I like rooting around in decrepit, empty old buildings. It's pretty obvious if you check out this blog's posts from the last few years. I like the mystery, the shadows and history these old buildings possess. I don't touch anything, I just like to record the silent traces of the countless unknown events that must have transpired in them. The moment I step into one of them something changes. The outside noise somehow seems to get canceled out and I hear nothing but the sound of my own footsteps, which I consciously try to minimize so as not to disturb the atmosphere. And just in case some of the suites are still occupied, inhabited by stubborn last-straggler residents or workers who might resent an outsider with a camera recording what they considered their own domain.
I was glad, therefore, when I came upon a derelict, an actual condemned building in an area not far from my home. It had a sign affixed to it that warned against entering, as there were loose structures within and safety could not be guaranteed; however, there were no fences or tape physically barring entry, so of course I chose to enter (don't try this at home^).
I don't normally experience fear or anxiety when I explore these dingy spaces; the curiosity and excitement, the expectation of discovery are enough to override any feelings of discomfort that might arise.
But it's also true that I had never previously encountered an environment that was literally left to fall apart. Which this building was -- clearly, it had been slowly rotting away for years.
The ceilings were caving, the walls were peeling and crumbling, and many of the windows no longer had panes in them.
Then, as I stood there clicking away on the fourth floor, suddenly I heard a soft, high-pitched groaning sound, seemingly right behind me. It sounded just like a woman's voice. I just about jumped out of my skin! I whirled around in shock and terror, but there was no one. Instead, I saw that it was just a door creaking in the draft. But then, just as I was letting out a huge (metaphorical)sigh of relief, I heard a thud or dull banging noise from downstairs. Not from the floor below, but seemingly farther down, and not very loud but still quite distinct.
That was it. That did it for me. I was thoroughly creeped out and there was nothing to do but leave, and quickly.
While hurrying down the stairwell I was NOT looking to find out who or what had made the noise. On the contrary, I prayed I would not run into the party responsible, be it a ghost, a homeless person or a fellow urban explorer. Boy, was I glad when I made it out without incident. Into a silent, empty alley in the gloomy gray light of a heavily overcast late afternoon -- but glad.
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