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What Really Happened at Alcatraz? History, Hauntings And More! · Mystery Archives Episodes

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Beneath the cold blue waters of San Francisco Bay lies a jagged
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sliver of land that has defied time, tides and reason.
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Alcatraz Island, once a military fortress in the most feared
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prison in America, is now a decaying ruin, steeped in
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legends far darker than any official record would dare
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suggest. Tourists come for the history,
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for the whispers of Al Capone in daring escape attempts, but many
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leave haunted by something far less tangible, A presence they
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cannot explain, an echo they cannot shake.
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From the very beginning, Alcatraz was considered cursed
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ground. The native Ilani people who once
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fished these waters believed the island was inhabited by evil
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spirits. To them, Alcatraz was a place of
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exile, A grim purgatory where the unwanted and dangerous were
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castaway. As centuries passed and empires
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rose and fell, the rocks reputation only grew darker.
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Every wall, every corridor, every solitary cell bears the
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psychic imprint of pain, violence and despair.
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What follows is the chronicle of Alcatraz, not only its visible,
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documented history, but also the invisible undercurrent of dread
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that has shaped its legend. This is the story of Alcatraz's
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ghosts, seen and unseen, and the many lives they continue to
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touch. Long before European sails
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creased to the horizon of San Francisco Bay, Alcatraz was
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already an island whispered about in fear For the Ailani
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people, it was not land to be cultivated or cherished.
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It was a place to be avoided, A forsaken outpost where the
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natural and the supernatural blurred.
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They called it the island of the evil spirits.
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In the dead of night, fishermen claimed they heard weeping
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carried on the wind, low and mournful, as if the sea itself
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were grieving. Sometimes strange lights, blue
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and green orbs, would shimmer along the jagged cliffs, dancing
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before vanishing into the fog. Elders spoke of spirits trapped
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on the island, betrayed lovers, warriors consumed by vengeance,
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and creatures that preyed on those foolish enough to
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trespass. In the year 1775, the Spanish
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explorer Juan Manuel D Ayala steered his ship into the Bay.
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The sky was low, the water churning with strange currents.
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His crew, hardened and skeptical, grew uneasy as the
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island came into view. When they anchored offshore, the
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birds that inhabited the rock took flight in a massive
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shrieking swarm, as if the island itself were exhaling
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something foul. Captain D Ayala in his journal,
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described the landmass as a Gray and broken Fang amidst the sea.
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He did not go ashore. Instead, he named it the Island
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of the Pelicans and sailed on. Decades passed, and the island
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remained largely untouched but not forgotten.
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During storms, sailors swore the fog around Alcatraz moved
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against the wind, curling in upon itself like a living thing.
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Some nights, entire ships altered coarse to avoid it,
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their crews sighting headaches, nosebleeds or overwhelming dread
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when they drew too near. In 1850, the United States
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military claimed Alcatraz. Unaware, or perhaps unbothered
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by its dark reputation, a detachment of engineers arrived
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to begin fortifying the island. Among them was a man named Elias
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Granger, a stone Mason from Virginia.
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With hands as tough as the rocks he carved.
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Ranger kept a private diary found decades later in the
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belongings of his descendants and one entry dated November
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3rd, 1852, he wrote, There is a wind here that speaks, and it
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does not speak kindly. At dusk, while carving out the
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barracks wall, I felt watched, closer than watched.
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I heard footsteps crunching gravel behind me, yet when I
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turned, no one was there. I saw movement in the far fog,
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something tall swaying wrong in shape.
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Even the dogs will not stay long, they whimper and scratch
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to leave. And at night I do not sleep.
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By 1854, a lighthouse had been erected, the first on the West
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Coast, but even its warm glow did little to ease the island's
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temperament. The keepers rotated frequently,
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sighting unease, sleeplessness and the constant sensation of
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being observed. In the first winter storm after
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its construction, the light went dark for several hours despite
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being fully operational. When the keeper was found, he
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was locked inside the tower, unconscious, with blood crusted
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beneath his nose and his hands clawing at the stone floor.
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Stories began to grow. Soldiers posted at the Fort
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reportedly heard cannon fire. When no drills were scheduled.
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Shadows moved across the parade grounds at night, shadows cast
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by nothing. One young Lieutenant fired his
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musket at a figure outside the barracks door.
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When the officers rushed out, they found the man trembling,
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pale, insisting he had seen someone in an old Spanish
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military uniform standing motionless in the rain.
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The legend of Alcatraz was evolving.
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The island was now more than a geological oddity.
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It had become a container, a cage, not just for prisoners,
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but for something older, something spectral.
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And it had only just begun. By the 1850's, the winds of war
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were already sweeping across the United States, and Alcatraz was
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no longer just a cursed rock in the Bay.
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To the military strategists of Washington, it was prime real
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estate, an impenetrable vantage point from which to defend the
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growing city of San Francisco. The island's reputation among
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local tribes and odd reports from early military crews were
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dismissed as superstition. The War Department saw only
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stone elevation and strategic value.
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But the men sent to transform Alcatraz into a fortress soon
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learned the land did not yield easily.
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The Army Corps of Engineers arrived in 1853 to begin
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fortification. They brought dynamite, steel and
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a confidence that only hubris could fuel.
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They blasted through layers of rock, constructing a series of
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stone parapets and tunnels that honeycombed the island's
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underbelly. Deep magazines were carved into
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the hills, hard to store powder and shot case mates were built
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for cannons that would never fire in battle.
