Paranormal snippet of the Day
Oct. 19th, 2010 12:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
valarltdThis is from "Prey" collected in Howl at the Mistletoe.
There it lurked, hulking atop a low rise, half hidden
by overgrown tress and out-of-control weeds. Old Baptist
Hospital with its wide lawns, iron fence and empty
windows, loomed at the intersection where Pauline ran into
Crump, a photographer's dream of light and shadow.
I drove by it a lot, my eyes always shifting to it of
their own accord, but on this late autumn afternoon, I
finally stopped to shoot. No one stopped me as I drove up
the old drive, running over the weeds that came up over my
bumper. I parked out by a building with a huge smokestack
labeled "Hope Clinic." My cynical side made me wonder
just what sort of "hope" the clinic peddled.
I wandered the grounds, shooting the broken-out
windows, the long shadows, the overgrowth and desolation.
I got a pretty decent shot of my shadow next to the entrance
sign, heading for the missing door. After two rolls, I got up
my nerve to venture inside.
"This is stupid, Michael. Don't do it," I whispered to
myself. Ignoring my own good advice, I walked the sickly
green halls, taking pictures of the empty rooms, shooting
them so they'd look like antechambers of Hell. Trees were
framed at just the wrong angle in the windows. The light
was getting chancier and I took advantage of the shadows
and unexpected illuminations.
The building had been used as shelter by transients.
Bits of fires, graffiti, the occasional den in a sheltered
corner where the remaining doors could be closed for
protection from the wind and ice. I caught a few of these.
The Flyer always ran a heart-tugging story on homelessness
when the weather started getting cold.
I shot some of the graffiti. Most of it was basic
crude intaglios: initials, drawings, dates. There were some
more skilled artworks. One in particular made my skin
crawl. I didn't recognize it, but I shot it anyway. It looked
sort of like a summoning seal, but I'd never seen one with
eight points. The language around the edges looked like
Latin and I figured I could translate once I got it developed.
The seal had me curious, but it made me nervous at
the same time. A low-grade stomach churn and the skin
crawling on my neck like It was watching me -- whatever It
was. I'd see what I could find in the occult section at work.
I finished the roll and got back in my Beetle. I drove out of
the gate as darkness fell and straight to the nearest bar.
After two drinks, my hands stopped shaking and I
poured myself back into the bug and drove home. I'd
develop the pics after work. I didn't feel like fooling with it
right now.
I didn't feel like eating either, so I just went to bed.
There it lurked, hulking atop a low rise, half hidden
by overgrown tress and out-of-control weeds. Old Baptist
Hospital with its wide lawns, iron fence and empty
windows, loomed at the intersection where Pauline ran into
Crump, a photographer's dream of light and shadow.
I drove by it a lot, my eyes always shifting to it of
their own accord, but on this late autumn afternoon, I
finally stopped to shoot. No one stopped me as I drove up
the old drive, running over the weeds that came up over my
bumper. I parked out by a building with a huge smokestack
labeled "Hope Clinic." My cynical side made me wonder
just what sort of "hope" the clinic peddled.
I wandered the grounds, shooting the broken-out
windows, the long shadows, the overgrowth and desolation.
I got a pretty decent shot of my shadow next to the entrance
sign, heading for the missing door. After two rolls, I got up
my nerve to venture inside.
"This is stupid, Michael. Don't do it," I whispered to
myself. Ignoring my own good advice, I walked the sickly
green halls, taking pictures of the empty rooms, shooting
them so they'd look like antechambers of Hell. Trees were
framed at just the wrong angle in the windows. The light
was getting chancier and I took advantage of the shadows
and unexpected illuminations.
The building had been used as shelter by transients.
Bits of fires, graffiti, the occasional den in a sheltered
corner where the remaining doors could be closed for
protection from the wind and ice. I caught a few of these.
The Flyer always ran a heart-tugging story on homelessness
when the weather started getting cold.
I shot some of the graffiti. Most of it was basic
crude intaglios: initials, drawings, dates. There were some
more skilled artworks. One in particular made my skin
crawl. I didn't recognize it, but I shot it anyway. It looked
sort of like a summoning seal, but I'd never seen one with
eight points. The language around the edges looked like
Latin and I figured I could translate once I got it developed.
The seal had me curious, but it made me nervous at
the same time. A low-grade stomach churn and the skin
crawling on my neck like It was watching me -- whatever It
was. I'd see what I could find in the occult section at work.
I finished the roll and got back in my Beetle. I drove out of
the gate as darkness fell and straight to the nearest bar.
After two drinks, my hands stopped shaking and I
poured myself back into the bug and drove home. I'd
develop the pics after work. I didn't feel like fooling with it
right now.
I didn't feel like eating either, so I just went to bed.
