The Coldest Venture

It was probably a bad day to go anywhere. So my dad and I went somewhere. Way out there, maybe a little further than we had been before. The skies morphed the closer we got to our location, until they unleashed an unexpected hellstorm blizzard down upon us. We hadn’t expected any snow, but this was no-man’s-land, and the same rules don’t apply here. 

 

Whenever I think of “places to hide the bodies”, this location comes into mind. In the fields along the way, you could bury someone here and no one would ever find them, not in a hundred years. Not, that, uh, I have any bodies to bury or anything.

 

This was one of those towns that clung onto life just hard enough to survive, but not without casualties. It suffered the total loss of its Main Street, leaving behind only a warm, alluring café and little houses burdening themselves from the cold. Long after the businesses have left, the homes remain.

 

 

We didn’t have to worry about seeing a single angry townsperson. There was nary a soul in the streets, no one foolish enough to brave the blizzard, no one but us.

 

And you could feel that cold, stinging absence of heat the minute you stepped out of the confines of the vehicle and out onto the deserted streets. Going past the gas station, I headed for the small tin shed to make a grievous error.

This shed hadn’t been used in years, right? Surely, none of the machinery would still be running, and I make it a habit to pull levers and push light switches inside abandonments, because it triggers some primal urge in my brain. Maybe because I’m still waiting for that one day when I’ll find an abandonment that still has the power connected (they do exist).

I found a box that contained an “On” and “Off” switch, currently facing down, in the “Off” position. I had to fix that, and gleefully smiling, pushed it upwards. Farm machinery held in a different part of the shed roared to life, and I mean that in every sense of the word, echoing as the only sound down the barren road.

 

 

I quickly fixed my error right after shitting my pants, and very inauspiciously jumped down and out of the shed. My dad, near the shed, turned around, just as terrified as I was. I explained to him what happened and we walked on our merry way (although he probably called me a doofus first). A beacon of light was ahead: An occupied café, still open despite the weather, a lighthouse beacon on the dreary day. We didn’t go in, but it remained as a symbol of hope in the emptiness.

 

We passed cracked, splintered windmills held aloft but barely running as our hands froze in the dim and calm, snowflakes torrentially drifting to the muddy grounds.  I came to the main attraction: a wooden gas station, littered on the inside with boxes that had Texaco labels, damp but still in good condition.

My dad journeyed back to the car while I pressed on, seeing little yellow lights on inside the houses, and still there was but silence.

 

Finally, hands beginning to numb, feeling actual pain from the discomfort, I ran back to the car. The drive had taken more than an hour, the actual exploration, ten minutes.  

 

 

I turned the heat on full-blast and we were off once more through those lost, vacant lands. Later, when I would post these pictures online, they would get the “warmest” reception of any abandonment pictures I’ve posted to this day (although my photography has significantly improved since then). They evoked an archaic coldness, made people shiver, and many said it reminded them of Silent Hill. It had been a bitterly frigid trip, and such a short one, but in the end the struggles we go through when abandonmenting all become worth it.