Contents From the Author 1 Your Letters 1 A Quick and Dirty Guide 2 The Fallen Investigate 3 Personal Experiences 6

The old road-turned- horse trail as it looks today.

Your Letters

We received no e-mails about our last issue!

In subsequent issues, we really hope to print

your letters commenting on what you have read. Any

letter will be published, even if it’s written on a dirty

napkin and scanned into .bmp format, then e-mailed to

us from an AOL address. Here is an example of the

kinds of letters we’re expecting: Legends and Lore of Illinois, Your electronic serial is an inspiration to us all. Your word usage is amazing. I am personally going to wallpaper my cell with it.

Bud, Joliet State Prison Legends and Bore of Illinois, The only thing that keeps your electronic serial from actually being crap is the fact that I printed it out and used it as toilet paper.

Annoyed in Cicero

Please e-mail your letters to thefallen2@gmail.com

A Short Message From the Author

Do you remember your first crush? How you just

wanted some positive acknowledgement from her, but

instead she laughed in your face and spilled her elitist

mineral water all over your Iron Maiden t-shirt?

That’s how I feel about the response, or lack

thereof, I have received regarding this serial.

Please don’t make me beg.

I know this isn’t the same quality as Gummo, but

the inspiration might be there somewhere, just give it a

chance.

Page 1

A Quick and Dirty Guide to Devil’s Gate

The truth behind the mysteries of Devil’s Gate, located near the

Independence Grove Forest Preserve in Lake County, is elusive. What may

or may not have happened there has been lost in the minds of the older

generation, who have so far not come forward with the real story.

According to legend, sometime in the distant past a school stood

behind the set of iron gates off of a sharp bend in River Road, about a mile

north of Libertyville. One day, a maniac broke into the school and abducted

several of the girls. He killed each one and mounted their severed heads on

the spikes of the gate. Every full moon, the heads reappear on the rusted

spikes.

Like most legends, there are very few facts to back up the story.

However, there is no doubt that an institution once stood on those grounds.

According to the Chicago Daily Tribune, construction on what was known as

the Katherine Kreigh Budd Memorial Home for Children began in the early

spring of 1926. Britton I. Budd, the president of the Chicago Rapid Transit

Company, funded the project. It had been his recently deceased wife’s dream to build such a home. The institution

itself was to be run by the Sisters of St, Mary, an Episcopal organization, and was expected to house around 150

children in its first year.

The Reverend Sheidon M. Griswold formally dedicated the home late in June 1926. At that time, fifteen

buildings, including a pool and a “large farm,” had been erected on the premises. In 1931, the home began to also

accept destitute children and their families. In my own research, I discovered that the three fire hydrants located on

the premises were one-piece barrel model Eddyvalve Hydrents. That business was purchased in the 1940s by James

Clow and Sons, the company name that is stamped on the sewer covers also scattered around the area.

Sometime in the late 1950s, Katherine Kreigh Budd Memorial Home for Children closed down. It was

reopened several years later in the early 1960s as a summer camp known as St. Francis Home for Boys. Tragedy

accompanied the transition. On May 11, 1961, a two year old boy named Glen Bottorff drowned in the Des Plaines

River adjacent to the grounds of the not-yet-opened camp. According to the Libertyville Independent Register, he had

been playing nearby with his sister, who ran home to ask permission to eat lunch outside. Depending on which

version of the story you read, either two men who had been searching for the boy discovered his body, or his own

loyal dog led them to it. Either way, it is doubtful whether this event inspired the legend.

I do not know when St. Francis Home for Boys shut

down, but I do know that the Park District owned the land

in 1992. At some point, all of the buildings were knocked

down and their contents buried on the premises. Today all

that remains are cement foundations, rusted metal, and

glass bottles that are slowly being reclaimed by nature,

protected by a sign that proclaims it to be an “ecologically

sensitive area.”

My own hunch is that the ghost story regarding the

severed heads dates back to when the boys camp was in

operation. Many summer camps have their own ghost

stories. It may very well be that this one has outlived the

camp itself.

One of the old fire hydrants.

Blue tiles still ring the top of the former pool.

Page 2

The Fallen The Fallen The Fallen The Fallen ― Investigation file 003 Investigation file 003 Investigation file 003 Investigation file 003 The three stood in front of the spiked, iron gates, dusted by cold

mist that trickled from the thick, gloomy clouds above. Mike pulled his

trench coat tightly around himself as Greg adjusted his knit cap.

Emmer, who nearly towered over the other two, rolled his eyes as Mike

explained why they were there.

“There isn’t much information on this one,” he said. “But the

general story is that a guy went crazy, kidnapped and killed some girls

who supposedly went to a private school here, and hung their heads

from these gates. If there was a school, there’s got to be evidence. Just

like that house at Bachelor’s Grove.”