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Alcatraz became a gun platform, armed, angular and silent.
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And beneath the surface, something shifted.
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Corporal Henry Wade kept a log book during this time as an
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assistant engineer. An analytical man from
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Pennsylvania, Wayne had a head for numbers and a complete
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disinterest and superstition. But after weeks on the island,
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his entries took a curious turn. October 4th, 1855, Compass
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malfunctioned again near the South Battery.
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This is the third time this week we recalibrated, but the needle
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spun wildly. Engineer Lyell suggests
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magnetized ore beneath the surface seems plausible.
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October 7th Night Watch reported whispering beneath the
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foundation, no one present but the echo of tools on stone.
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I investigated and heard nothing, but it was unusually
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cold and my Lantern flickered. October 11th, Strange noises in
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the powder room, like breathing. Thought it was wind but the
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doors were sealed. No one else heard it but me.
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I'm sleeping poorly. Several soldiers began
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requesting reassignment. 1 Lieutenant reportedly refused to
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sleep indoors, choosing instead to set up camp beneath A
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tarpaulin near the artillery yard.
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When questioned, he simply replied they walk the halls
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after midnight. He was shipped back to Fort
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Point for psychological evaluation.
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During this time, several prisoners were held on the
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island, Confederate sympathizers, military
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deserters, and insubordinate officers.
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They were chained in the subterranean cells beneath the
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West End of the island, a section that soon earned a new
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name among the troops, the Dry Tombs.
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One guard, Private Julius Grant, was placed on night duty near
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the entrance to the old lower corridor.
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Grant was known as reliable and solid.
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A former blacksmith from Saint Louis, he was also a skeptic.
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When others spoke of cold spots and shadowy figures, he laughed.
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Until one night in 1861, he was found at dawn, sitting upright
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against the wall near the lower battery, his rifle at his side,
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his eyes open and unblinking. He wouldn't speak.
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When the medics arrived, they discovered his hands had been
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frozen stiff. There had been no weather drop,
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no storm. His skin was blue from the
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fingertips up. Grant was removed from the
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island. Days later, he finally spoke,
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muttering a single phrase. Again and again.
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They marched right past me, but they weren't men.
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They weren't men. He died three months later in an
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asylum in Stockton, still repeating that very same line.
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Lieutenant Charles Redford, an engineer overseeing the
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lighthouse renovation in 1868, kept a Lantern with him at all
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times during the winter months. The old light tower, first lit
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in 1854, had developed structural issues due to salt
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corrosion and tremors. Redford made it his personal
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duty to supervise nightly inspections. 1 evening as he
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descended the towers winding stairs, his Lantern
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extinguished, he relitted gust of air, sharp and sour, blew
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upward from the bottom of the stairs and put it out again.
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He thought he heard footsteps coming up, boots on metal.
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He called out, thinking a soldier had come to meet him,
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but there was no reply. The steps stopped below, then
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silence. When he reached the ground
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floor, the door was locked from the inside and he was alone.
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The next morning, the lighthouse keeper swore he hadn't left the
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main house all night. No one had.
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And yet Redford's journal contains a final line written
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that night. I saw a man on the stairs, but
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his head was gone. By 1870, a permanent Garrison of
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soldiers had been stationed in the newly built barracks atop
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the island. The structure was wooden, warm,
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and considered a relief from the brutal cold of the subterranean
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cells. But strange occurrences didn't
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stop on the first floor of the barracks, an entire wing was
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once evacuated after a fire broke out in an empty room.
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It burned hot and fast, yet nothing flammable was ever
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found. The walls were scorched, but
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there were no embers, no matches and no fuel.
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Several men claimed to have heard a voice calling out from
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inside before the flames erupted.
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A low, gravelly voice saying This is not your home.
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Chaplain Daniel Mortimer, brought in from the Presidio,
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attempted A cleansing. Though not officially
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sanctioned, his journal described the island as
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spiritually hostile. He wrote of a watching presence
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and claimed to have seen faces pressed against the windows of
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the empty stockade building, faces that vanished like mist
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when approached. His journal was never published
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and he died in 1875 under mysterious circumstances, having
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thrown himself into the Bay from the edge of the Officers Club.
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His final note was found nailed to his door.
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You cannot bless, but does not wish to be healed.
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Despite the whispers, the island was fortified further.
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More batteries, more soldiers. The South side bristled with
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mortars, but something deeper had taken root.
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A silent acknowledgement among those stationed there that
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Alcatraz was different. New soldiers arrived with their
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chests puffed out, only to become pale and silent within
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weeks. Few re enlisted.
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Those who stayed developed rituals, knocking 3 times before
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entering the Armory, leaving bread at the foot of the cannon
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near the northwest Cliff, and whistling and walking the
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eastern tunnels to keep the others away.
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No official record kept track of these superstitions, but they
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were passed down orally from soldier to soldier.
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A young drummer boy named Elias, just thirteen years old,
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reportedly disappeared in 1872. There, last seen near the
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storage sheds, he had gone to retrieve a powder charge.
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His footsteps LED into the fog, and none returned.
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For weeks after, his soft drumming was heard in the early
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hours, echoing across the parade ground.
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One final story from this era lingered long after the fortress
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transitioned into a prison. During a thunderstorm in 1878,
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lightning struck the SE parapet, collapsing part of the wall and
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exposing a small chamber that hadn't appeared on any
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blueprints. Inside, soldiers found bones,
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human child sized alongside them.
