Few years back I was dating this girl in Iowa. She, her brother, and I would visit abandoned houses pretty often. This one house will forever give me chills and get me to rethink the way I look at these houses.
One night, after staking this house out for a few days, we venture into the back door which is sealed off by plywood and big screws. We pry the bar off with my bear grils knife (spelled wrong on purpose) and we take our first steps in. Mind you, years of decay have destroyed this house, all but a few things. The living room was completely trashed, all but a clear path to the stairs, the couch was clean, only had some dust. The television has dust on it and looked brand new, from the 50’s with the big bubble screen! And the stairs to go up to the second floor. Looking at the building it was an old duplex that had been made into a full size house years later. The stairs were trashed except the dark stains all the way up the middle.
There were four rooms on the second floor. First room directly in front of the top of the stairs was the bathroom, hole in the ceiling, water dripping into tub from the hole, no biggie. Second room first room on the left, kids toys covered the floor, didn’t know if it was carpet, tile, or wood. Third room, a bed covered in newspapers, kinda freaked out to look at them, fourth room was the second kitchen. This was one of the most f****d rooms. There was black sand on the counter, a bunk bed covered in stacked papers, and a big black board with a satanic star on the middle. Her brother and I moved the board to discover a completely organized area. Papers stacked to perfection, each stack had the same things in it, notes, sheets of paper with cursive writing, pictures of people standing around a fire with chains on, etc…
Now mind you, I read all these stories on here and feel like people go beyond belief, but my own experience make those seem possible. We finally said screw this we’re going to the attic and leaving. We ventured up to the attic and found a recliner, a desk with a spinning mirror, a candle light hanging from the ceiling, and film canisters. Plus the room was completely torn apart from the insulation, all the way up to the boards being chewed up. The other items I mentioned, we’re untouched. Not even by dust. (Getting chills even typing this) My ex-girlfriend, her brother and I FINALLY said F**K this! We went to leave and I blurted out “what about the basement? That’s the LAST room we got, why not?” (Never should have said that)
Of course, I was the one going first. The steps weren’t closed off in the back, and it’s one of those stair ways that don’t have a wall blocking the basement side so you can just peak around where the basement ceiling started and the staircase met, which is what I did. There was an unfolded cot down there and as soon as I saw the dark stains in the middle I heard a deep growl. Then an even louder snarl and my ankle started burning so badly and my leg was swept from under me. The most pain I’ve ever endured. When I go through abandoned houses, I wear jeans, boots that offer ankle support, so ones that cover your ankles due to uneven surfaces, broken floors, and floors that can cave in, I often wore long sleeve shirts and gloves. Depending on the area (camera’s, police presence, smells, mold, etc) I wore a mask over my mouth and nose. And to feel that pain on my ankle meant it tore through my boots, of course I screamed like a little b***h and ran the hell out. As soon as we all left the door we came in through, it started pouring outside. The farther and farther we ran, the less it rained and the more we looked at the house the more my chest and ankle started to hurt. When it stopped raining that’s when I looked at my ankle, there was no tear in my boots and there was blood on the inside. I have a scar to this day. That house is on Grand Ave. in Davenport Iowa. I’ll never go back there, ever again.
