by Pete Rossi
We continued the explore, walking through the basement level. "Prepare To Die" was scrawled on one wall, next to red swastikas. A rat skittered past. Straight ahead was the boiler room. I don't know why, but boilers scare me. Ever since I read The Shining. The boiler itself was absolutely huge. About the size of a double decker bus. Dented out of shape, rusty, but the dials on the front still looked intact and it might still work.
To the left of the boiler room was another small area where the patient records must have been kept. They were scattered all over the place. I picked a few up and scanned through them. If the chavs had some sense, bringing a load of these up to the Great Hall would improve the chance the fires they set doing what they want them to. Still, if I ever want to start a fire here, I know exactly where to come.
***
Hours later, we were heading back down the driveway. It had certainly been a day to remember, and had piqued my interest. "Been to any other places?" I asked Jim.
"A few, yeah. An old Pontins Holiday camp in Jersey when I was over there last year. Cracking place that. A boys village somewhere in Wales, complete with church and swimming pool. That’s trashed even more than here."
"So you liked it after all, then," Doug questioned me.
"It was good, yeah. Have to admit that I’m a bit relieved to get out."
"Sometimes these old places seem to have an atmosphere. Don’t know why. Maybe because they used to be so busy and are now lying alone, abandoned. Can feel sorry for them."
"Mainly because there were no security guards around," I replied, running my hand through my hair. "Happy to get out without breaking any bones. The needles and glass put me off a bit though. Ever had any trouble?"
"Once or twice," Jim admitted. "Last time I was up in Scotland, I was in one of the railway stations up there, big building, and I got caught."
"Railway station?"
"Yeah, I’d heard that there was a hidden underground street below it dating from when the station was built, in the nineteenth century. Supposed to be a door to it from one of the underground platforms there. Couldn’t find it though, so I went up instead and had a look through old hotel that was built on top. Several floors were abandoned and the homeless and drug addicts were living in them. I was quite glad when the Transport Police followed me up and got me out."
"Any ideas where you might go next? Might tag along if that’s okay. As long as you don’t plan on assaulting me again."
"Nah, we just do that once. I’ve got a few more locations planned. My old school is about to be demolished, and I’d like a look there before it is."
"Sounds good, count me in."
We got back to the car. It was getting quite late. Overall, it hadn't been a bad day out. I could see myself getting into this sort of thing.
***
Doug dropped me back home in the early evening. I unlocked the front door and went in. Wasn't expecting a warm welcome. Didn't get one. That wasn't surprising. Bev had rearranged the fridge magnet letters telling me exactly what she thought of my unplanned trip. Didn’t realise we had three F’s.
I walked in to the lounge, and sat there lounging in front of the TV as usual was Bev.
"Where you been?" she said without looking up from Hollyoaks, as she stuffed a huge handful of crisps into her mouth.
"Out," I said.
"You were supposed to come out with me today. To see my mum."
"Something came up," I replied. "Something important."
"Bollocks. You've been out all day with Doug."
That was all the conversation there was for a while. That was quite good actually. One way not to argue. Less chance of me wanting to put my fist through her face. That feeling was becoming much more common these days.
I went out into the kitchen and put together a quick sandwich. I ate it out there while I planned every last detail of my next exploration trip. Bev was going to come with me on this one, whether she liked it or not.
"I'll make it up to you," I said, going back into the living room. Another party size bag full of crisps, Cheese & Onion this time, had appeared on Bev's lap. Must be a secret stash of them somewhere. Perhaps they multiply themselves.
A grunt was all the reply I got, but I wasn't giving up that easily. "Look, I'll take you somewhere you've never been before, and when we come back, we'll pop in the Toby Carvery and you can pile your plate high as you like." Still not convincing her. God, she could be so stubborn sometimes.
"You don't have to make it up with just me, you know. Need to make it up with my mum as well. She could see how upset I was that you didn't come out with me today."
I was fast losing my temper, but I kept it under control. An end was in sight.
***
One week later, I woke up bright and early, just after eight. Today was going to be a great day, I could just tell. "Morning, darling," I said as Bev stirred.
"You sound happy today." She yawned and looked at the clock. "Why did you wake me up so early? You know I'm not a morning person, especially on a Sunday."
I've got a treat for you, remember. A nice trip out."
One hour later, we were flying through the country in my black Astra. Bev had some Monster Munch. Car would need hovering again. No other vehicles were in sight, and it looked as though it was going to be a scorcher.
We arrived safely at York View Sanatorium, or as close as we were going to get by car anyway. The area was deserted once again. There had obviously been some recent activity as the main gates to the hospital were wide open this time, their hinges broken. Padlocks lying on the ground. Which was probably just as well, because I don't think Bev would have managed to fit through the gap in the fence. That would have been a laugh and a half to watch.
"What have you brought me to?" she asked as the hospital came into view.
"It's great inside," I said. "You can feel the history in that place."
"Screw the history."
"Come on," I said, as we passed a bent traffic cone. "We'll stay a few hours and then we'll grab that meal I promised."
"Look," Bev said stopping. "I'm not going in there." She turned around and headed back towards the car.
