I was a child of about eight years old when we went to visit the Pilsenburg prison

so you would think my recollections of that day would be hazy but they were burned into my memory permanently, like a scar on my mind that will never

heal.

The old penitentiary was a well-known tourist trap I would find out later in life.

I did a lot of research after what happened.

I'm sure you would too.

It turned out a few other people had paranormal experiences there, although no one else ever went missing.

I found a few web pages dedicated to the old prison, describing it as haunted.

The giant fortressite building was made of Greystone

mined from a nearby quarry about 150 years prior. My family had distant relatives visiting from Europe and we had run out of standard touristy

crap to do. So we are going to bit off the beaten path and chosen to take a visit to the oldest penitentiary in the country, which was only a couple hours away.

My dad's cousin stayed at home, saying he was tired and to go without him but his son Gunter decided he would come along.

Gunter was a year older than I was at the time and a precocious little brat.

He would ask pointed questions in his perfect English, not a trace of German accent to be found,

and then would have the nerve to second-guess you and correct you when you gave him the answer.

He was a mouthy little know-it-all, and I was looking forward to having him out in my bedroom. He had taken over my bed and I had been forced to sleep on the hard

wooden floor, a victim of my parents politeness. The tour started outside in the courtyard where the prisoners had exercised.

The guide pointed out features here and there as a dozen of us unlucky souls trail lacedaisely behind him.

The giant building loomed over us, dark and foreboding, blocking out the sun and leaving us chilly

in the morning air.

I didn't want to go inside. and leaving us chilly in the morning air.

I didn't want to go inside, I had already realized, but my parents are walking towards

...