"Township Tales" Episode One: The Gospel of St. Joseph

Leggiero piano keys pitter-pattering back and forth like a carousel of knives sharpening each others’ blades.

A booming bass comes next, a rumbling like the earth is remembering how to scream.

There’s a voice. One that moves through registers that shouldn't exist in a single throat, but somehow does.

It says:

“Hello once again, my civic-minded carrions. We have a truly intriguing story for you this week as we spend several episodes digging into the story of a small Midwestern town, its secret past, and why a handful of recent unexplained incidents may mean that something could be joining us from the other side sooner than we think.

My name is Vera Finch… and this… is Township Tales.”

“Far from the bustling cities of Los Angeles, New York, to Chicago, some of our country’s deepest, darkest secrets lay dormant within the city limits of a small town in the Midwestern version of the Bermuda Triangle - geographically located equal distances from Fargo, Sioux Falls, and Minneapolis.

Our first peculiarity. Or is it?”

A bow slides harshly across the strings of a violin.

“Far before the first settlers landed on Plymouth Rock - all of 400 years ago - there were three indigenous tribes, the Só'taeo'o, the Báxoje, and the Tsitsistas, whose territories’ borders intersected over this same plot of land.”

Chimes begin to play interlaced with choral music.

“How about one more?

The English and French settlers took over the land in the late 1800s with the U.S. government opening the territory to homesteaders in the 1870s. Yet.. the first thing that the original occupants of Montevideo, Minnesota did after surveying the area and incorporating it as a town in 1879 was to build a lighthouse… 250 miles away from the nearest port.”

A soft piano melody plays.

"This is where it is important to introduce one of our story’s main characters… the first mayor of Montevideo, Minnesota, a man named Joseph Turner.

At first, Joseph was a seemingly odd choice for the township’s first mayor. He was not from any particularly well-known family from the Union, he was not a particularly religious man but did make sure to attend church every Sunday, and despite recently fighting in the Civil War he had no major victories or battles to his name. By all accounts, it almost seemed as if Montevideo had itself conjured Joseph Turner into existence.

However, his presence and connection to Montevideo would actually begin nearly two decades prior and two states over. You see, the first records of Joseph Turner that we could find place him as a bit of a nomad. A traveler, if you will.

At age 20, Joseph had made his way to Detroit from somewhere among the original 13 colonies. He took up residence at a boarding house in the city for a little over a year, but little evidence of his time there exists beyond a ledger donated to the Detroit Historical Society noting his residency.

While this may seem innocuous and unremarkable at first, what if I were to tell you that in the year prior to Joseph’s arrival there are well-documented accounts of strange, unexplained incidents happening within the city - specifically, to its residents."

A low hum begins to play, droning but then shifting in timbre before a synth keyboard high note peaks and then fades.

"Mysterious and unexplained diseases were commonplace in the mid 19th century. Tuberculosis. Smallpox. Typhus. Cholera. But this was different… its symptoms were fast-acting and horrifying, but not lethal. At least not in a physical sense.

Doctors in the surrounding towns at the time called it Noccularia. The portmanteau of the Latin words for 'night' and 'eyes' perfectly described the effects of the disease, which caused severe headaches, visions, fevers, and most prominently black markings that covered the area around an infected’s pupils.

There was no clear cause for the disease, no observable spread or pattern and the victims it took seemed completely random. And, without variation, anyone who was afflicted suffered the same fate: madness."

A sharp bass note hits and lingers, reverberating.

"What does the arrival of Joseph Turner in Detroit on August 5, 1860, have to do with this outbreak of Noccularia?

The name Patricia Green.

The reverb escalates slightly, an accompanying piano run filling in the missing notes, before both fade completely.

"Patricia was the daughter of William and Mabel Green, second-generation residents of Detroit who were well respected in their community. William was a railroad contractor and Patricia would often bake goods for those working the lines for the Michigan Central Railroad.

Patricia was a primary school student at St. Catherines and known for getting straight-As and would often stay after school to help her teacher clean the other children's slates. However, on the evening of August 4, Patricia suddenly and without any prior indication of illness, was stricken with the first signs of Noccularia - the black markings.

