Spirits at The Bend Thistle Millworks at Ilchester Maryland
Pictures and Experience by Michael
CASE https://wp.eastghost.com/2025/01/case-thistle-mill-ilchester-maryland/
“Three deaths here? Yeah, easy. Probably. Definitely. This place is over one-hundred years old. There’s a lot of heavy machinery and many places to get hurt. Three deaths in one-hundred years is probably an understatement.” That’s one thing our helpful guide had to say about the deaths, injuries and reported hauntings near old “Hell House” at the sharp bend of the Patapsco River, on River Road in Ilchester, Maryland. The older parts of the plant –the mill onto which the plant was later grafted– date back to the 1700’s and are over 200 years old.
BELOW: Southern end of the plant, at the sharp bend in the Patapsco River behind camera. The burned out and dysfunctional Simkins Plant, latest working occupant of the Thistle Mill complex, is being slowly dismantled, discarded and removed.
“Three deaths here? Yeah, easy. Probably. Definitely. This place is over one-hundred years old. There’s a lot of heavy machinery and many places to get hurt. Three deaths in one-hundred years is probably an understatement.” That’s one thing our helpful guide had to say about the deaths, injuries and reported hauntings near old “Hell House” at the sharp bend of the Patapsco River, on River Road in Ilchester, Maryland. The older parts of the plant –the mill onto which the plant was later grafted– date back to the 1700’s and are over 200 years old.
While our guide had not directly had any “substantially haunted” experiences to speak of, at least one other visitor had, in summertime 2006, suddenly become so “scared and totally creeped out” that he left in quite a rush, abandoning his work and belongings. This has happened several times. Sulky has reported ongoing paranormal experiences, research and subsequent validation of certain facts that would corroborate ghostly experiences.
For my part, while I was down below, between the buildings at the Patapsco River, over the swooshing sound of water endlessly smoothing rocks at the nearby control dam, and the audibly electrifying hum of high voltage transformers, coming from deep within the old plant (and seemingly underground) I heard about one dozen earth-shaking booms, ominous thuds of heavy machinery solidly hitting Earth-coupled surfaces, as well as metal clanking and moving about –it sounded maybe two hammer blows short of the plant being in full operation. Only…no one was working inside. The thuds were powerful and dreadful, and they unmistakably resembled the thuds that Sulky had reported hearing and feeling months earlier (see following report).
BELOW: the “bugs bunny” fire hydrant.
Kimness, up above on the roadway and hillside, heard none of this. Her main concern was taking pictures while avoiding daring cars whizzing by on the quite narrow and twisty River Road.
Knowing what was happening to me within the highenergy electromagnetic feld of the humming transformers, I felt mighty uncomfortable and wanted right away to get further away, out of the magnetic feld, to basal safety. Instead, I set to it and simply walked by the facility, taking pictures all the way. Happily abiding my one stern warning against entering the buildings, I did however get some shots through numerous cracks and open doors.
BELOW: Southern entrance and drive way along the Patapsco River, to frame left.
There were quite clearly within many places to get mangled, deformed, maimed and otherwise seriously harmed. There is nothing nice or forgiving about this place. It made me think of a sleeping but malevolent mechanical giant, still somehow strangely noisy even in awkward, abandoned rest, like an old missile silo, seemingly ready to wake up and swing into action at a moment’s notice, or at least exuding that precipitous aura.
BELOW: Thistle Mill, in better days, circa 1890, Baltimore Historical Society.
The air carries that same Patapsco smell, not necessarily stale but defnitely old and heavy (Day and Night at the Good Church and the Bad Church http://eastghost.com/post/35075). All along the length of the plant, the Earth itself reeks of heavy industrial oil and solvents.
A slip in the mud here would probably leave a remarkably persistent rash and stain and maybe even a chemical burn. There is a large cauldron of badness –tens of thousands of gallons of liquid capacity– slowly rusting away, no doubt once housing the high-molar solution that unpleasantly decomposed stuff or acted as a reagent in some desired but unnatural process. A thin but apparently deep waterway or canal, impossibly crammed between the older part of the mill and the too nearby River Road, is criss-crossed by a grated steel catwalk that was too shaky to dare. Who knows if it’s even water in the canal.
BELOW: North end of old southern mill building. Notice juxtaposition of original masonry and later additions including gate, fire hydrant, cement blocks.
I heard several dozen dull screams coming from just beyond, or possibly inside, a small wooden shanty-looking thing barely standing several dozen yards further north than I was willing to tread. It was defnitely some mammal; I’m not ruling out human, though possibly a prank. Several times in the Patapsco River valley I’ve had the very uncanny feeling of not being alone, of just barely hearing and/or seeing things not quite possible to clearly make out or identify one way or the other –was that a person screaming for help or calling out to a friend, or was it a fox or bird or cat or something, or was it just nothing, or really something worse?
BELOW: Pipe support catwalk carried energy.
I also thought I’d glimpsed a few “flashes,” unexpected because everywhere nearby, given a long enough glance, was clearly deserted, except for the few cars flying by on the road above, out of earshot and almost out of sight. It’s the frequent but fleeting “what-was-that?!” glimpses that getcha.
