The asylum had been abandoned for so long that nobody in town remembered its name. At the peak of its history, it was the busiest institution in the entire state. That's a lot of people that went through its doors. That's a lot of unhappy souls that left an impression within its walls.
Every ghost hunter who's gone through that place claims the usual happenings: groans, gasps, cries, sobs, and other sounds of human misery. So too are the creaking of floorboards and the squeaks of hinges giving out reported. Nothing remarkable.
It would all be so tiresome if it weren't for the arm.
If you ask anyone about the arm, you'll hear ten different accounts about the origin. One variety has a poor inmate having a limb amputated after a brutal altercation. Another claims that he mangled it on a rusty iron bar while trying to escape through a window. All anyone can agree on is that it's a left arm, all the digits are intact, and it follows lone visitors.
The arm may appear out from the floor, a wall, or even the ceiling. Some ghost hunters have claimed to see it sticking out of the stairs as they went up to the higher floors, popping up a few steps ahead of them with every blink of the eye.
Any attempts to touch the arm will get you scratched or slapped. Some ghost hunters walk out with their own left arms red and raw just below the elbow joint, right where the arm was said to be separated from its owner.
Just as the name of the asylum is lost to history, so are the names of the workers and patients. Detective work has brought up so little solid information that locals rely on their imaginations to fill in the canyon-wide gaps.
I'm only a researcher in this particular matter, but I've heard you have stories. So, friend, what have you heard of the disembodied arm of the asylum?