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Carved into the stone was a primitive glyph resembling a son
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with an eye at its center. No record was made in the
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official army Ledger, but one of the engineers, a man named
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Samuel Thorne, sketched the glyph in his journal and noted.
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I do not believe we are the first to bury our dead here.
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Something was here before. Something watches.
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The chamber was sealed within days.
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Alcatraz, the fortress was considered a success and never
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fired a shot in anger, but the men stationed there left with
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more scars than metals. The guns stood silent, but the
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island did not. And even as it prepared to
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transform once more into the most feared prison in America,
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the spirits beneath the rock remained waiting.
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The year was 1934. The country, weary from the
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Great Depression, looked to its government for strength, for
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control, for punishment of those who flouted the law during its
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darkest years. Alcatraz, long dormant and
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crumbling on its rocky perch in the Bay, was about to awaken
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again, Not as a Fort or military stockade, but as a symbol of
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absolute incarceration, a final stop for the men who had
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outlasted every other prison. the US Department of Justice
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took control of the island, reinforcing its structures with
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reinforced concrete and installing new steel bars, gun
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galleries, guard towers, electric locking systems and a
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sense of cold, permanent order. They gave it a new name, the
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United States Penitentiary Alcatraz, But the island didn't
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forget what it had once been, and it didn't take kindly to
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being disturbed again. The 1st prisoners arrived in
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August, 136 men in total, their heads shaved, hands cuffed, eyes
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lowered, among them murderers, racketeers, escape artists and
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madmen. One man walked with his chin
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held high, and his name was Alphonse Capone.
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Capone had ruled Chicago with blood and gold, but on Alcatraz
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he was stripped of everything. The warden, James A Johnston,
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made no exceptions. There were no bribes here, no
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connections, no special treatment.
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Capone was assigned inmate number AZ 85 and placed in cell
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B181. At first, he seemed unbothered.
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He kept his composure, walked the yard, played checkers.
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But after only weeks, his behavior changed.
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He stopped sleeping. He began requesting to be kept
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in isolation. He whispered to the guards about
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a man named Jimmy. At first they ignored it.
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Everyone in Alcatraz talked to ghosts eventually, but Capone
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was insistent. Jimmy, he said, came at night.
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Jimmy stood at the foot of his bed.
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Jimmy called his name from the hallway, and Jimmy wanted
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revenge. The guards laughed until Capone
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began screaming in the middle of the night, screamed so loud they
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echoed through three blocks and startled the night shift into
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drawing their weapons. When they opened his cell, he
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was alone, drenched in sweat, pointing to the far corner.
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There, he cried. He's right there.
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Don't you see him? There was nothing.
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Capone's health deteriorated quickly.
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He stopped eating. He stopped speaking to other
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inmates. He begged to be allowed to spend
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time in the shower room with his banjo, the one privilege he had
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been granted through exemplary behavior.
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He sat for hours on the cold tile floor, strumming the same
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slow tune. The sound echoed through the
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corridors, A ghostly metronome counting the days of his sanity.
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Some inmates swore they saw him conversing with someone in the
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empty room. One janitor claimed to have seen
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a shadowy figure standing behind Capone, watching over him as he
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played. Others reported hearing
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whispered conversations in Capone's voice, though he was
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alone. The voices would stop the moment
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that someone else entered. Guards grew nervous.
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Capone was moved temporarily to the prison hospital.
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By then, he'd begun to degrade completely, picking at invisible
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threads, mumbling to himself, flinching at corners.
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The doctors attributed it to neurosyphilis, a slow rod of the
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brain. But the men who'd served with
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Capone and other prisons had never seen him afraid.
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Not like this. He's not afraid of dying, one
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guard said. He's afraid of what's waiting
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for him when he does. Al Capone left Alcatraz in 1939,
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transferred to another facility due to failing health.
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He died in 1947, but his banjo didn't leave.
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Years later, in the 1950s, a new inmate named William Red Jensen
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was housed in the cell B180, directly next to Capone's old
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cell. On his first night, he reported
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hearing music. Soft, low, rhythmic plucking.
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He asked the guard who was playing.
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No one. The guard said the music had
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returned. Others heard it too.
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Always at night, always when the lights were out.
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It drifted down the hall like a lullaby for the damned.
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To this day, visitors to Cell Block B have claimed to hear
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faint music, a banjo in the dark.
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Some say it's an echo of a memory, and others say a Capone
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never really left. Over time, the inmates had
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developed their own survival tactics, not for the guards, but
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for the island itself. You never whistled in the
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showers, never looked directly into the mirror in the mess hall
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after dark. Never call out to someone unless
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you can see their face, and never, under any circumstance,
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enter D Block alone. D Block was a place even the
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most violent inmates feared. It stood apart from the rest of
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the prison, not just physically, but atmospherically.
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The air in D Block was different, colder, thicker.
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Time felt slower there, as if something unseen held its breath
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the moment you cross the threshold.
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There were 42 cells in total. Of these, six were considered
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punishment cells, Dark, stripped down chambers at the very end of
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the corridor. Guards called them strip cells.
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Inmates called them the whole. To the uninitiated, the whole
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sounds like solitary confinement, but it was worse.
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Much worse. The six cells were bare.
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No light, no sink, and no beds. Just a toilet hole in the ground
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and four concrete walls. Most had steel doors instead of
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bars, cutting off every trace of light and sound.
