Riverview Asylum Hitchhiker – Story by Carrie Genzel

Riverview Asylum Hitchhiker

Years ago, while filming at Riverview Mental Asylum in Coquitlam, British Columbia, a location well known in the Vancouver film industry for its paranormal activity, I had an experience that introduced me to something paranormal investigators call a hitchhiker. A hitchhiker is a spirit that attaches itself to a person and follows them home from a haunted location.

Hitchhiker spirits are something experienced paranormal investigators warn about when visiting active locations, but at the time, I had never heard of the concept and had no idea it was even possible.

During a break in the shooting schedule, I decided to wander and explore on my own. I made my way up to the fourth floor of Riverview, which has a reputation for paranormal activity.

Riverview is a decommissioned psychiatric hospital often referred to as Riverview Mental Asylum, and it has become a well-known filming location for television and film productions in the Vancouver area. Anyone who has worked there for any length of time has likely heard stories about unexplained activity in the building.

It was a sunny day outside, but inside the building, the air felt heavy and stilted, almost like it wasn’t moving. The hallways were quiet in a way that didn’t feel peaceful. It felt watched.

What makes Riverview particularly eerie is how much of the building still carries the imprint of what it once was. You can still see where the beds were bolted to the floor. You can see the outlines on the walls where equipment had once been mounted. The rooms feel like ghosts of their former purpose, small spaces that once held people.

There are solitary confinement rooms that are especially unsettling.

But layered on top of that history are the remnants of decades of film productions. One hallway has permanent jail bars built into it because productions use that corridor as a county jail set. So you have this strange juxtaposition between the building’s real past and the artificial worlds created for television and film.

One hallway looks like an abandoned hospital ward.
The next looks like a prison set.

Then you turn a corner and suddenly find a sunroom filled with beautiful natural light streaming through large windows.

It’s disorienting.

As I wandered through those corridors, I didn’t see anything in particular, but I definitely felt like many people were walking with me through the halls and into the various rooms, almost like they were observing me.

Eventually, I went back downstairs and finished shooting.

When the project wrapped, I drove from Vancouver back to Los Angeles, where I was living at the time. It’s a long drive, and I made the trip alone.

During the drive, I noticed something strange. My eyes kept drifting toward the passenger seat. Nothing was there. I didn’t hear anything. But for some reason I kept glancing over, almost like part of me expected someone to be sitting there.

When I finally arrived home in Los Angeles, I settled back into my house. That house already had quite a bit of spiritual activity, so sensing the occasional presence wasn’t unusual for me. Different spirits seemed to come and go.

But this felt different.

I began noticing a new energy near the doorway of my bedroom.

It felt male. Nervous. Unstable. It felt like someone standing just around the corner, peeking into the room while trying not to be seen.

I noticed it for several days, and it made me uncomfortable.

So I called a friend of mine who is very sensitive to spiritual activity and asked if he could tune into what might be happening.

The moment he connected, he said,
“Carrie, you have a hitchhiker.”

I asked what that meant.

He asked if I had recently been somewhere with a lot of paranormal activity.

I told him about filming at Riverview and wandering through the building.

Then he asked a question I had never even considered.

“Before you left, did you tell the spirits they did not have permission to follow you or attach themselves to you?”

I said no.

When you’re working sixteen or seventeen-hour days on a film set, you’re exhausted. When the job wrapped, I packed up my car and drove home. The last thing on my mind was setting spiritual boundaries with anything in that building.

He told me that it was my mistake.

Sometimes, he explained, spirits will attach themselves to someone leaving a haunted location. They essentially hitch a ride.

His advice was simple.

The next time I felt that presence, I needed to say clearly that it did not have permission to be there and that it needed to return to Riverview.

The next time I sensed that nervous energy standing at my doorway, I did exactly that.

I said out loud,

“You do not have permission to be here. You need to go back to Riverview. You have to leave.”

After that, I never felt that presence again.

That experience changed the way I approach paranormal locations.

Now, whenever I leave a place that is known for paranormal activity, I always say something before I get in the car.

“You do not have permission to follow me home. You do not have permission to attach yourself to me or anyone else. You must stay here.”

Most of the time, I remember.

But every once in a while, I forget.

A few months ago, after visiting another haunted location, I forgot to say it. Later that night I saw a small figure standing in the shadows at the end of our hallway. I couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl, but I immediately knew it didn’t belong there.

So I said it again.

“You do not have permission to be here. You need to go back.”

And just like before, I haven’t seen it since.

It’s experiences like this that make many paranormal investigators ask the same question:

Can spirits follow you home from a haunted place?

Many investigators believe they can. Spirits that attach themselves to people and leave a location with them are often referred to as hitchhikers. That’s why experienced investigators will often set a boundary before leaving a location, clearly stating that no one has permission to follow them.

After my experience at Riverview Mental Asylum, it’s a rule I try to never forget.