At the furthest-north end of the “mill complex” is a rotting wooden shack that exudes red light. Maybe it’s a cue to stay away; maybe it’s for the fire department should the hulk spontaneously reignite itself. I did not approach its slightly-ajar door. In any case, fire clearly can not kill or reclaim this place; there is too much stone and metal here, too many chemicals, too much history, maybe too many spirits.
BELOW: Oil-fired power plant, directly across Patapsco River and pipe support catwalk.
The tall, original mill structure has various windows, mostly with broken-out panes. Severals sets of stairs and ladders climb at weird angles and unlikely bends. The whole thing is hodge-podge, you can tell, built and twisted as needed over too many years.
BELOW: A glimpse inside the machine shop. Notice the unprotected nature of the chains, pulleys and heavy machinery. Not a safe looking place to work. This area felt the most repulsive to me. This room is where SULKY reported having felt the strongest oppression.
There are apparently one and one-half “floors” in the long, triangularly-tipped “sawtooth” buildings to the south (what purpose does that roof serve, anyway?); three floors in most of the mid-section; and probably at least five floors in the tallest portions furthest north. It’s unclear what’s rotted away, but I’d bet, given all the broken windows, that it’s treacherous inside. There is something under the loading dock at the machine room. It hisses just above the whisper of the river.
BELOW: A peek inside the machine room. An oppressive feeling came from the machine shop, to the left out of frame.
There were no cats or birds or wildlife of any kind that I could hear, see or otherwise sense. Except for the tired settling sounds of the buildings, the spooky electromechanical hum, and the burbling of the river water, it was spooky-quiet.
Water still runs in a steady, silent trickle from a firehose connector, the one of three without long-ago crinkled hoses that run off to nowhere.
BELOW: Loading dock at machine shop building.
It’s strange to see the obviously very old stonework of the original mill buildings patched with modern brickwork and cinder-block build-ins covering over old openings. It’s sad, in a way, how the still-beautiful build quality of the historical mill was architecturally defaced decades ago. They defnitely do not build them like that anymore. To the real craftsmanship, the unwelcome additions look as cheap as grey bondo on a jet-black Mercedes.
BELOW: Closer look into machine room.
A bright-red fire hydrant is here, tucked half-underneath the mill and built-around in a way somewhat reminiscent of that Bugs Bunny episode in which the tall offce building was built with a small semi-circle all up its length, above the rabbit hole. I wonder why they didn’t just move the dang waterpipe and not cut away the mill’s massive foundation!?
BELOW: Peculiar, hallmark rooftop, from River Road.
A fire extinguisher sits out in the middle of the muddy dirt passage that’s barely wide enough for two eighteen-wheelers inched side-by-side. Old wood. Old nails. Old pipes. Pulleys and girders and chains and everywhere jagged steely things. An angry, old blue industrial water pump sits with its chrome-shiny but malicious looking screw-blade propeller still attached to strong but stained stainless-steel pipe. I wonder if mashed paper pulp sludge once flowed inside; the mill was apparently, in its final life, used for paper recycling. Yuck.
BELOW: Looking north along the entrance driveway.
I had a strange feeling (both times that I passed it) of uneasiness, like I was being watched, from within the garage. Maybe it was just heebies from the way that, despite its totally open doors, the blackness abruptly flled the cavernous interior like tar. Photonegative shots of the interior didn’t reveal anything strange, though it sure felt unwholesome there. I’m glad that feeling stayed in the garage.
BELOW: Simkins Paper Mill, at the site of the old Thistle Mill, sometime in early Spring, 2006, as seen from several locations along River Rd. Picture courtesy of SolarAngel.
The river banks have been fortified by cement-lattice work on both sides. The river is probably about 50 feet wide here and only a few feet deep at most. However, the banks are maybe ten feet down to the waterline. There is a depth stick for measuring floodwaters, and “15 feet” was marked slightly below my eye level. The stick was gunky-dirty-wet, like it was not so long ago wholly submerged. Just across the river and up are the train tracks, and above them is the former site of “Hell House,” old St. Mary’s College at Ilchester.
BELOW: Simkins Paper Mill, at the site of the old Thistle Mill, sometime in early Spring, 2006, as seen from several locations along River Rd. Picture courtesy of SolarAngel.
I got a very unusual picture of the building across the river. It was getting dark, I was shooting handheld, and somehow I managed a shot in which the foreground is in focus but the motionless background is motion blurred. Weird, but there it is.
The plant is possibly being disassembled, piece by piece. There are half-a-dozen large dumpsters, half-full with all sorts of pipes and gizmos and chunks of machinery. Hopefully the mill will be saved as an historically significant site.
BELOW: Simkins Paper Mill, at the site of the old Thistle Mill, sometime in early Spring, 2006, as seen from several locations along River Rd. Picture courtesy of SolarAngel.