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Some cells had no mattress, no clothing, nothing but a man in
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the dark. 1 cell in particular gained A reputation all on its
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own. Guards called it sensory death.
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It was in cell 14D that the strangest incident occurred.
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An inmate, his name redacted in records, was placed in the hole
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after stabbing another man with a makeshift Shiv.
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He was deemed unstable. He screamed from the moment the
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door closed, but it wasn't pleading.
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He was mourning them. He's in here with me, he
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shouted. He locked me in with him.
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He's watching me. The guards ignored him.
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They were used to theatrics, used to lies.
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But the screaming didn't stop. It continued all throughout the
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night, intermittent, desperate and raw.
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And around 3:00 AM, it suddenly fell silent.
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By morning, the man was dead. His body was curled up against
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the wall, His eyes were open, his face was frozen and a look
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of terror so profound that even the seasoned guards hesitated
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before entering. There were deep bruises on his
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neck, as if he had been strangled, but his hands were
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united and the cell had been locked from the outside.
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Some claimed he took his own life, and others weren't so
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sure. The autopsy was inconclusive.
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The guards didn't talk about it, but one man, a night officer
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named Reynolds, later told a new recruit that there was someone
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else in that cell. We all felt it.
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It got him before we could. The guards stopped mentioning
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it. The warden issued a warning to
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keep superstitions quiet, but word got around and no one
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wanted to sleep in 14 D anymore. In 1951, a 19 year old named
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Ellis Candler arrived at Alcatraz.
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He'd been transferred from McNeil Island for stabbing A
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fellow inmate with a filed down spoon.
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Ellis was cocky, slim, fast talking and sharp eyed.
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He claimed he didn't fear Alcatraz.
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He told the guards he'd take any punishment that they could dish
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out. He mocked them.
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They placed him in 14 D for seven days.
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He laughed as they locked the door.
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By the second night, he was silent.
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By the third he was screaming. The guards claimed he began
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begging to be moved, said that there was something in the cell
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with him. He wouldn't say what, however,
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only that it crouched in the corner, watching and whispering.
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On the 5th day, his cell door was opened early.
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Candler lay curled in the fetal position, rocking.
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His eyes were wide, staring at the far wall, mouth open but
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silent. When he was pulled out, his
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hands were shaking and his fingernails were torn.
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Later, in the Infirmary, he finally spoke.
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There were two of us, he said, but I was the only one
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breathing. Candler survived the whole, but
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he never truly recovered. He stopped speaking altogether a
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few months later. They transferred him to a
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federal psychiatric facility, and he died in 1962.
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The cause of death was officially listed as
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self-inflicted wounds, but the nurse on duty that night swore
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that Candler bled out, clutching something in his hand.
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When she pried his fingers open, there was nothing there.
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Alcatraz was no stranger to violence.
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In the spring of 1946, the Rock trembled again, not with
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earthquakes or storms, but with gunfire, smoke and death.
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May 2nd, 1946 at precisely 1:30 PM, Bernard Coy, a lean, sharp
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eyed inmate serving a life sentence for bank robbery,
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sprang into action. For months, Coy had studied the
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routines of the guards, the layout of the cell blocks, and
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the vulnerabilities of the gun galleries.
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He had noticed everything, and he wasn't alone.
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With him were Marvin Hubbard, Joseph Kretzer, Clarence Carnes,
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Sam Shockley, and Myron Thompson.
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Each man had nothing to lose, and their desperation would
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spark one of the bloodiest confrontations in Alcatraz's
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history. But began as a carefully timed
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ambush in the C Block Gun Gallery quickly exploded into
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full blown warfare. Coy had smuggled A makeshift bar
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spreader into the hallway, forced open the gallery's
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protective bars, and overpowered the lone officer on duty.
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Within moments the inmates were armed with a rifle, pistol and
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gas grenades. They took 9 guards hostage, but
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their plan hit a fatal flaw. The yard door which they needed
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to escape was jammed shut. The key retrieved from a hostage
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was useless. Koi tried again and again,
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jamming the lock further. Minutes turned into hours, and
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hope turned to rage and rage turned to blood.
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The prisoners retreated into the utility corridor, a dim, lit
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tunnel that snaked between the cell blocks and the recreation
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yard space. Few men ever walked without
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supervision there, Cornered and determined not to surrender,
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they took cover the next 48 hours.
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Alcatraz indeed became a war zone.
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The island was sealed. The Marines were called in and
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explosives were used. Grenades were tossed.
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Gunfire ricocheted through steel and stone, shaking the very
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foundation of the prison itself. Smoke filled the corridors,
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walls cracked and blood soaked the concrete.
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When the dust settled, 2 guards lay dead.
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William Miller and Harold Stites, 3 inmates Coy Hubbard
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and Kretzer, were also killed in the assault, their bodies left
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sprawled in the corridor like broken dolls.
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The others were captured. Thompson and Shockley were later
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executed as San Quentin. Carnes, just 19, was spared due
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to his age. The utility corridor was then
32:15
sealed shut. But it didn't stay silent.
32:20
It began with footsteps. The first to report them was a
32:24
guard in 1947. He was doing rounds in the early
32:28
morning hours. When he passed the welded door
32:31
to the corridor, he paused. Someone was walking on the other
32:36
side, heavy boots, one step at a time.
