Driving down a back highway on a cold rainy day with windshield wipers going and heat on high, I come across this incredibly dilapidated, abandoned house that looks like something from a Hollywood horror flick.
With camera in hand and nobody around to deter me, I decide to venture in. I step through the open doorway and my eyes adjust to the dim interior. The smell of porcupine feces is overwhelming. I choose each step carefully, mindful that the next one might cause me to plunge through the rotting floor; large holes reveal a deep, dark cellar that I'd prefer not to visit.
I glance up the stairway to the second floor where a dim light glows and reminds me of a scene from the Exorcist.
Moving to what was once a kitchen, I tilt my head to clear the cobwebs that stretch across the doorways. In every direction, the walls, ceilings and floor are missing large chunks and look as though they are about to collapse. A damp, cold wind blows through open windows that once held panes of glass. Now, thick vines, like tentacles of a beast, wrap the house and reach in through openings as though they are searching for the inhabitants.
And yet in all this, I see remnants of a family that loved their home; rotting remains of expensive wallpaper and delicate wood mouldings that once decorated a family's home.
With a collections of photos in hand, I decide not to push my luck further and instead depart. As I drive away, I picture a family living in this home, Christmas dinners and family get togethers, and I wonder how a home could have become this.