I had to persuade her to go in. Absolutely had to. I went for the only tactic I thought might work. "If you don’t come in with me, I won’t treat you to that meal I promised."
"That’s not fair," Bev came back at me with.
"Course it is," I told her, looking her straight in the eye. I’ve found that helps enormously in these sorts of situations, and there have been quite a few. "I said I’d take you out after we’ve been here."
"No. You never told me we were coming here. You just said you’d take me somewhere I haven’t been before. I thought you meant somewhere good, where I can shop or eat or something."
"Look, honey," I said to her. Being nice to her during arguments is another trick I’ve learnt. "The sooner we go in, the sooner we’ll be finished, and then we’ll go out for dinner. I’ll pay. It will be my treat. But you have to do this first."
"And we can have a starter, a main course and dessert as well?"
"Yes, okay. All three. I promise."
"And whatever I want to drink. No limits."
"You drive a hard bargain."
Bev turned back around. "I’ll go in then, if I absolutely have to, just to shut you up."
If it was possible, the place looked even more trashed than last week. A pile of shopping trolleys had appeared, apparently welded to each other in some bizarre experiment. The local Tesco would be needing plenty more soon. Police tape fluttered between the trees. The metal covering the hospital entrance had been twisted and bent out of shape, so we could sneak in without having to head round the back to the greenhouse. That must have taken some force. I couldn't believe just how much this place had degraded so quickly. Wouldn’t last till the end of the year at this rate.
We entered and explored the ground level for about twenty minutes before heading upstairs.
"It's s
o sad," Bev said as she passed a half eaten pink teddy bear. We walked in to the room with the wrecked beds and the manacled wheelchair. I glanced over at Bev, and glanced back at the wheelchair.
"Look at that thing," she said, indicating towards the wheelchair. "The patients must have been handcuffed in it. Poor bastards."
"Sit in it," I said.
Instead, she pushed me over to it and made me sit in it. "Not very comfortable," I said and got up. "Your turn."
Bev sat down. I flipped over the hand restraints and started pushing the chair. "Give you a feeling what it was like." The wheelchair moved slowly. Oh, so slowly. Why hadn't I checked that out when I was here with Doug and Jim? How could I push her when the chair would hardly move? How could I get it to the lift shaft? How could I push it over the edge and let it drop down?
I pushed. I strained, and I pushed. I pushed some more. As hard as I could. Still kept on pushing and pushing. Ten whole seconds of maximum effort and how far had the chair moved? Six inches.
***
Bev looked at me. "Were you going to do what I think you were going to do?" she asked. "I've seen the warning signs, you know. I can tell you don't love me any more. Hell, I can tell you don't even like me any more. And sitting in that chair, right then, I knew what you wanted to do to me. Exactly what you wanted. And it ain’t gonna happen."
"I wasn't going to do anything," I stammered, flipping up the hand restraints.
"Do you think I was born yesterday?" she said. "I saw you put a can of petrol in the boot of the car this morning. I saw the way you looked at the wheelchair when you came in this room. I didn't quite believe it. Not you. You wouldn’t do something like that. Haven’t got the balls. Then you started to try and get that wheelchair moving. And then I did know for sure. You would."
She got up, turned round, hit me in the face with the most technically perfect right hook. I didn't even see it coming.
I don’t really know exactly what happened next. One punch and she must have knocked me out. She must have thrown me back into the wheelchair, fastened me down even though I was going nowhere, and took off the handbrake. She then must have wheeled me out of the room, the wheelchair moving easily with no brake on. She must have pushed me close to the lift shaft, because that was where I found myself.
I was gradually coming to. When I finally opened my eyes, I realised my situation. I couldn't move. I could hardly think. Everything was going wrong. Everything.
"Honey, what are you doing?" I asked her.
"Don’t speak to me in that tone of voice," she snapped back. "What do you think I'm doing? Exactly what you were going to do to me. Next time, I'd advise not screwing up your 'plan' and leaving it in the kitchen bin. How frigging stupid was that."
Bev slapped me on the face. Three times. Hard. Left marks. "The last year with you has been a total nightmare," she said. "You think you're better than me? Well, you're not. Never have been. You're the one in trouble now. Big trouble."
She pushed the chair forward another six inches. It was right on the edge of the drop. I was struggling, but she was staying well back. Didn't dare move too much in case I managed to tip myself forwards and did the work for her. Bev kicked the back of the chair as hard as she could. It wobbled and moved forward another few inches. She kicked again. It teetered on the edge and then it fell. Then there was blackness.
***
I don't know how long I was out, but it can't have been long. My head hurt, my neck hurt, my right arm was twisted and bent, stuck under the wheelchair. It just looked wrong. Bent where it shouldn’t be. It was broken for sure. The manacles on the wheelchair holding my wrists had broken so my arms were free, but I couldn't move at all. My legs were manacled. Pain in my neck. Pain in my back. Trapped in the mangled wheelchair. Nowhere to go, even if I could move. I shouted, but there was no answer. My left leg was cut badly and bleeding Cuts and scrapes all over me.