32:41
He radioed for backup, but no one had access to that corridor.
32:45
The second guard heard the same thing a week later.
32:49
The third time the steps stopped and then there came a knock. 3
32:55
slow, deliberate knocks on the steel door.
32:59
When it was finally opened, the corridor was empty.
33:03
They found no prints, no movement, just a chill that hung
33:08
in the air. By the 1950's, the utility
33:12
corridor had become legend. No inmate knew exactly what had
33:16
happened behind that door, but the whispers grew.
33:20
They said Coy could still be heard whispering his plans, that
33:24
Hubbard's boots echoed forever pacing his cage, that Kretzer
33:29
never stopped firing. One former inmate years later,
33:34
said that every time he walked near the corridor entrance, his
33:38
left hand tingled, the same hand that held a weapon during a past
33:43
escape attempt. He never tried to break out
33:45
again. The guards called it the Hot
33:48
Tunnel. Even the toughest refused to
33:51
pass through it at night. Some said the air smelt burned
33:55
like scorched flesh. Others reported hearing gas
33:59
grenades hissing from nowhere. And one Sergeant claimed to have
34:03
seen a flickering figure dressed in prison denim, his face a ruin
34:08
of bullet wounds, walk through the solid wall and vanish into
34:13
the corridor. He filed no report.
34:17
He then took the opportunity to transfer off the island.
34:20
A month later, after Alcatraz was open to the public, Ranger
34:26
James Lauer volunteered to document unexplained
34:29
experiences. He wasn't a believer until the
34:33
corridor changed his mind. He brought 2 new Rangers into
34:37
the prison for a routine night walk.
34:40
They paused at the sealed utility door.
34:43
He was telling the story of the 1946 battle when a faint tapping
34:48
came from behind the steel. They laughed and the tapping
34:53
grew louder into 3 knocks, then silence, then a slow dragging
35:00
sound as if something heavy was being pulled across the floor.
35:05
One of the new Rangers vomited on the spot.
35:09
When they reported it to their supervisor, they were told don't
35:13
worry about the corridor, it's always been loud.
35:17
The aftermath of the corridor events in time wouldn't be the
35:21
last time that inmates tried to escape, however.
35:25
On June 11th, 1962, arguably the most infamous escape attempt
35:31
began at 9:30 at night. The prison was unusually still.
35:37
Most of the inmates in B Block had already turned in for the
35:40
night, their bodies curled on thin mattresses, their minds
35:45
drifting through the drudgery of another day.
35:49
But three cells, AZ 144147 and 150, were not at rest.
35:58
Inside those narrow, claustrophobic spaces, something
36:02
was stirring. Frank Morris, with his high IQ
36:06
and sharper instincts, crouched beside his vent, the fake grill
36:11
he'd crafted from cardboard and soap painted carefully with
36:15
prison issue. Gray sat removed.
36:19
Behind it yawned a small dark hole carved into decades of
36:23
decay, concrete eaten away with spoons, forks and metal saw
36:29
blades smuggled from the prison shop.
36:32
He slipped through the vent into the darkness behind the cell
36:36
block. There, hidden from guard view,
36:39
he waited for his accomplices, John and Clarence Anglin, two
36:45
brothers from Georgia. With quiet smiles and strong
36:49
hands, they had already emerged from their own cells through
36:53
identical escape holes built in tandem, inch by painstaking
36:59
inch. Above them, inside the blackness
37:02
of a narrow service corridor, rested their greatest hope, a
37:06
makeshift raft and life vests stitched together from over 50
37:12
stolen raincoats, carefully sealed with hot steam from cell
37:17
House pipes. Everything was silent now.
37:20
All that remained was the most dangerous step, getting off the
37:25
island. Back in their cells, on their
37:28
pillows, lay paper mache heads, meticulously crafted, complete
37:34
with human hair gathered from the prison barbershop by dim
37:38
light. They looked real.
37:41
Even the guards doing night rounds, glancing through the
37:43
small barred openings, would see nothing amiss.
37:47
One had a smile painted on, subtle, yet just enough to be
37:53
unnerving in the dark. Later, guards would say that the
37:57
heads had an odd presence to them, not quite fully lifeless.
38:02
From the utility corridor, the trio climbed through a fan vent
38:06
shaft. Its protective grill had been
38:09
removed days earlier, and they reached the prison roof.
38:14
The wind tore across the open concrete as fog looked at the
38:18
eaves of the building. Lights from the mainland
38:21
flickered faintly across the Bay like distant stars.
38:26
They crept across the rooftop and descended 50 feet down a
38:31
vertical drain pipe at the N wall.
38:34
From there, they made their way to the shoreline, carrying the
38:38
inflated raft under the cover of darkness.
38:42
At 10:30 PM, they vanished into the cold black water of San
38:47
Francisco Bay. Morning came At about 7:00 AM.
38:52
The guard knocked on Morris's cell.
38:54
There was no response. Another knock.
38:58
Still silence. He opened the door and the dummy
39:02
head tumbled forward, cracking against the floor with a
39:06
lifeless thud. Panic followed.
39:09
Sirens screamed. The prison went into lockdown.
39:13
Guards flooded the cell blocks, discovering the gaping holes,
39:18
the tools, the rope, the duct taped seams of a missing raft.
39:24
The search began immediately. Boats combed the Bay,
39:29
helicopters buzzed overhead, but no bodies were found.
