You'd assume a theatre that had been abandoned way back in the 1920's would be quiet, dilapidated and somewhat falling entirely to pieces, right? At the very least you'd expect it to be quiet or filled with the subdued tones of nature drifting through broken glass or down from bird nests up in the rafters.
These assumptions would be sensible and grounded in reality but the reality was that as soon as I set foot through the broken door to the boiler room I was met with an intense blast of hot air that knocked me to the ground. Through hazy eyes I swear I saw a man in blood-drenched overalls peering down at me but as my vision cleared, he gradually dissipated.
There were swirling groups of hazy figures flittering in and out of my vision with every blink, every heartbeat that echoed throughout my aching head but they always faded back to nothing in my brief moments of clarity. The sounds they made remained as they walked up to and occasionally right through me, all the while asking who I was and what year it was outside.
A part of me realised it would be best to ignore them in case they mobbed me for information when I showed that I could see them, though I'm certain they knew I could see them with the way my unfocused eyes kept following them. I managed to take a few blurry photos that sort of showed these figures stalking me but they could just as easily be mistaken for a mix of sunlight and shadow.
One thing's for certain though - abandoned rarely means unoccupied.
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