After five years working at Equinix data centers in Ashburn, I was ready for a change. A position opened in the new data center at Strawberry Hill Manor, and I jumped at the chance. I’d heard the old stories about Strawberry Hill, but I consider myself a rational thinker. I wasn’t going to be scared away.
Right away, there were signs our new facility wasn’t like other data centers. For one thing, building a data center inside a sprawling Gothic villa from the 1700s was an odd choice. Apparently, the company got a great deal on the property after the previous owner perished under peculiar circumstances. I also found it unusual that I was scheduled to work alone on my very first night. But I wanted to be a team player, so I didn’t question it.
The strange occurrences started before I even reached the site. I double-checked the address, but my GPS seemed determined to direct me anywhere other than Strawberry Hill. After taking three or four wrong turns, I finally stopped to ask directions. I felt sure the locals would know all about the house and its sordid history—after all, who didn’t?—but all they did was stare back, slack-jawed. It was like they were trying to warn me but just couldn’t get the words out.
I eventually found my way to the entrance. As I waited to pass the security check, I felt an eerily cold presence pass through me. I couldn’t help but wonder, were they trying to keep someone from getting in, or keep something from getting out?
As I was getting to know my way around the facility, I got a call from a customer asking me to replace a hard drive. I went to find their server rack but got lost along the way. I turned a corner expecting the rack to be there. Instead, I was somehow transported back where I started, staring down a long hallway of blinking servers. I tried again. Back to the start again. No matter which direction I turned or how many times I tried, I seemed to be stuck inside a never-ending hallway.
I don’t spook easily, but at this point I started to panic. Was I going to lose my sanity on my very first night at Strawberry Hill? Or worse, would I never leave the data center again?
Exasperated, I collapsed with my head in my hands, on the verge of tears. When I looked up, I saw a boy, about 15 years old, staring back at me from the other end of the hallway. In any other situation, seeing someone so young inside a data center would have been unusual. But I suspected this particular boy had more business being here than I did.
I thought back to the story of Conrad Walpole, the young son of the founder of Strawberry Hill. Conrad was set to inherit the house one day but never got the chance: He was tragically crushed by a falling statue. Could the server maze be his way of protecting his birthright?
I scrambled to my feet and backed away slowly. I raised my hands to show him I meant no harm. In response, he simply raised a crooked finger and pointed to the right. I cautiously followed his directions, and this time the hallway finally spit me out. I quickly poked my head back around the corner, but Conrad was nowhere to be seen. I took a moment to gather my senses and then went about my business.
For the next few hours, things settled down. I was stationed in the operations room, monitoring equipment and occasionally stepping out to the data center floor. I was staying busy, and it almost started to feel like any other day in a data center.
But then, I heard it. In my years of experience, I’ve grown accustomed to the hum of data center equipment, but this was different. More than a hum, it sounded like a human voice. At first, it was so quiet I thought I was imagining it. I cautiously left the operations room to investigate.
The voice grew louder; it became impossible to deny that it was indeed a woman’s voice, speaking directly to me.
“Get out.”
I backed away slowly.
“GEEEET OUT!”
I ran. Suddenly, a rack of network cables fell from the ceiling, crashing down right where I’d been standing seconds before. The cables seemed to come to life, like giant snakes, and chased me down the hallway. One caught me by the leg, and I tripped and fell. The cable wound itself further around my ankle, as I frantically kicked to free myself.
Mustering all my strength, I grabbed the cable and pulled. The cable slowly unwound, and I was able to get back to my feet and scramble to safety. I took one last look behind me, and there she was: Hippolita Walpole, mother of Conrad. According to the legend, she descended into despair following the death of her only son, never leaving Strawberry Hill again. Years later, she too met her tragic end inside the house, falling down the stairwell into the cellar.
Any doubts about my previous encounter with Conrad were gone. I saw it written on her face: a look of pure despair and endless sorrow. I sensed that she and Conrad were cursed to haunt this villa for eternity, trying desperately to protect the living from the terrors they’d already succumbed to.
The look on her face was the last warning I needed. I dashed for the nearest exit. As I ran, I saw a dark red liquid seeping out of the in-rack cooling system. It started with just a few drops, but the flow increased quickly and flooded the hallway. The iron-rich smell of blood was unmistakable. Within a minute, the pool was knee-deep. I struggled to wade through it as blood saturated my clothes.
I made my way as fast as I could and finally pushed through the emergency exit. I looked for my car in the parking lot, but it was gone. Had I somehow imagined parking it in the wrong place? Or had it really disappeared? Either way, I knew I had to get out of this place, even if it meant walking all the way back to the city.
I retreated on foot, looking over my shoulder one last time as I went. I noticed a small crack forming in the façade of the building. Slowly, pieces of masonry started to fall away. The pieces grew into boulders, and the house split in two with an earthshaking growl. I watched from a distance as it crumbled into a massive pile of rubble and dust.
I stared in disbelief. After a few minutes, there was nothing else to do but gather myself and continue down the road. Then, suddenly, the first ray of sunrise peaked over the tree line. It was morning. My shift was officially over.
I should have been exhausted by the whole ordeal, but all I felt was relief. Still, when I saw a spot by the side of the road that seemed to call out to me, I stopped to rest for a while. I sat in the soft grass in the crisp autumn air, leaning back against a tree trunk. My tiredness overtook me at once.
I awoke hours later, in broad daylight. My clothes were now clean and dry, just like when I first put them on the day before. The blood was gone. I turned my head and saw in the distance that the data center was still standing proudly, not one stone out of place. I cautiously approached, finding my car right where I left it. I got in and drove away from Strawberry Hill. This time, I didn’t look back.
When I got home, the benefit of hindsight started to kick in. With all the spooky stories about the history of Strawberry Hill, my imagination must have gotten the better of me. No rational person could ever believe in a haunted data center.
Even so, I think I’ll transfer back to Ashburn now!
Happy Halloween from Equinix! Learn more about our certified ghost-free data centers.
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