Do Not 'Fear Not'
Similar to every other living, breathing, sentient being on this lush planet of ours, I too get scared. With the exception of maybe Dennis Rodman, each of us fear something. Man, woman, toddler, dog, orangutang, Cornish game hen, screaming hairy armadillo, lion – all these creatures have fears of their own. For some, it’s the dark. Others, maybe deep water. Husbands their browser history leaked, and wives their Amazon cart exposed to said husbands. For me, however, it’s the basement.
It is not just any basement, though. It’s not the basement in grandma’s white colonial (erected circa. 1736) whose house is heated by a furnace that runs the same as George Stephenson’s locomotive. I’ve seen Home Alone. Do not put me on the same quivering pedestal as Kevin McCallister. Unlike him, I can keep my home warm during a Chicago suburb Winter AND ward off any bungling thieves.
To clarify, it is the basement of these worn down, beaten to hell buildings that we explore.
The Basement Blues
To say it is an irrational fear would be irrational. This list of people and/or things that may have taken up residency in those places is far too many. It’s the kind of satanic seances from Daniel Craig’s Dream House (great movie; ignore Rotten Tomatoes) that I am nervous of stumbling upon. It’s a homeless man that was given peyote outside of the Walmart he frequents instead of a $5 dollar bill. Oh, and guess what – he’s hungry. Now we are in the bowels of a mental asylum with a skell who has taken enough hallucinogens to be an actual patient.
The rapid temperature drops are quite unsettling as well. Even a warm summer day could quickly turn into a New England October night down there. Only difference? No clam chowder or campfire surrounded by loved ones.
At the Pines Resort, we could feel our fingers blackening from the chill in the basement there. This is what most Americans would refer to as ‘frostbite’. Canadians consider it a ‘good Spring’. It was somehow windy, and the droplets of water off the ceiling echoed throughout. After the supposed shuffling of feet from the dark corners, we decided it was best not to invade Russia in the Winter.
Meanagers
Quite possibly the most frightening of the accouterments on the outfit that is an abandoned building: derelict teenagers. The further away I am from being a teenager, the more I realize how scary they can be. In today’s age especially, the nihilistic ideologies they are spoon-fed each day leaves little room in their minds to worry of consequences. Consequences simply won’t matter. Enraptured by cheap thrills multiplied by a love for disobedience, the equation becomes dangerous (for me).
The product of this equation gives little power to my choked squeal of a ‘stop!’ I let out at them. They advance on me with sinister snickers and full cans of spray paint – the waterproof kind. When the smoke clears, and my enemies have retreated gleefully and unthreatened, I am left looking like a Jackson Pollock painting. In a cold basement, nonetheless.
Enjoy the ground floor and above, but beware the basement.
