Wonder what it is about these things that are so appealing... I recall finding shacks in the wooded areas where we used to play and explore. Not exactly sure how or why they were built, since it seemed too extreme for a place high school kids would build just to drink beer and way too expensive and demanding for a homeless man to build as a home. But we'd always find wooden shacks in those woods. Always deep in thorny weeds and overgrown vines. And I'm sure that was the idea. But you'd see the roof first, usually a few layers of warped particle board. Then you'd sneak up to it and make some noises in case Homeless Harry was inside waiting to spit battery acid in your face. Then we'd peek inside and see nasty old carpeting and things like beer bottles and crumpled white paper bags and empty tubes of model glue. Horrible to think of someone sniffing that stuff.
Abandoned homes were hard to come by, living in suburbia, and we'd usually come across them when my parents would take us to more rural places for long walks through state parks and the surrounding areas. I remember one old house similar to the photo below. I felt really brave since my father was there with us. We insisted he go inside first. And we'd follow. We walked around inside clopping around on the old floors and every noise we made seemed to echo in the empty place. We went up a flight of stairs, and thinking back I wish I crashed through the stairwell and was torn to shreds. Oh how my mother would have given my dad hell for that. I think.
So we get upstairs and poke our heads into one of the smaller rooms. And some hilarious kids had graffitied on the walls and drew a pig with red eyes...with the words "JODIE LIVES HERE." My sister screamed and ran for the door.
I wish she crashed through the stairwell on the way down.
