Mysterious Haunting at K-Plant in 1985

The story you are about to read is true. The names are withheld to  protect my foggy memory. The year was 1985. It was Spring. 

To start with, every public building has its ghost story. Some are frightening. Some are horrific. Still others are funny. 

This all occurred after April 7 or April 8, 1985 when Jewel Food Stores had shut down it’s Hillfarm Dairy in Melrose Park, Illinois due to a serious, deadly salmonella outbreak. 

Other than setting the date and the neighborhood, our story touches on the infamous dairy twice only twice in our story. Or, maybe it is three times. It depends on who’s telling the tale. However, I do seriously digress. 

The supervisor’s shift started at 23:00. By 00:00 I met the crew who were assigned to the buildings on the Jewel Food’s Campus.

Two Guards to the side Gate. One Guard at the infamous Dairy. The last Guard at K Plant. 

Now honestly I don’t know how much you might know about K-Plant in Melrose Park. It was the sausage plant. Cuts from left-over cow, pig, and the occasional chicken meat bits and specifically applied seasons churned into sausage. 

The first few hours of the shift went off without a hitch. Everyone was cozy in their assorted posts. My job at that part of the night somewhere around 01:00 was checking temps on the Refer (Refrigerator) Trailers, and reporting those which were out of fuel, were heating up, or thawing.

Prodding from one trailer to another with clip board, pen, and flashlight between teeth, I was doing my duties as required by Jewel Foods and Ol’ Wells Fargo Guard Services for $4.95 an hour (they just couldn’t afford the extra nickel).

Suddenly I got a radio call, “Potts, you need to see your Guard at K Plant.” 

“What’s wrong?” I asked. 

Lenny, our dispatcher, a Jewel employee, replied, “I think you had better ask him.” 

I put my gear into the patrol car, and cracked a U-Banger (a U-Turn to those outside Chicago) in the parking lot, out the gate, and woo woo woo (without lights or siren) over to K-Plant.

I met our Guard in the K-Plant lobby. He was agitated. Hyperventilating. All eyes. In a state of panic. And before I got a word out of my mouth, he said, “Sarge, I hear Babies Crying. I’ve got babies, and I know what babies sound… sound like. I hear Babies Crying!” 

“Okay,” I replied slowly, “do you hear them now” because I sure didn’t hear anything.

He calmed down by then, and replied, “No.”

I suggested that we would walk the patrol through the plant, to hear what we could hear. 

We wound our way in and out of the various stages of processing, the finished product coolers, the raw meat coolers, the shipping dock. Needless to say we didn’t hear any babies. 

We compromise. I asked him to finish the shift in the lobby, and the power distribution room. He agreed to this. I felt it was all done, and as the Brits say, bob’s your uncle.

I climbed back into the patrol vehicle, and went back to finish my reefer temps. 

Just as I arrived back at reefer row, Lenny called me on the Radio again, “Potts! Your guard is freaking out at K-Plant again. Go see what you can do about him.”

I looked at the radio wondering, what the hell did he think I was going to do about him…?” But this is why I was making the big bucks.

I swung the car around again, and drove to the far end of the complex arriving at the K-Plant parking to find our guard packed up and standing outside the building. 

“I hear Babies! I hear Babies! I hear Babies.” He said in a panicked state.

This is one zero something in the morning. There is no way in hell I can get someone out of bed as the clock creeps towards the witching hour to cover the plant. Other supervisors might have called the paramedics. Some supervisors might have dismissed him. But not me! I was not going to pull that shift in K-Plant. Reminder, I was being paid to think, or something — still up for debate. 

“I believe you. You’re hearing babies. I can’t hear them but you can. If I can get someone else to cover for you here, are you willing to sit another post. 

He agreed in the affirmative — which is about the only way you can agree to anything. 

From K-Plant I drove up the street to the Dairy. The guard there wasn’t trained on K-Plant, but this was a downright emergency! I asked her to watch K-Plant. She also agreed. 

Okay! We have ignition. I grabbed her and her stuff, flipped her into the back, slipped back to K-Plant, grabbed the other guard and delivered him to the dairy. 

“Okay,” I said, “sit in the lobby, do nothing, keep people out of here if they come to the door.” 

He agreed. He wasn’t going to lose a day’s pay this way. Dyslexics of the world untie, or something like that. 

I sped back to K-Plant for the fourth time that night. 

I told her I’d show her the patrol in the building. All she had to do was sit in the lobby and if something happened to call dispatch. And I’d come to help her out. After walking the patrol route in K-Plant twice. I left her there.

It was quiet for the rest of the night. No more babies crying at K-Plant. No one was trying to get into the dairy. The field inspection, for which I was paid the supervisor’s wages, went well. Both of my guards were tip top. On paper at least. 

Oh, but that was not the end of the night! Oh, no, not at all! It was about 05:00 something. I got a blast across the squawk box, “Potts, the Guard at K-Plant says she’s lost in the basement.”

“Ah, Lennie, ” I replied, “K-Plant doesn’t have a basement. 

“I know,” he replied, “but that’s what she said.” 

I swung into the drive, and caught up with her at K-Plant. That alone took a few minutes. She had gotten turned around in the inbound coolers.

 The next night, the Guard who ended up covering K-Plant returned. The Guard who was hearing Babies Crying didn’t. But who could blame him. Some people just can’t stand Babies  Crying.

As to the Babies themselves: they were never reported again, though sometimes we think we hear whispers from them when the night grows long, and autumn comes around. 

Happy Hunting!