The Abandoned Buildings

It’s July, high summer in much of the world, when we dream of getaways and vacations, 2019-style. Many people love big-city adventures with museums, theater and fancy restaurants, while others yearn for slow, winding drives through the remote countryside. For some, it’s just not a holiday without a stretch of sand and a stocked cooler, where others devote their downtime to more rigorous adventures like scuba diving, rock climbing or hiking. Sadly, 2020 has rewritten our vacation plans. Here’s a blog about a road trip my son and I took.

Matthew and I were traveling down an old country road out west when I spotted something up the deserted road. When we made a complete stop at a 4-way stop sign I looked nostalgically at the old abandoned buildings that didn’t set too far back from the road. The forsaken house stood hopeless. All of a sudden, my eye caught movement of something inside the abandoned house.

Just as my son took his foot off the brake to proceed forward through the intersection I shouted, “Wait! Stop the car.”

My eyes made contact with Matthew’s. “I’m pretty sure I saw something. Please just give me a few minutes to check it out. Wait right here for me. I’m going to leave my purse and phone with you. I’ll be right back.”  I hurriedly climbed out of the low riding Dodge Charger with my camera in tow before Matthew had the chance to talk me out of it.  

As I walked toward the abandoned buildings, with only silence along my side, I felt excited by the sight of the abandoned house. I felt mounting anticipation and my first impression was “WOW!” I felt sure that it used to be a beautiful house at one time. I mean ‘home,’ and not just a house, after all. The home used to be alive and cheerful, but it was now forgotten and had an air of melancholy. The wooden roof seemed intact, but the windows were mostly boarded up. Sunlight no longer danced through the windows and sounds of laughter were no longer heard. The old house was left to die, alone; with no one to care, or hear its creaks. The ramshackle was eerily abandoned with an equally uninhibited garage/gas station. I stopped a moment to have a good look at both places. While I took a couple of snapshots, I heard a human’s cry for help. I turned around to catch a glimpse back at the rental car. The voice I heard was clearly not my son’s. I couldn’t tell if the sound was coming from the abandoned garage or the house. I was not crazy! I know I did hear a voice.

I imagined most people would have looked at these dilapidated structures from their vehicles and drove on. But I could not have ignored them. As I was taking another photograph of the house, I thought I saw a silhouette of somebody beside the window gazing down at me. So, after seeing movement inside, and now hearing a cry for help I started to walk toward the eerie little house. But the unkempt yard prevented me from hurrying. When I reached the house I saw how much it had dangerously decayed and showed signs it had been uninhabited for decades.

Then I heard the voice again. I figured if I went back to the waiting vehicle, and told Matthew, he may not believe me. I was certain there was a voice—maybe voices—behind that dilapidated door. They were screaming voices. Like sounds of someone trapped inside.

It was generous of Matthew to wait for me. I’m sure it I hurry, it won’t take me much longer, I thought. I walked around the side of the house to peer inside the window. “Hello?? Is there someone in here?” I couldn’t see anything. It was pitch black. But I am not crazy! I did hear those voices.

So, I leaned in even closer to the door. I set my hearing processor against the worn, splintered wooden surface and listened. “Help!” “Help me!” The screams were louder now. I pulled away instantly, a bit frightened.

I had to do something. So, I moved closer to the door, so close that I turned my feet sideways to stand even closer to it. I lifted my arms over my head and held my palms and entire body close to the threadbare door and leaned into it. I could feel my heart beating rapidly.

It was when I tried to pull away from the door that I discovered I could not move. Not an inch! Not a millimeter! I tried to pull away, but I was skewered to it. Like when flies land on fly paper they become stuck in the adhesive. I was motionless. My eyes in a panic and staring, one eye held firmly by the door and my other eye in the direction of the old country road. I couldn’t see the rental car, or Matthew.

My eye closest to the door watched my arm enter that same threadbare door and dissolve into it. I twisted myself but found I could not move. I began to scream into the door.

I suddenly shut my mouth. I listened. I heard those other voices again; the ones that first begged me to stop and listen. These were the very voices that made me want to help in the first place. Now I was one of those voices. They were next to me, no longer in front of me. I was inside calling out. In fact, I was screaming, “Help! Help me!”

“Mom?”  Matthew approached the house. “Mom, where are you?”

I screamed, “Help! Help me, Matthew!” I beat on the interior dilapidated bare walls.

It was obvious Matthew could not hear me. He wandered away from the house. He walked toward the garage. I saw that he didn’t have his phone on him. “Mom? Are you in here?” I watched him turn the doorknob. Nothing happened. I felt helpless. Then I watched him do what I did. He must have heard the voices because my 6’ 2” son pressed his hands and ear up close against the dilapidated door. He was listening for something or precisely… someone. I watched my son lift his arms over his head and held his palms and entire body close to the threadbare door. He leaned into it. I screamed frantically, “Nooooo!!!!” That’s when I witnessed his body evaporate through the door! And, just like that…he was gone.