“But why are we here today, in the rain?” Emmer asked with

annoyance in his voice.

“It’s March,” Greg replied. “It’s always gonna be cold and

rainy.”

Avoiding a few puddles, the three walked off the pavement and

onto the long horse trail that led into a deceptively well-maintained

forest preserve. After about fifty yards, the unexpected appearance of

an old fashioned, rusty fire hydrant took them by surprise. “What’s this?” Mike asked rhetorically. “Why is this just sitting in the woods?”

“Forest fires?” Emmer replied.

“Look how old it is,” Greg interjected. “This was here long before the forest preserve.”

“You’re right,” Mike said. “Let’s get a picture and keep moving. We can look it up later.”

“Maybe we won’t get rained on so much in the woods,” Emmer suggested.

The three headed off to the right-hand side of the trail, where a stand of pine trees suspiciously stood out

from the rest of the forest. With an eye for the out-of-place, Mike spotted a gap in the undergrowth surrounded by

weeds not more than two yards off the trail.

“I think we have something over here,” he announced, but didn’t wait for his companions to investigate.

Parting the tall, wet grass, he stumbled onto a rectangular patch of cement, covered by patches of moss and small,

chipped rocks. “Over here!” he yelled.

Greg and Emmer quickly joined him, and Greg

tapped the cement with his cane. “Looks like there

was something here after all,” he said. “This can’t be

all of it though. This building was too small to be a

school.”

“Let’s look over there,” Mike replied, pointing

in the direction of a small, open field that was sparsely

populated with thick maple trees. The three fanned

out, and not long after, Emmer stumbled upon a

second fire hydrant. But Mike took the most direct

rout along the edge of the woods, and the sight of two

strands of rope dangling from the outstretched arm of

one of the trees stopped him dead in his tracks.

“Uh, guys,” he called out. “Come here.”

Greg wasn’t far, and he also noticed the ropes,

which gently swayed in the icy breeze. “That looks

A few artifacts found at the location.

Page 3

like it used to be a swing,” he said.

“Yeah,” Mike confirmed. “A child’s swing. Right

in the yard behind whatever building that cement slab

used to be.” A knot formed in his stomach, and the

feeling that the story had an eerie truth behind it started

to settle in.

“It’s just rope, guys,” Emmer suddenly said from

behind them. “I found another fire hydrant over there.”

He stared up at the branch intently.

“Let’s go back into the woods,” Greg suggested

after a moment of silence. “Maybe we can find something

else.”

Mike wiped the rain off of his glasses and followed

his friends into the tree line. Despite the fact that the

weeds had yet to replenish after the winter, dead branches

and raspberry bushes covered the ground. Thorns tore at the Fallen’s clothes.

Finally, the three burst into a small clearing and fell off a cement ledge that rose a foot from the ground. As

they looked around, they realized that the dirt under their feet wasn’t the natural forest floor.

“I think we fell into a swimming pool,” Greg suggested while examining his surroundings. “Look at these

walls. They have rounded corners and are lined with blue tiles. Where else would you see that?”

“It could have been a bathroom or a shower room,” Mike suggested.

“Whatever it was, it got filled in,” Emmer cut in. “They probably knocked the buildings down and plowed

the debris into the pool.”

“Well, let’s get a sample of this tile and go deeper into the woods,” Mike suggested. “I have a feeling.”

“It’s a good thing Davin didn’t come with us,” Greg quipped as he climbed back onto the forest floor. “He’d

get pneumonia. Then he’d die and we’d have to look for his ghost.”

“That’s what happens when you sit inside and play videogames all day,” Mike replied. He chipped off a

piece of the sky blue tile and carefully placed it into a plastic bag.

The three walked westwards through the forest until they came to a clearing, where a deer trail wound

through the slick crabgrass. In the distance, under the cover of more trees, Mike, Greg, and Emmer spotted what

appeared to be a block of cement. On closer inspection, they discovered the cement supported pipes and what

looked like a pump of some kind.

Emmer kicked at the thick, brown leaves that carpeted the ground and uncovered a coil of dense, flat fabric.

“Look at this,” he said. “It looks like an old fire hose.”

Greg was busy examining some wires that protruded

from the pump. He pulled out his electro-magnetic field

detector, or EMF meter for short, and aimed it at the wires.

To his surprise, the needle jumped. “Hey!” he called out.

“There’s still juice flowing through here.”

“You have to be shitting me,” Mike replied. “This

hasn’t been used in decades.”

“Look for yourself.”

Mike took the EMF meter from Greg and confirmed

that there was indeed a weak current flowing through the

wires. “I’ll be damned,” he swore. “I don’t think there’s any

doubt anymore whether a school or camp of some kind

existed here.”

The remnants of an old swing.

Electricity still flows through these wires.

Page 4

The old pump station.

