Epic Haunted House Post
Nov. 13th, 2009 11:24 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jwycheI went back to the haunted house down the street once more. It turns out one of the windows which was formerly busted out but blocked from the inside now is as open as the day is long. I climbed in, of course.
I'm not sure why, but I'm happy about this set of pictures.
It was really dark in there and I had no tripod, so taking a picture of this phone just so took me OH about 23 tries. I don't know what is on that phone. I don't want to know. When was the last time someone lifted the bar off the cradle and made a call? Or answered one? Also, I chose not to show it, but there was a rather large knife balancing precariously on top of this phone. Reminded me of Psycho or so. Kind of unbelievable that it hasn't been knocked right off.
It's not the sharpest photo. Here's another one I made many tries for, but I don't have sufficient eye strength to focus on these manually and my little lens couldn't handle it on AF, poor lil guy, so we did our best. The old parlor had chandeliers of spiderwebs all over it. They were beautiful. I've just realized it's sort of a prime spot for black widows, being dark, dry, and deserted. Good thing I didn't disturb them. All the spider silk caught the meager light just so, and it looked like stars in there.
There's the front door. The vines and tumbleweeds and goatheads are rampant on this property, but as we're not really in the city limits, they have nothing to say about it, and I guess the county could care less about what's going on a mile from reservation land. It's interesting to watch the flora demolish this house little by little. I hope I get to keep observing it forever.
Every window had a different personality from it's brethren. This one has no glass in it. It sort of boggles my mind that someone owns this property and doesn't even care about it enough to make sure it's shut to the elements. It was built in 1898. There's an outhouse, a pigpen, and a well elsewhere on the property. And there's this window.
When I was here a few days ago, here's the empty panel I climbed through to get those film pictures (did I ever post those? I can't recall...) The local kids don't seem to sneak in here much to drink or anything. When we were 16 or so, Jaci and Marita and I found the front door to this place open and we went in, of course. It's been cleaned out a lot since then. The old wood stove is gone now. The cancer prescription notes have blown away or melted back into the floor.
Old mattress springs protecting a window. They're so geometrically correct.
This house is made from adobe. Since I have a few VERY foreign friends who read this, I will explain that adobe is mud and straw. If you mix it correctly, it stands against the elements surprisingly well. The bricks at the top of the house are beginning to disintegrate, and mud is running down all the walls.
There are holes in the roof. It's other worldly.
Here's that mattress from the outside.
This is the best picture I took. It's another of the windows, one of the only ones not busted by now. The light was perfect. It makes me feel like souls.
This man lives next door. He told me the history of the house. He's usually very weary of visitors, and he'll usually run people off the property. I guess I understand- if I lived next door to an abandoned old house where people were forever parking and stirring up trouble, I'd hate it too. I just did my best to meet him with a smile and a handshake.
Now all of the sudden I'm forever having these green flares. I guess I could have Photoshopped it out, but meh. Too bad this picture is so blah when the real scene was kinda neato.
How on earth did this little light bulb not break? I think that is awesome sauce.
I honestly don't know what this vent was for, but I'm happy they covered it with chicken wire. Someday I would like to live in a house where I have considered every part, from the ceiling to the vents to the doorknobs to the plumbing to the light fixtures to the windows to the curtains to the floorboards to the foundation. I would like to use chicken wire and other non traditional but available materials. I would like for more things to be shaped like squares instead of rectangles.
There are three lifetimes of tires strewn about the property. Tires remain as bricks, as porch stabilizers, as conversation pieces propped against ancient plyboards and strips of metal.
Overshot it- didn't care. But there's that green ghost again, making sure I know how I suck.
There's something about peeling paint. I'd hate to have to live with it, but it's great to look at.
Berries taking over the house. In summer, the house looks alive because of all the vines. In winter, though, everything outside is brown and grey except these berries. I wonder what the neighbors would do if I painted a rainbow on one of the outside walls or something ^_^
I'm not sure why, but I'm happy about this set of pictures.
It was really dark in there and I had no tripod, so taking a picture of this phone just so took me OH about 23 tries. I don't know what is on that phone. I don't want to know. When was the last time someone lifted the bar off the cradle and made a call? Or answered one? Also, I chose not to show it, but there was a rather large knife balancing precariously on top of this phone. Reminded me of Psycho or so. Kind of unbelievable that it hasn't been knocked right off.
It's not the sharpest photo. Here's another one I made many tries for, but I don't have sufficient eye strength to focus on these manually and my little lens couldn't handle it on AF, poor lil guy, so we did our best. The old parlor had chandeliers of spiderwebs all over it. They were beautiful. I've just realized it's sort of a prime spot for black widows, being dark, dry, and deserted. Good thing I didn't disturb them. All the spider silk caught the meager light just so, and it looked like stars in there.
There's the front door. The vines and tumbleweeds and goatheads are rampant on this property, but as we're not really in the city limits, they have nothing to say about it, and I guess the county could care less about what's going on a mile from reservation land. It's interesting to watch the flora demolish this house little by little. I hope I get to keep observing it forever.
Every window had a different personality from it's brethren. This one has no glass in it. It sort of boggles my mind that someone owns this property and doesn't even care about it enough to make sure it's shut to the elements. It was built in 1898. There's an outhouse, a pigpen, and a well elsewhere on the property. And there's this window.
When I was here a few days ago, here's the empty panel I climbed through to get those film pictures (did I ever post those? I can't recall...) The local kids don't seem to sneak in here much to drink or anything. When we were 16 or so, Jaci and Marita and I found the front door to this place open and we went in, of course. It's been cleaned out a lot since then. The old wood stove is gone now. The cancer prescription notes have blown away or melted back into the floor.
Old mattress springs protecting a window. They're so geometrically correct.
This house is made from adobe. Since I have a few VERY foreign friends who read this, I will explain that adobe is mud and straw. If you mix it correctly, it stands against the elements surprisingly well. The bricks at the top of the house are beginning to disintegrate, and mud is running down all the walls.
There are holes in the roof. It's other worldly.
Here's that mattress from the outside.
This is the best picture I took. It's another of the windows, one of the only ones not busted by now. The light was perfect. It makes me feel like souls.
This man lives next door. He told me the history of the house. He's usually very weary of visitors, and he'll usually run people off the property. I guess I understand- if I lived next door to an abandoned old house where people were forever parking and stirring up trouble, I'd hate it too. I just did my best to meet him with a smile and a handshake.
Now all of the sudden I'm forever having these green flares. I guess I could have Photoshopped it out, but meh. Too bad this picture is so blah when the real scene was kinda neato.
How on earth did this little light bulb not break? I think that is awesome sauce.
I honestly don't know what this vent was for, but I'm happy they covered it with chicken wire. Someday I would like to live in a house where I have considered every part, from the ceiling to the vents to the doorknobs to the plumbing to the light fixtures to the windows to the curtains to the floorboards to the foundation. I would like to use chicken wire and other non traditional but available materials. I would like for more things to be shaped like squares instead of rectangles.
There are three lifetimes of tires strewn about the property. Tires remain as bricks, as porch stabilizers, as conversation pieces propped against ancient plyboards and strips of metal.
Overshot it- didn't care. But there's that green ghost again, making sure I know how I suck.
There's something about peeling paint. I'd hate to have to live with it, but it's great to look at.
Berries taking over the house. In summer, the house looks alive because of all the vines. In winter, though, everything outside is brown and grey except these berries. I wonder what the neighbors would do if I painted a rainbow on one of the outside walls or something ^_^
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Date: 2009-11-15 03:05 pm (UTC)