Most of the websites all said that the only entrance was through an old air vent at the side of the property and that the rear of the house was too dangerous to go near. Not a single user specified why, all saying it was pretty self-explanatory that when you're going into an abandoned location you should take great pains to avoid being seen by anybody. It was odd as the building in question (a former farm just south of Upper Broomwick) had allegedly been left to rot for the past eighty-something years.
The thing about first timers is that they either ask every question that pops into their heads, fully assessing the potential risks before diving right in, or they just ask where the place is and get there without so much as spare batteries. The former are never heard from, they're too careful to cause any hassle, while the latter are often found by joggers the next morning.
The farm grounds near Upper Broomwick have been described as "lovingly haunted" and "sickeningly atmospheric" by those who've visited and made it back in one piece (or close enough). It seemed common to lose a finger for trying to open any window or door, seemed that sustaining any kind of injury was as a direct result of disobeying unspoken rules, as if the house was watched over by a strict parent.
Visitors were fine between the hours of seven and ten at night, anything outside of those hours was considered an insta-kill offence (though no deaths have ever been officially linked to the farm). Boots had to be wrapped in clean plastic bags or taken off when inside the property or the rule-breaker would find thick welts allover their backs, arms and feet when they left.
It was clear that the farm grounds had never been left alone but nobody had safely made contact with whatever remained there, either guarding or just maliciously lingering. The last person to try this used a static box while sat in the air vent, hoping that they'd hear the answers to everything they asked among the static and radio frequency sweeps.
It didn't matter what they asked, they got no reply yet still heard a great many things among white noise and sound blips, for instance they heard the sound of bare feet slapping against tile, matches being lit and liquid being enthusiastically slurped. They heard the sound of stairs creaking and metal clasps being undone. They heard bare feet running away from them, a door opening and footsteps through swishing grass.
At this point they gave up, switched off the box and crawled through the air vent that lead them eventually to the kitchen where a bowl of steaming alphabet soup was on the table, the letters inside spelling "delicious" and "eat me", which they didn't do for a multitude of sensible reasons.
As they turned to face the windows (expecting them closed and locked as always) one was instead wide open, allowing the scent of the soup to drift away in the late winter breeze. They didn't go anywhere near it, remembering just how many people had lost fingers and hands to the farm and not wanting to be among their number, after all their lost appendages were never recovered and could be anywhere on the property still.
From the kitchen they headed into the hallway, thinking they could get a nice stair shot with their fish-eye lens and have both proof and a souvenir for their troubles. Instead they were distracted by the wide open door, with wet foot prints leading out and to the right, to where the side of the building where the entry vent was.
Now if at this point they had turned the box back on they would have heard the sound of wet flesh moving through a metal tube, a vent if you will. Instead they tried to crawl back the way they came, not knowing that they had been heard,followed and trapped.
Rule Seven: No loud noises - it has excellent hearing and prefers apologies to any other sound.
The thing about first timers is that they either ask every question that pops into their heads, fully assessing the potential risks before diving right in, or they just ask where the place is and get there without so much as spare batteries. The former are never heard from, they're too careful to cause any hassle, while the latter are often found by joggers the next morning.
The farm grounds near Upper Broomwick have been described as "lovingly haunted" and "sickeningly atmospheric" by those who've visited and made it back in one piece (or close enough). It seemed common to lose a finger for trying to open any window or door, seemed that sustaining any kind of injury was as a direct result of disobeying unspoken rules, as if the house was watched over by a strict parent.
Visitors were fine between the hours of seven and ten at night, anything outside of those hours was considered an insta-kill offence (though no deaths have ever been officially linked to the farm). Boots had to be wrapped in clean plastic bags or taken off when inside the property or the rule-breaker would find thick welts allover their backs, arms and feet when they left.
It was clear that the farm grounds had never been left alone but nobody had safely made contact with whatever remained there, either guarding or just maliciously lingering. The last person to try this used a static box while sat in the air vent, hoping that they'd hear the answers to everything they asked among the static and radio frequency sweeps.
It didn't matter what they asked, they got no reply yet still heard a great many things among white noise and sound blips, for instance they heard the sound of bare feet slapping against tile, matches being lit and liquid being enthusiastically slurped. They heard the sound of stairs creaking and metal clasps being undone. They heard bare feet running away from them, a door opening and footsteps through swishing grass.
At this point they gave up, switched off the box and crawled through the air vent that lead them eventually to the kitchen where a bowl of steaming alphabet soup was on the table, the letters inside spelling "delicious" and "eat me", which they didn't do for a multitude of sensible reasons.
As they turned to face the windows (expecting them closed and locked as always) one was instead wide open, allowing the scent of the soup to drift away in the late winter breeze. They didn't go anywhere near it, remembering just how many people had lost fingers and hands to the farm and not wanting to be among their number, after all their lost appendages were never recovered and could be anywhere on the property still.
From the kitchen they headed into the hallway, thinking they could get a nice stair shot with their fish-eye lens and have both proof and a souvenir for their troubles. Instead they were distracted by the wide open door, with wet foot prints leading out and to the right, to where the side of the building where the entry vent was.
Now if at this point they had turned the box back on they would have heard the sound of wet flesh moving through a metal tube, a vent if you will. Instead they tried to crawl back the way they came, not knowing that they had been heard,followed and trapped.
Rule Seven: No loud noises - it has excellent hearing and prefers apologies to any other sound.
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