A battered piece of play equipment.

“But why hide that?” Greg asked. “Unless there

were murders.”

“Maybe they aren’t hiding anything,” Emmer

interrupted. “Maybe they just don’t give a crap. This stuff

is just garbage to the park district. They’ve probably never

even heard the story.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Mike replied.

“Not everyone cares about this as much as you do,”

Emmer countered. “Rich yuppies just want to ride their

horses and roller blade down the trail. They don’t want to

remember what used to be here before they were even born.

Hell, neither do the people who were here when it existed

because if they did they would have put up a plaque or

something.”

Mike opened his mouth to protest, but then shut it

bitterly. “You’re probably right,” he grudgingly admitted. “Let’s head back. Maybe we can check the other side of

the trail before this rain gets too bad.”

“That’s a good idea because I’m just about soaked,” Greg complained.

The three trudged back toward the clean, wide path while the sky above them slowly darkened. In the

woods on the other side of the trail, they stumbled upon a collection of rusted metal drums, broken toilets,

bedsprings, and bottles of every shape and size. Emmer picked up a piece of a child’s play set― a small teeter-

totter. It was difficult for him to imagine someone once playing on the bent and fragile aluminum.

“Look at this stuff,” Mike exclaimed. “There’s enough here to fill a museum.”

“Unfortunately we don’t have the means to haul it out,” Greg said from a few yards away. “I would hate to

see this crap just thrown away.”

“Yeah, that would be a tragedy,” Emmer muttered sarcastically. He tossed the teeter-totter aside and pulled

up the collar of his damp coat. “Hey, guys, I don’t mean to cut this party short, but can we get the hell out of here?”

“Good idea,” Greg seconded.

Mike hesitantly agreed after taking a few minutes to sort

through a small pile of bottles. “I wonder if we’ll ever solve the

mystery of this place,” he asked rhetorically as he turned one

around in his hand. “Something bugs me about it. It just ain’t

right. We’ve been here for over an hour and I have more

questions now than I did before.” He placed the bottle back in

the pile, covered it with leaves, and rushed to join his two

companions.

The drops of rain came heavier and faster, and the three

raced down the trail to their car. As he ran, Mike glanced at the

large field to his right and wondered what kinds of secrets were

hidden in the golden-yellow grass.

“Has anyone heard the new Tristania album?” Emmer

asked as the group piled into their beat up, blue Toyota Corolla.

“No,” Mike said. “Is it any good?”

Emmer’s voice faded into the background as Mike’s

thoughts dwelled on the group’s discoveries that day. He knew

that one day, the Fallen would uncover the truth.

To be continued…

Page 5

Three maps, an early plat map and two topographic

maps, show ownership of the property behind what

became known as “Devil’s Gate.”

True! True! True! True! Amazing! Unbelievable!Amazing! Unbelievable!Amazing! Unbelievable!Amazing! Unbelievable! Personal ExperiencesPersonal ExperiencesPersonal ExperiencesPersonal Experiences

Yeah, we had heard the stories. I think Mancow did

one of his radio shows about it around Halloween a few

years ago. We wanted to see for ourselves, so me and my

friends drove up there just in time for midnight. We sat

there for a good ten minutes, but we didn’t see anything.

Suddenly this flash of light catches my rear-view

mirror. We had been paying such close attention to the gate

that we didn’t see the cop pull up behind us.

He gave us crap, told us to beat it, and then drove

off. I’ll say, it was kind of disappointing.

Tom, 18, Waukegan

Everyone in the north suburbs heard the legend. I

know I have, anyway. I was up at the lake anyway so I

thought I’d take my 5 year old son to see the gate. A horse

trail leads back there from the lake, so it only took us about

ten or fifteen minutes.

But when we were in the woods, I started to get a

creepy feeling. Being physic runs in my family, so I get

these feelings sometimes. My mom was a physic.

Anyway, I hear these voices coming from the woods,

I took my son in to check it out. We walked for a ways, then

discovered someone’s bike just laying out there. I had a

powerful feeling that something bad happened there.

Anyway my son points up at one of the trees, and there was

a dead mouse hanging there! I covered his eyes and we ran!

That was a close call that day.

Thora, 21, Mount Zion

Well, it beats Great America, don’t it? There are no

lines, no crowds, no $3.00 cans of pop. I go to

Independence Grove to roller blade with my life partner all

the time. Unfortunately, we have to run into these thrill

seekers all the time.

Sometimes we see people out there poking around

in the woods, but I wish someone would just bury all that

stuff and knock those gates down.

The past is the past, you know? People need to

accept the future and stop caring about some old bricks and

bottles. Let nature reclaim it as it was meant to be.

That’s just my opinion anyway. Oh wait, was I

supposed to be telling a story of some kind?

Serge, 34, Chicago

Page 6