drop out and cop out

dropdoesdamage:

photosfromtheabyss:

the meade hotel in bannack, montana is creepy. not because it’s “haunted”, but rather because the ceilings are just high enough that it creates a disquieting feeling in anybody who walks its hallways. the slope of the floors is slightly disorienting, and the surprise of seeing such a huge, vacant (but clean) space causes an uncomfortable feeling in a visitor- particularly if you’re there at night, and are one of the few people in a hundred-mile radius. combined with the distant flash and rumble of a storm moving east across the mountains and prairie, and it was a truly special context in which to explore this beautiful, eerie piece of history.
so far as people’s impressions that it’s “haunted”, i would suggest that maybe an old building is prone to have drafts (“cold spots”) and obviously you will hear the laughter of children in a place that’s frequented by tourists with small children. (especially if it’s built in a valley- like bannack is- and the sound of people that you might not even see is carried through the streets and bounces off hills and buildings.) the fact that doors move “on their own” is no surprise- strong, frequent winds are liable to whip through the building and pull doors closed (or push them open if not securely latched), and the whole town is built with the slightest angle downhill toward the creek.

any other phenomena experienced inside the old meade hotel— the feeling that you are being watched by an invisible occupant, the sensation of a cold finger running up your spine when no one is there, the growing suspicion that the walls are quivering with tension, stretched fractionally higher each passing moment by some unseen force, while you are being inversely diminished, hushed, smothered— can easily be attributed to the late hour and gloaming light, and weariness from a long day on the road.
surely better to stay a while, and rest.

dropdoesdamage:

photosfromtheabyss:

the meade hotel in bannack, montana is creepy. not because it’s “haunted”, but rather because the ceilings are just high enough that it creates a disquieting feeling in anybody who walks its hallways. the slope of the floors is slightly disorienting, and the surprise of seeing such a huge, vacant (but clean) space causes an uncomfortable feeling in a visitor- particularly if you’re there at night, and are one of the few people in a hundred-mile radius. combined with the distant flash and rumble of a storm moving east across the mountains and prairie, and it was a truly special context in which to explore this beautiful, eerie piece of history.

so far as people’s impressions that it’s “haunted”, i would suggest that maybe an old building is prone to have drafts (“cold spots”) and obviously you will hear the laughter of children in a place that’s frequented by tourists with small children. (especially if it’s built in a valley- like bannack is- and the sound of people that you might not even see is carried through the streets and bounces off hills and buildings.) the fact that doors move “on their own” is no surprise- strong, frequent winds are liable to whip through the building and pull doors closed (or push them open if not securely latched), and the whole town is built with the slightest angle downhill toward the creek.

any other phenomena experienced inside the old meade hotel— the feeling that you are being watched by an invisible occupant, the sensation of a cold finger running up your spine when no one is there, the growing suspicion that the walls are quivering with tension, stretched fractionally higher each passing moment by some unseen force, while you are being inversely diminished, hushed, smothered— can easily be attributed to the late hour and gloaming light, and weariness from a long day on the road.

surely better to stay a while, and rest.

Roadtrip, 8/22. A home in eastern Washington, flanked by two guardian trees. The southeastern tree flourishes; the northwestern tree is skeletal and long-dead.

Roadtrip, 8/22, Day 1. When we set out from Seattle everything is blanketed in perfect Pacific Northwest fog, gentle and cocooning, but by the time we reach the really desolate parts of Eastern Washington the sun has broken through and it feels like we’re at the beach, no matter how far inland we really are. adventuresintheabyss & I park on the side of the road and walk out to this cluster of abandoned buildings.

photosfromtheabyss:

dropcop in eastern washington

photosfromtheabyss:

dropcop in eastern washington

adventuresintheabyss:

dropcop at the beginning of our adventures last week.

adventuresintheabyss:

dropcop at the beginning of our adventures last week.