39:34
The FBI assumed the men had drowned in the frigid currents,
39:38
but no trace not of the bodies bones were raft were ever
39:44
confirmed. Some swore they saw footprints
39:47
on Angel Island. Others claimed the Anglin
39:50
brothers sent Christmas cards to their mother in Georgia for
39:53
years after. And some said that on stormy
39:57
nights and the wind cuts across the island just right, you can
40:02
hear the slap of the oars, the soft murmur of voices paddling
40:06
through the fog, as if the three men are still rowing, still
40:12
escaping over and over again. Because Alcatraz never gave up
40:17
its ghosts, not even the ones who got away.
40:22
On March 21st, 1963, Alcatraz closed as a prison, primarily
40:29
because it was too expensive to operate and maintain.
40:33
The remote island location and its reliance on boat
40:36
transportation for everything, including freshwater, made it
40:41
significantly more costly than other federal prisons.
40:45
The prison also had aging infrastructure and was
40:48
considered vulnerable to potential escapes.
40:52
So as the last inmates were transferred off the island, all
40:55
seemed to fall silent. Or at least that's what the
40:59
headline said. But for those who knew it best,
41:02
former guards, staff and locals, the silence was deceptive.
41:09
Alcatraz was never quiet. There were sounds that came from
41:13
places that no one entered anymore.
41:15
A creaking floor above an empty office.
41:18
The clang of a cell door when the blocks were empty.
41:22
Whispers at the dock. Faint and unintelligible.
41:27
Tour boats passed by their engines, drowning out what might
41:31
otherwise be heard. Laughter, sobbing, or something
41:36
that sounded like both. Then, in November of 1969, the
41:42
dead were disturbed again. On the morning of November 20th,
41:47
a group of 89 Native American activists, calling themselves
41:51
the Indians of All Tribes, landed on Alcatraz under the
41:54
cover of night. They cited an 1868 treaty that
41:59
promised Native people unused federal land.
42:02
If the government no longer needed Alcatraz, they argued, it
42:06
should be returned to the people it had been taken from.
42:10
The occupiers were young, passionate, and organized.
42:14
Some were students, others were veterans.
42:18
Many were survivors of the government's termination
42:20
policies and boarding schools. The symbolism of taking Alcatraz
42:25
a place of isolation and punishment and turning it into a
42:29
beacon for Native rights was powerful.
42:32
They brought food, water and supplies and painted messages on
42:36
the walls like Welcome to Indian Land and Red Power.
42:41
They made camp in the old guard buildings, the wardens quarters
42:45
and the ruins left to rot. But the island, already heavy
42:49
with history, did not welcome them quietly.
42:53
It began subtly. One of the first occupants, a
42:56
Lakota woman named Grace Tall Bird, spoke of dreams and them.
43:02
She walked through stone halls where men whispered through iron
43:05
doors. Sometimes the whispers turned to
43:08
screams, other times they simply stopped mid sentence, as if
43:13
realizing she didn't belong there.
43:17
She awoke one night, gasping for breath, the air around her so
43:21
cold that her lips turned blue. Her blanket was soaked in
43:26
condensation. Her tent mate, Abenaki organizer
43:30
Daniel Moon, had seen nothing, heard nothing.
43:35
But he noticed a mark on her arm.
43:38
A handprint, faint and red, pressed into her skin like
43:43
frostbite. Others began to notice things
43:46
too. Lights flickered in buildings
43:49
without power. A baby cried in the night, but
43:53
there were no children in that part of the compound.
43:56
Footsteps echoed from the old administration building.
43:59
When investigated, the rooms were still empty.
44:03
Nothing except for dust and silence.
44:08
One of the most commonly reported apparitions during the
44:10
occupation was known as the Lady in Blue.
44:14
She was first seen by a group of three men walking the perimeter
44:17
of the island at dusk. She stood motionless on the
44:21
balcony of the burned out warden's house, her dress
44:24
tattered and fluttering in a wind that didn't exist.
44:29
Her face was turned away, watching the darkening sea.
44:33
When one of the men called out to her, she turned and vanished.
44:38
Others saw her, too. A Mohawk elder, Jacob
44:42
Rainwalker, claimed the woman appeared to him in a vision
44:45
during a pipe ceremony. He said she was crying not from
44:50
fear, but regret. She's not angry, he told the
44:53
group. She's lonely.
44:56
She wants to leave, but something holds her here.
45:00
After that night, a section of the group refused to sleep near
45:04
the warden's house. One man who did, however,
45:07
reported the smell of perfume, old and sweet, in the night.
45:12
When he awoke, his tent flap had been opened from the side.
45:16
In June of 1970, a fire swept through several of the old
45:20
buildings, among them the warden's house and the light
45:24
keeper's residence. Officially, no 'cause was ever
45:28
determined, but members of the occupation claimed to see flames
45:32
where none had yet sparked. The fire seemed to move against
45:36
the wind, as if guided by invisible hands.
45:39
Some said that they heard voices in the smoke, men shouting not
45:44
in fear but in rage, as if reliving some past moment of
45:50
violence. Later, when the ruins cooled,
45:53
several occupants returned to shift through the charred
45:56
remains. One young man, Thomas Gray Bear,
46:00
age 17, discovered a scorched patch of ground where footprints
46:05
had burned into the concrete walking in a circle, and no one
46:10
could explain how. That night, Grey Bear vanished
46:14
for five hours when he was found near the edge of the Cliff.
