my entire life, i've been fascinated and fixated on the idea of abandoned places. not the actual act, feeling or process of BEING abandoned as a person or anything - but the places themselves. a lot of it has to do with my past experiences and hangup on the idea of hauntings and the paranormal, but some of it too, is the history of the place itself, of stories past and what sort of path led to a breathing, operable location's semi or complete demise.
(. . . pause in thought as 20 lb. feline walks on my chest and attempts to sit on my face. . .)
i had a dream last night. it was familiar, with themes partial to a dream i've had recurring for at least the past 5 years or so. maybe even longer. the details are blurred, but the overall idea is the same. there's this house. it's a house i'm familiar with, although i don't think i've ever actually been there in my real life. there's nothing extraordinary about this house, except that the inside is larger than the outside makes it appear. there's some sort of inner hidden dimension, with extra staircases leading to a separate corridor. it's not a super nice house, but it's not exactly a shack, either. in some versions it's the house i grew up in argyle until 4th grade on monroe street. in others, it's my grandparents' old farm house in richland center.
in this house, there's some sort of extra presence. i'm always intrigued in my dream, yet when i wake up i'm frightened. it's as if there is some extra evil, or dangerous is probably a better word for it, presence, lurking in the extra hidden extension to the house. very david lynch like, think the black lodge from twin peaks, sans dancing shorties or giants. i'm led to believe in my dream, that it's got something to do with the spirit of my grandmother. my grandmother was like everyone's grandmother - sweet, caring and gentle. she was a magnificent woman. and in my dream, even though i'm not sure it's her, i somehow know that the unspeakable presence has a lot to do with her. it's almost like some sort of presence is trying to trick me into thinking it's her, so i feel a false sense of comfort and security, luring me into some inevitable trap. in almost every variation of this dream, i know not to explore the closed off portion of the house. my family members or the people with me in or around the house always tell me, 'you can't go up there' with creepy stares.
in one version, there's a descending twirling staircase that leads to an immaculately clean mansion like series of bedrooms. the bathroom has an impressive whirlpool with red, velvet shower curtains. giant masterbedroom. scary crazy clean and quiet. in another version, the one from last night/this morning, it's actually upstairs, in an attic living space, with a closed off bedroom playing a creepy analog tape machine that i've never seen before, with a track of distorted chipmunk sounds and bird songs, almost like a possessed remix of that elliott smith track off of from a basement on the hill, ostriches and chirping, sans whistling. more rustling. overall creep central. the song is playing on a loop, with noone monitoring or playing it. it's dusty. i break it with my hand, and whoever is with me (i never see their face), tells me 'you shouldn't have done that. grandma likes to hear that playing.' the whole room is dusty. and even though i continue opening doors and moving on where i shouldn't, i never encounter this extra presence that everyone has strictly forbade me from pursuing. i deep down know its not my family, but they're still involved.
the houses are mad creepy. but it's almost my fate, to explore them and become sucked into the madness infesting them. the conflicting themes of cleanliness and descending staircases, and then dusty insanity in an abandoned attic are polar from one another, yet consistent with their repetition. it's always one or the other. the hidden evil feeling of dread, and sinking sensation of doom are overwhelming. enough to make me want to go back to sleep, not to escape my thoughts, but to continue exploring their meanings.
i have never actually explored an abandoned house, though i did one time break into an old apartment of mine from college. then, my brother and i did break into my grandparent's old gas station in argyle a few years back, before it was torn down by the town. we rummaged through an old desk, filled with receipts and notes with my grandmother's cursive handwriting, from the late 60's/early 70's. we stole an old electric 7-up clock that i still have today. the idea of my grandparents owning/operating the dusty musky shack as a profitable business was crazy, but not quite the nightmare i have these days.
the last time i went home to argyle, it was this past march. i took my husband for the blink and miss it 10 minute walking tour of my hometown, and we spent a decent amount of time shuffling outside of my childhood home. no one lives there, or has since my mother moved out some odd 5-6 years ago. at first i was just looking around for my best pal for life callie's grave in the backyard. the former landlords, however, stole my mom's ceramic angel statue marker, so i stood pouting, missing my kitty cat, around the general vicinity, and pointed out my old bush fort built upon gravestones and a circular path around a leafless shrub. i used to sit on those headstones, not for actual dead people, but left there from our neighbors who ran a gravestone company for my fort. i used to sweep around that dumb bush, and leave fruit snacks in my wooden 'cupboard' (ie old wooden beer crate).
i wish i still had that fort.
after the normal memory jogs, i walked up to the back screen door, which was propped open, waiving in the wind off its broken rusty hinge. as shitty as the place looked, with weeds yay-high around the yard, it looked as if actual renevations are feebly being attempted. i so very much wanted to open the door and walk in. i know how to break in through the front door, by heart. i did live there for 15 years or so. but i didn't. not because i was scared i would get caught. but because i learned my lesson the last time i broke into a past residence of mine. that was in oshkosh. that place was mad scary, with real monsters and shit.
i don't know how i'd feel leaving my childhood home, frightened. although i was never really at peace living there anyway. too many weird sounds. too many unexplained encounters.
but this isn't a post about ghost stories. we all know there's plenty of those hidden in this blog.
there's no real revelation or reflection in this post. more less a ramble, an extended thought, on the idea of abandoned locations. my childhood home, for example, was never a great place. but it was enough, and it was where i grew up. to come back and see it, a handful of years after i left my hometown, as nothing but a dark,weed infested empty abandoned shack - it makes me wonder if my dreams are more than dreams, and that hidden vortex does exist behind those close, half locked doors.
is evil real? is there more to what meets the eye in paranormal theories? just because we don't see it, does that make it less of a reality? what separates living consciousness from dreams?
i wish i could just break into old buildings for a living. the encounters with the unexplained and on-the-job dangers would more than make up for it. until then, i'll just continue slumming for the inexplicable, in my dreams.
