scale paranormal events, and film shoots almost every weekend. Tourists and ghost hunters from across the United States travel to Winchester to spend the night in a building where two centuries of human misery have left a mark that, by all accounts, refuses to fade.