46:18
His feet were bare and blistered, and he had no memory
46:23
of leaving the camp. Following several other
46:26
disturbances, one of the elders began performing ceremonies of
46:30
protection after repeated disturbances.
46:33
They drummed, they prayed, and they sang, and the air would
46:37
clear afterward, but only for a short time.
46:42
One night, as they performed a morning song for those lost to
46:46
violence, male voices, low and dissonant, could be heard coming
46:50
from the walls of the old prison.
46:53
A tape recorder was running. When played back, the drum beats
46:57
were clear. Then beneath them, a second
47:00
rhythm, one that was uneven, like change dragging.
47:05
Then a single word. Leave, it said.
47:10
By June 1971, federal agents ended the occupation.
47:15
The remaining 15 people were removed quietly.
47:19
No one was arrested, and the buildings were left in ruin.
47:23
But those who had stayed the longest, those who had endured
47:26
the island's darkness, spoke little of what they had felt.
47:30
Not in public, at least, but among themselves, they agreed.
47:35
The island was not empty. It was layered.
47:39
Time didn't move forward on Alcatraz.
47:42
It coiled the prisoners who died there, the guards who feared the
47:47
night, the young who came with dreams of resistance.
47:51
All walked the same paths, sometimes overlapping, sometimes
47:57
brushing against each other like smoke.
48:00
And somewhere, deep below the cell house, the bones of the
48:03
very first prisoners, those buried before records, before
48:08
walls shifted in the stone. Even now, visitors speak of an
48:13
oppressive wait upon the island, a grief that lives in the
48:17
cracks, A sorrow that hums in the wind.
48:21
The spirits stirred in 1969 because they were not done, not
48:25
with Alcatraz, and not with us. Alcatraz may have closed its
48:30
cell doors in 1963, but the island never stopped holding
48:35
people. Only now it holds them
48:38
differently. Over 1,000,000 visitors cross
48:42
the waters each year, drawn by the myths, the stories, the
48:46
thrill of standing where the worst of the worst once stood.
48:51
They come for the history. But many leave with something
48:54
else, a feeling, a sound, a shadow.
48:59
Because Alcatraz is more than a monument.
49:02
It is alive in the way a wound is alive.
49:06
Tender, deep and always just on the edge of opening again.
49:12
In 1973, the National Park Service opened Alcatraz to the
49:16
public. What they expected was tourism.
49:20
What they got was a new chapter in the legend, a flood of
49:24
paranormal reports from guests, staff and skeptics alike.
49:30
Ranger Marla Easton was one of the first to lead night tours.
49:34
Her very first group never made it past the second corridor.
49:38
We were walking past the main entrance to D Block, she
49:41
recalled. The air turned cold, freezing,
49:45
and we heard footsteps behind us, heavy and deliberate.
49:50
I turned and there was no one, but the entire group stopped.
49:56
They had heard it, too. One woman burst into tears.
50:00
I didn't say anything. I couldn't.
50:03
I was afraid of acknowledging it.
50:06
I was afraid it would follow us. This would be the first of many
50:10
incidents in the 1980s, as paranormal research gained
50:14
popularity, Alcatraz became a hotspot for investigators armed
50:19
with the latest in ghost hunting tech, EMF meters, infrared
50:24
cameras and audio recorders. One of the earliest recordings
50:28
came from an independent researcher named Gordon Lang.
50:32
He was standing outside cell 14D, recorder in hand, asking
50:38
simple questions into the darkness.
50:41
The playback revealed nothing at 1st, and, faintly, a whisper.
50:46
From that, Ling was hooked. Over several months, he and
50:50
others captured dozens of unexplained sounds, Clanging
50:54
chains, male voices crying out in pain, murmured prayers and
50:59
languages that no one could identify.
51:01
And the most chilling came in 1986, during a recording in the
51:08
prison hospital. Ling asked.
51:10
What happened to you? The response, barely audible,
51:15
was They took my face. The legend of Capone's banjo had
51:22
never left, either, even after his transfer in 1939.
51:27
Even after his death in 1947, inmates whispered that the notes
51:31
still echoed at night. But now Taurus began hearing it,
51:35
too. In 1992, a group touring
51:39
Cellblock B paused near cell 181, Capone's old cell.
51:44
As the group gathered around the guide, a few stragglers near the
51:48
back began to hush. The others.
51:51
Do you hear that? One?
51:52
Asked a slow, unmistakable tune plucked out on a banjo.
51:57
The group then fell silent. The guide smiled, assuming
52:02
someone had brought a portable speaker.
52:05
But no one had. No one in the group was carrying
52:08
anything. The sound came from Capone's
52:11
cell and it faded after about 30 seconds.
52:15
Needless to say, no one slept that night.
52:18
The Park Service received 7 independent reports that
52:21
evening, each describing the same melody.
52:25
Today, guides tell the story with a smirk, but they do not
52:30
stay near cell 181 after the last tour ends.
52:35
There are many other places that have garnered a haunted
52:38
reputation within Alcatraz that are certainly worth mentioning.
52:43
The laundry room, a low ceiling space filled with rusting
52:47
machines in the stink of mildew, had long been a place of unease.
52:52
Inmates described it as tight, not in size, but in energy.
52:58
Many said it made their skin crawl.
53:01
In the 1940s, ABI the Butcher Maldovitz, A suspected hitman
53:07
from Murder Inc, was stabbed to death in that very room.