About half-way down the length of the buildings, a rickety-looking steel tram- or walkway crosses from the mill rooftop over the river and to another building on the far side that looks like an enlarged machinegun bunker. The bridge formed a sort of invisible boundary; I didn’t like crossing under it, so many dozens of feet overhead –it made me feel like a black cat slyly crossing under a ladder, half-expecting for the inevitable worst. Maybe this “bunker” was to keep the workers in line, inahling fumes and toiling away! Probably it’s just an extension of the processing plant. Numerous large signs warn of possible hearing damage; blindness from regarding ultraviolet arc welders, and the ever-present dangers of forgetfulness. A misstep could literally be deadly.
BELOW: Simkins Paper Mill, at the site of the old Thistle Mill, sometime in early Spring, 2006, as seen from several locations along River Rd. Picture courtesy of SolarAngel.
It’s an effective choice of words: I kept thinking about the “life changing accidents” that Sulky mentioned in his research. This isn’t some collection of workshop bandsaws; machinery herein is as heavy-duty as heavy-duty comes. Even keeping myself safely several feet outside the buildings and the realm of the dormant but still fearful machines, I was very aware of my every footstep and even of the dangling pullcords on my jacket. Silly, I know. But, if you’ve been around heavy equipment, you understand what I mean; there is no such thing as a second chance, and even while standing absolutely motionless you still think twice before making the slightest move. That oppressive fear of what-if literally impedes motion on a moment-by-moment basis, and it would have taken very much “getting used to,” I imagine, to have been an effective employee here, instead of a molasses-mannequin.
BELOW: Saint Mary’s College at Ilchester, popularly “Hell House,” now demolished, Gray’s Mill at bottom right, and Thistle Mill at bottom center [curiously, apparently “burned out”].
“Extreme” might describe the pain of being crushed to death between a 3,000-pound roll of paper and ‘a machine known as a rewinder,’ especially if it was operating. Mill accidents must be truly terrible events, life changing even to those who survive in witness. I wondered what would actually happen if someone’s loose scarf got wound up in the belt of a car engine’s alternator; clearly it would violently jerk the entire torso down, but would the result be immediate decapitation, or would the scarf somehow rip frst? You know the engine would not stop. It’s thoughts and echoes of that same kind that I sensed most here.
BELOW: Idyllic view of railroad bridge and Patapsco River, just after the bend and downriver from Thistle Mill. Notice exaggerated features and perspective. Picture courtesy of Sulky.
Despite the lingering smell of chemicals and fear, there is a peculiar draw to this area. The sharp 90-degree bend of the Patapsco River here in Ilchester, once literally under the shadow of Hell House [said to have been for budding and retiring Catholic priests], down-river and down-hill from nearly everything, seems to be some sort of “spirit trap” that snags and holds history in a way that is unlike anywhere else.
MAP
https://maps.google.com/maps?ll=39.2522049,-76.7653787&z=17
History / Background
The Thistle Manufacturing Company, commonly known as Thistle Mill, was established in 1824 along the Patapsco River near Ilchester, Maryland. Founded by Scottish merchants Alexander Fridge and the Morris brothers, George and William, the mill marked a significant shift from flour milling to cotton processing in the region. The Ellicott family, prominent local millers, sold the land to the founders with the stipulation that it not be used for competing flour mills.
By 1837, the company had constructed a substantial cotton mill and silk production facility using locally quarried stone. The mill employed approximately 100 workers and included several stone buildings to support laborers and a general store.
Throughout its operation, Thistle Mill underwent several ownership and production changes. In 1882, the company expanded by purchasing the Ilchester flour mill, though it lost the facility in receivership by 1892. In 1919, Edward A.A. Blakeney acquired the plant, transitioning it to cotton duck production and electrifying operations by 1925. The Bartgis Brothers Company purchased the factory in 1928, converting it for paper production. Simkins Industries, Inc. later acquired the mill, focusing on recycled paper products until its closure in 2003.
The mill’s history is marked by several tragedies and challenges. In 1895, then-owner W.H. Kerr drowned while attempting to rescue his son in Annapolis. The facility also faced natural disasters, including significant damage from Hurricane Agnes in 1972, followed by a four-alarm fire just months later. Despite these setbacks, the mill resumed operations within its ruins.
In June 2003, a devastating fire led to the plant’s closure after 46 years of operation as a paper recycling facility. Subsequent fires in 2009 and December 2011 further damaged the site. In 2012, Simkins Industries announced plans to sell the historic factory and its 55 acres, leading to the complex’s demolition in 2013.
The Thistle Mill site holds a complex legacy, reflecting both industrial progress and the human costs associated with it. While the laborers at the mill were free workers, these mills relied on enslaved labor to produce cotton. Investors took advantage of slavery to propel industrial growth and secure profit. The legacy of the site, then, is twofold: it is both a beacon of American industrialism and a reminder of our challenging past.
Today, the site of Thistle Mill stands as a testament to the region’s industrial heritage. While the physical structures have been removed, the history of Thistle Mill remains integral to understanding the development of industry in the Patapsco River Valley and the broader narrative of American industrialization.
