By James MacDougall
When I was a child there was an abandoned farm house across the road from my Uncle’s farm. The house looked angry in it’s dilapidated state. The overgrown weeds that throttled the yard, the weather-worn boards that clung to the deranged frame, the shards of glass from broken windows all said “Beware: Keep Out”, but they also said “I Dare You!” I was too young and too afraid to go inside, but I was curious. My older more daring cousins would go in and explore. I waited anxiously outside, listening to the cracking boards and rustling pigeons as the older kids rooted and probed intruding through the innards of the corpse-like house. Ultimately the stillness would be interrupted by a yell or cry followed by hysterical laughter and a torrent of footsteps as kids made a mad dash out the doorway. Then the stories were told, of strange shadows and glimpses of faces in dark corners, of whispering voices and sounds from the basement. We would all run back across the road to my Uncle’s farm looking from safety at the dead house grey and wizened under the same sun that shone on us.
This is a series I did of three abandoned places inspired by my fascination with forlorn buildings.