According newspaper accounts, Patricia, William, and Mabel had sat down for supper and, just as the family had completed saying Grace, as Patricia raised her head from her hands, the markings appeared and, within minutes, the youngest member of the Green family was screaming - not in pain, but in fear of 'monsters' who were hiding in the dark.

Now while many men of science at the time had spent the better part of a year trying to identify the root causes of this new disease, the city’s clergy had long proclaimed that the cause - and the solution - could be found, where else, but in scripture."

Chimes return along with remixed operatic choral music.

"Remember when I said that Joseph was not particularly religious, but attended church every Sunday? Well, as fate would have it, the young man arrived in Detroit on the evening before that week’s service – Saturday, August 4.

The same night of Patricia’s infection.

By the time Joseph arrived, just prior to services beginning that morning, a massive crowd had formed in and outside the church. Standing on the steps, just before the threshold, was Patricia and her parents, no doubt dressed in their Sunday best.

Reports of what happened next are hard to summarize as everyone, every story, every article has a different telling.

Some witnesses claim that Joseph Turner began to speak in tongues, offering a prayer in a language no one recognized – a language more ancient than Latin or Greek, and one that made the air itself feel heavy.

Others insist he never said a word at all. He simply looked Patricia in the eyes.

Several fringe accounts, mostly from modern day occultists, say that Joseph was in possession of a small book that, to the naked eye would appear made of leather but was in reality made of human skin.

No matter which account you believe, each ends the same: Within the span of 15 minutes, Patricia’s markings evaporated like ink in water. Her visions cleared. Her screaming stopped.

She had beaten the very curse that had taken so many others and damned them to the rest of their lives in an insane asylum. For nearly a century the tale would be told throughout churches in Detroit colloquially known as the 'Gospel of St. Joseph.'"

A rising vocal crescendo.

"Records indicate that Joseph would remain in Detroit for another 13 months as the active cases of Noccularia began to drop precipitously until they reached zero in the spring of 1861. Even more remarkable, those who had not already succumbed completely to the madness caused by the disease were able to be released from local mental institutions and return to their families as if they had been in some sort of trance.

The city's physicians could never explain what stopped the spread of the disease or the ease at which the cure began to manifest in the wake of Joseph’s arrival in town. In fact, beyond his very public appearance during Patricia Green’s remission, there is no evidence he had any interaction with those infected by Noccularia.

Reports at the time mention everything from "change in atmospheric conditions" to 'natural immunity developing in the population,' but if you read between the lines you can sense their frustration. They knew their explanations didn't hold water. Or holy water for that matter.

Joseph Turner would spend his remaining time in Detroit inextricably close to the Green family. He took a job at the railroad where William worked and continued to attend church every Sunday - often sitting in the pew furthest removed from the pulpit arriving after services had begun and leaving before they concluded. Simply keeping watch."

The synth keyboard returns, a single high note that bends slightly sharp.

"Then, in September of 1861, Joseph Turner quietly departed. No fanfare. No announcement. Just a summons by the government to serve in the rapidly escalating Civil War.

The boarding house where he had reportedly stayed during this time had no other mention of his presence except his departure date and that his rent was paid in full.

It would be another five years before history noted the presence of Joseph Turner… this time in a much smaller town reeling from an affliction with eerily familiar symptoms.

Headaches.

Visions.

Black markings around the eyes.

Except this time… things would not have a happy ending.

Whatever infiltrated and infected the population of Detroit in 1860, whether a virus or a curse, had not simply been laying dormant. It was learning, adapting, and waiting for the perfect time to strike."

The same leggiero piano as before plays and calls to mind the sound of a million pieces of shattered glass falling onto a marble floor.

"Join me next time, listeners, as we continue the story of Joseph Turner, his arrival in the forgotten town of Procyn, Wisconsin, and why so many in the state seem to have no recollection of it - or its residents - ever existing.

Until then my name is Vera Finch, this has been Township Tales.

I hope to see you on the other side."