As spring finally arrives it brings the end to a long, cold, snowy, and personally difficult winter. The snow bank mountains are receding, the birds are chirping, and I am once again happy, as healthy as possible, and contentedly sober.
While I explored quite a bit this winter, it's been a few months since I've posted a new location. In fact I've got a lot of new goodies to share but have been suffering from writer's block throughout this tumultuous time period. But that ends now, spring has sprung, and everything blossoms and comes to life again, including this man.
However, winter is still showing it's ugly face outside my window as I write this, so I want to take you back to the end of last summer. August 31st, 2013, the day after our close call at the Doxsee Farmhouse.
It was midway through our second last camping trip of the season when I found myself walking the length of the beach at Sandbanks Provincial Park as darkness dissolved and the sun rose and shone light upon the world as I see it.
Sunrise at Sandbanks
Love is blind
Hours later, we were back on the road, hunting for abandonments, as per our usual camping routine. We stop in at Antique shops and restaurants along the way. This is our passion, this is what we do.
Driving back roads and always going the long way, continuing our abandonment mapping of Prince Edward County, we were on our way to get lunch at Lake on the Mountain when we came across the dilapidated, overgrown and extremely creepy Chuckery Hill House.
Nature nurtures
They don't make them like they used to. But we don't protect them like we should either.
The Chuckery Hill House is one of those weird ones. An old abandoned house that has a feel to it. Something uneasy came over me and followed me through the house like a devil on my shoulder. No angels. Nicole was affected immediately by the same vibe and quickly retreated outside after stepping just inside the door. She wanted no part of it.
I ventured forth alone.
The scene of the crime
Please be seated
Powerless
Unread unheard unseen
Turn it up
This newspaper is exactly two months older than I am
The moon landing
The kitchen is closed
Bugs Bath & Beyond
As I made my way upstairs the mouldy air thickened and the heat hit me like a truck, almost winding me. Furniture and decay were the only things that seemed to remain here, with the exception of the overpowering feeling of the devil on my shoulder, or angry eyes watching over me. I don't believe in ghosts, but I definitely trust my gut feelings, which are well honed. So that's just the best I can describe the vibe that we both felt to our cores. It is the unknown that is so intriguing.
Now I lay me down to sleep
Bedtimeless
Sleepwalking away forever
I quickly made my way around the bedrooms and snapped the few photos above, and then descended, speedily escaping the hot stench of the second floor.
It seemed so cool downstairs all of a sudden, as is often the case. That instant that the heat fades and the cold sweat sticking to your shirt prompts a shiver. You take a deep breath at that moment, every time.
Still fully creeped by the vibe and eager to escape the nastiness, I prepared to leave. But I didn't, I turned back and opened the door to the garage...
Not ridin' dirty, just dirty.
Raise the roof
BUICK
Murder murder murder kill kill kill
I take one look back at the Chuckery Hill House before we hit the road.
And then as per the usual, we follow in the footsteps of whomever once called this house home, and we leave it behind.
click here to check out all of jerm & ninja IX's ABANDONMENT ISSUES
4 comments:
I'm so happy you're back. I love (and missed) seeing these fascinating old places.
Thanks man, that's nice to hear.
I've just discovered my new favourite blog!!! I'm fascinated by abandoned buildings but I am usually too chicken to venture inside. I usually just end up taking a couple of outside shots. Your pictures are fantastic. I wish people were like you and your wife: go in, take some photos and leave it as you found it. Too many places get destroyed by vandals, such as Al Capones rumoured hideaway.
Years ago, I visited a woman who lived here. At the time, my child was just over two years old.
I very much understand the feeling you had while walking through. We felt it too—my son all the more than even I did. At one point, when I and the woman of the house stepped outside briefly, all the doors in the house began to slam—from the upstairs all the way down. We couldn't get them to open, which was terrifying since my son was standing in the foyer.
We eventually broke in through a screen door, I grabbed my son and we left.
The woman of the house, as she was giving me the tour, told me some terrifying tales of what had happened there, as well as some ongoing frights. Yikes!
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