I dug my fingernails in to the palms of my hands, drawing blood so I could concentrate on that pain rather than my shattered arm. My shattered ulna bone pierced through my skin near my wrist, the white bone sticking out obscenely. I screamed and swore in agony.
It wasn't too dark at the bottom of the shaft. I couldn't look up from the position I was in, but if I could have, I would have seen Bev peering down at me. I moaned, and then I shouted. "Help, Bev, I need you." Gritted my teeth with the pain. If I could have looked up, I would have seen her head duck back. Moments later, I would have seen her come back with what I later found out was a bedpan. I would have seen her look down, aim, and then drop the bedpan. I never saw any of this, so my surprise was complete when it smashed into the floor inches from my face. "Darling," I shouted. "Don't. Please."
I would have seen her vanish again, for longer this time, then throw a flurry of objects down at me. Glass jars which smashed, a scalpel that embedded itself in a wooden beam, beer cans that spilt out the last few dregs of liquid on me, then the full can of petrol from the boot of the car. That burst on impact, petrol splashing on me, stinging my skin. I was knocked out for the second time by something else Bev threw down. For much longer this time.
When I came to, there was no sign of Bev. No matter how much I shouted and screamed and swore. Nothing. The pain in my arm was unbearable. I jumped when my exposed arm bone touched a metal object as I struggled. A huge lump was forming on my head from being struck by something that Bev had launched down at me. Still no sign of her. Neck was still hurting. Back was still hurting. My arm felt as though it was on fire.
I started banging and shouting again. There was nothing else I could do. Eventually, I could hear voices.
I struggled to move myself so I could see upwards, pain shooting through my body once more. With a supreme effort I managed to turn over. I felt white hot pain for a few seconds and then threw up. I looked up and saw a face appear about ten foot above me. Then another. Salvation. At last. A torch was shone down at me, blinding me for a few seconds. "I'm injured," I shouted. "Help me. Please."
"Caught you at last, firebug," one man shouted down. They could smell fuel from the petrol can. Were they security guards? Surely not!
"He's got petrol down there," one shouted.
The other guard called for backup using his walkie-talkie. "Ring the police, Rob, got the bastard this time." Looking back down at me, he said, "You don't know how much trouble you're in son. We had a tip off that there was somebody in here looking to start a fire. We have called the police," he added unnecessarily, "and they won't take long to get here."
"Just stay there," said the other guard.
I wasn't going anywhere.
***
Hours later, I was in a hospital bed, handcuffed to it, with two policemen by my side. They had had to operate on my arm. My neck was in a brace. My leg was bandaged. The cut in it had gone down to the bone. I still felt groggy from the anaesthetic.
"We are charging you with attempted arson," one said to me, a stern looking gentleman with a permanent scowl on his face. "You were caught red handed by the security guards at the Sanatorium. They have been keeping a round the clock watch for the arsonist repeatedly attacking their building. And now they have you."
"I wasn't trying to set the place alight," I said, slurring slightly. "I'd just come with my girlfriend on a day out to show her around the place."
"There was no one else there."
"But there had been. Do you think I trapped myself in a wheelchair, threw myself down an open lift shaft, knocked myself unconscious, smashed my arm and poured petrol all over myself?"
"Right now, sir, I don't care about any of that. Not at all. Criminals like you are never very intelligent. You were found in a very compromising position. It’s an open and shut case."
"Do I get a phone call?" I asked.
"Of course, sir. When we take you to the station. Who do you want to phone?"
Who could I phone? Bev? She was probably the one who phoned in the anonymous tip off. Doug or Jim? All they would do is prove
that I've been there before, knew about the lift shaft, and the fires that regularly happened there. Who then? Who?
"I would suggest your lawyer," the other policeman said. "Five to ten years is the usual sentence for this sort of crime."
The day wasn't going quite as well as I had planned.
***
Author's Note:
This story is fictional, all characters and places do not exist in real life. Any similarity to people or places you now must just be a coincidence. Honestly.
Urban Exploration is becoming more and more popular however. If you think you may be interested, have a look at https://www.28dayslater.co.uk for some great places to visit.
The Curse of Chillingham Castle
My name is Mark Benson. I'm married to a beautiful woman, Susie. We’re in our early thirties and from Florida, and we were over for our first holiday in Europe. In England, in fact. It was a summer day, I won’t say it was a warm summer day, because England doesn’t appear to do warm summer days.
Let me tell you about the visit we had to Chillingham Castle. It was a day that will not be forgotten in a hurry.
We started off in London, spent a few days there and then headed north to York. After a few more days, most involving a smattering of rain, we were heading up the motorway towards Edinburgh in Scotland. Part of the way there, passing through Northumberland, we saw a sign. "Come and see the most Haunted Castle in England" it said. This is where our story starts. Now I'm not normally one for ghosts or stuff like that, but Susie, or Suze as I sometimes call her, is. We had been driving for a while and did fancy a break for lunch, so we turned off the main road in the direction the sign pointed us.
Being American, we’re used to wide roads, and English ones are not. It’s bad enough driving on the wrong side, roundabouts really confuse me as well, but when you’ve only got one lane in each direction, it just makes it even worse. And this is on the main motorway, the A1.