53:12
In 2002, a paranormal team filmed a documentary segment in
53:16
the laundry room. Their psychic, Marianne Cross,
53:21
had not been told anything about the island's history.
53:24
She entered the room and immediately turned pale.
53:28
There's a tall man here, she said.
53:30
He has a shaved head, ice like knives and he's angry he was
53:36
killed here. He was waiting for someone, but
53:40
he doesn't know who. Former inmate Leon Whitey
53:44
Thompson, who had been incarcerated during the
53:47
butcher's death, was with the crew and he stood stunned.
53:51
She just described him exactly. He said that was the butcher.
53:57
The psychic refused to re enter the laundry room today.
54:01
Motion sensors near the laundry frequently trigger alarms after
54:05
hours, though, there is no heat, no movement and no reason.
54:11
The warden's residence, gutted by fire during the Native
54:14
American occupation, remains a charred shell perched high above
54:18
the cell house, but it isn't empty.
54:22
Multiple Rangers have reported seeing a woman in a long blue
54:26
dress standing in the window of the top floor.
54:29
Always at night and always still.
54:33
One Ranger in 1999 swore he saw her turn and walk into the
54:38
darkness, despite the house having no roof, no floor and no
54:43
stairs. Tourists who photographed the
54:46
balcony have found a figure in blue standing among the shadows,
54:51
her face blank and her hands folded.
54:54
Some say she is the warden's wife.
54:57
Others believe she is something older, something that was there
55:02
before the prison ever opened. Certain places on Alcatraz
55:07
behave differently. Cell 14D remains unnaturally
55:11
cold, up to 20° lower than the surrounding block.
55:16
Even in the summer, the mess hall still carries the smell of
55:20
burnt coffee and gunpowder, despite being cleaned, scrubbed
55:25
and sealed. The hospital ward shadows move
55:29
in the corner of your vision. If you turn fast enough, you
55:33
might see a man in a hospital gown standing next to a rusting
55:37
Gurney. He never moves, but if you
55:40
blink, he's gone. A group of visitors in 2007
55:45
recorded a scream in the surgical Bay, yet none of their
55:49
party had screamed. A park Ranger in 2011 refused to
55:54
enter the hospital alone after hearing laughter coming from
55:57
behind a locked door. One of the most disturbing
56:01
phenomena reported by both Rangers and visitors is the
56:04
phantom count. Late at night, when the island
56:08
is empty, footsteps echo through the cell blocks, a slow,
56:13
deliberate March. Sometimes a voice calls out
56:16
numbers 123 up to 13, and then silence.
56:24
Rangers have tried to locate the source.
56:27
They've swept the blocks with dogs, motion detectors and
56:30
cameras, but they find nothing. But yet the count continues and
56:36
always stops at 13. What haunts Alcatraz?
56:41
Is it the cruelty, the isolation, the sorrow?
56:46
Or is it something deeper, something buried?
56:50
Many believe Alcatraz is a thin place, a place where the veil
56:54
between life and death is worn down, frayed by suffering, a
56:59
place where time bleeds and echoes last longer than they
57:03
should. Some spirits might be prisoners,
57:07
Coy, Kretzer, Capone. Others may be the forgotten
57:12
native exiles, buried soldiers, abused inmates whose names were
57:18
never recorded. And then there are the entities
57:21
that don't feel human at all. The ones who whisper through
57:24
walls, the ones who crawl the ceilings, the ones who knock
57:30
when you're alone. Alcatraz today is clean lit and
57:36
filled with tourists and cameras.
57:38
But when the fairy leaves and the fog rolls in, when the
57:43
lights flicker and the final steps fade, it is as it always
57:48
was, a prison, a wound, a place that remembers.
57:55
And some of what it remembers remembers us.
57:59
Yet the legend of Alcatraz may continue to be written.
58:03
As of this video, as recently as a few weeks ago, current
58:07
President Donald Trump says that he is directing the government
58:10
to reopen and expand Alcatraz, saying that for too long America
58:16
has been plagued by vicious, violent and repeat criminal
58:20
offenders, the dregs of society who will never contribute
58:24
anything other than misery and suffering.
58:27
When we were a more serious nation in times past, we did not
58:32
hesitate to lock up the most dangerous criminals and keep
58:36
them far away from anyone they could harm.
58:38
That's the way it's supposed to be.
58:40
If that does indeed happen to be the case, it may be interesting
58:44
to see what stories come from new potential staff and inmates
58:49
who may reoccupy the rock. But until then, if you visit,
58:54
walk softly, speak kindly. And when you leave, whatever you
58:59
do, don't look back because something might be watching you
59:04
from the other side. And if you turn around, it might
59:10
follow you. Thank you guys so much for
59:14
watching this latest video. I had several requests for this
59:18
one and I wanted to do a proper deep dive on the legends galore
59:22
and the history of this fascinating and very creepy
59:26
plays. So if you liked the video,
59:28
please give it a like, share it around, leave me a comment and
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Or you can check out the ever evolving merchandise and my
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books at mysteryarchives.myshopify.com.
59:53
And also make sure to check out my all fictional stories channel
59:56
called Cody's Creepies, which I'll link below.
59:59
I truly appreciate all of your time, your support and love.
1:00:02
Guys, that's about all I've got for today.
1:00:05
This has been Cody here at Mystery Archives.
1:00:08
Make sure to please stay safe out there and take care.
1:00:11
I'll see you next time.