It was the fall of 1982 when the unimaginable happened.

St. Catherine’s Orphanage, nestled on the edge of Briarwood Forest in upstate New York, had always been a place of both sorrow and hope. The towering Gothic structure held 127 children and 18 staff members. To locals, it was known for the echoes of laughter and the sight of small faces peering out through iron-barred windows. Then, one night in October, it all went silent.

No emergency calls. No fire. No ambulances.
Just silence.

By morning, every person inside was gone.

Authorities quickly declared it an “emergency gas leak evacuation,” but no one could find where the children or staff had gone. There were no relocation files. No transfer orders. The media briefly covered it — then the story was buried. Literally. The building was boarded up, fenced off, and listed as condemned.

But rumors never died. Some said the children had been taken. Others spoke of experiments. Cults. The paranormal.

By 1985, the case was closed. No bodies. No evidence. No answers.
Just whispers and shadows.

2012: The Basement Discovery

Three decades later, thrill-seeker and urban explorer Derek Mallory decided to document the forgotten orphanage. He had a growing YouTube channel and a love for abandoned places. He expected creaky stairs and graffiti. Maybe some old beds. What he found instead… changed everything.

In the basement, behind crumbling stone and rusted piping, Derek noticed something odd — a concrete wall that didn’t match the building’s original blueprints. It was newer. Smoother.

He chipped away for hours, live-streaming the event to a small group of fans. When the wall finally broke open, it revealed a narrow corridor leading to a room that should not have existed.

Inside, Derek found:

18 rusted hospital beds, all child-sized.

Walls lined with monitoring equipment, dusty but intact.

A chalkboard with the words: “PHASE III: SILENCE ACHIEVED.”

And a single, blinking red light — still powered after all these years.

In the center of the room: a large metal hatch, sealed with a biometric lock and marked:

“AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY – PROPERTY OF AETHERCORP.”

Derek didn’t wait to investigate further. What he had seen in those few moments made his skin crawl.
He called the police.

The Truth That Came Next

It took weeks for federal agencies to descend on the property. The site was cordoned off. Excavations began quietly at night. The media caught wind, but were fed official lines about asbestos and “chemical hazards.”

Still, leaked documents told another story.

AetherCorp, a now-defunct private research group, had been conducting experimental psychological studies on “high-resilience youth populations.”

St. Catherine’s had been one of their test sites.

Children were placed into controlled dream-state environments, using early neural interface prototypes.

The purpose? To test long-term consciousness transfer and collective memory manipulation.

But something had gone wrong.

According to recovered logs, on October 16, 1982, the system experienced a massive feedback loop. All 127 children and 18 staff members — who had unknowingly been drawn into the neural network — never woke up.

Their bodies? Never found.
Their minds? Still connected — somewhere.

Behind the sealed hatch, modern equipment detected faint electrical activity. Like the flicker of thoughts still firing. The system was still running… powered by a long-forgotten generator deep below the building.

Where Are They Now?

As of 2025, the hatch has never been fully opened to the public. Whistleblowers claim the consciousnesses of the children are still trapped in a simulated loop — unable to wake, unaware they’ve been asleep for 40+ years.

Some say strange audio recordings have been captured — the sound of children laughing, singing old songs, calling out names. But nothing confirmed.

And St. Catherine’s?

Still abandoned.
Still guarded.
Still hiding something.