Papertrails Part 1 of 3

It’s maybe time I start writing things down. I hear it (or them? The f**k I know?) in the distance, but I think if I quit making introductions now I might get some done. And just maybe getting the next bugger coming here to maybe think first and then run away screaming instead of letting himself getting all curious and leaving a mess like the others. Unfortunately including me, probably. We all know what happened to the curious cat, right?

Well, s**t. Not going to plan, no, not really. The idea was to spend my first free weekend in 3 months decompressing by a bit of hiking and taking pictures of some abandoned industrial ruins from the turn of the 19th century, chased by partying and getting all out of shape. Having a floor collapse beneath myself, and finding in the course of searching for a proper exit paper scraps with ominous notes on it was not planned.

Then again, “That was not what I wanted” sounds somewhat less helpful than “Roll with it”. So, tacky horror movie scenario, here I come. Yay.

One idea though. My head is still ringing like crazy, I must have bumped it good on my way down. So, in the view of possible future events, aka the (possible) questioning of the trespasser (which would be me) by police, I better start doing a journal of my own. Not contradicting oneself always wins points with the blues.

After a seemingly solid part of floor gave way beneath me it took me a good time to get back into shape. I am still fuzzy, my head bleeds still from some nasty cuts, my left knee hurts like hell and it feels like my right pinky is broke. Aside from this (continuing my inventory) I seem to have gotten of lightly. My cam still looks like it is in working condition, I got my bag with the rolls of film (the cheap ones from the chinese shop down the road. Cost control is still the order of the day) and the flash. Everything else I got with me isn’t worth mentioning in terms of value…

The floor above me shows the marks of decades of exposure. The steel beams supporting the poured concrete floor have all but rusted away, leaving it the perfect trap for unsuspecting victims believing in the intact surface. I seem to have crash-landed in the cellar of this pile of wasted industrial architecture, dark, dirty from the leftovers of pipe-making, but surprisingly open. And, because of this I stumbled over the one piece that stood out of this, the note I quoted in the beginning. Written in some sort of lined paper (notebook?), lying near a closed metal door.

Nothing more to see here, certainly no sign of the writer or the mess he (? I’m guessing here) mentioned. If he was not commenting on the piles of muck here and there. But those should been residue from dripping water and s**t from above, not much left what could be called a roof.

Anyway, I guess the way to go is straight through the door. Hopefully behind it is a stair that takes me back.

It is now about half an hour later, and I finally got the door open. Turns out, rust and twisted angles make a damn fine lock. The good part is, behind are stairs (concrete, dirty, dark and chipped). No sight or sound of life, not to mention the ominous hints in the note I found earlier.

Now for the bad part. It goes down. Only down. I guess the stair up is now blocked due to the collapsed floor piling up at one wall. Which still is not high enough for me to climb out. So, sorry for the extra work everyone who follows me, but down it is.

At this point I sure hope someone has seen me trespassing. An hour of getting yelled at and a 20 dollar fine start looking not that bad.

I guess I will leave a shortened version of my journal entries behind, like that mythical greek guy. Maybe that was the intention of that other guy too. I hope.

About an hour (and some stuck doors) later. Looking from outside, I would have never guessed this was more like an underground maze than a factory. Of course, no way up till now, else I would write this in some pub and not with my a*s in the dirt somewhere spooky. After the big open floor of the first cellar I got into an archive section. Guessing here of course, but the rooms with the stacked folders and the neatly sorted expense reports (I went snooping) kinda gave it away. Not much I could read in the time I allowed myself, but, some interesting tidbits nevertheless. It took me a moment to notice, and someone less experienced then me (that is code for “never held a job longer then a year, and never with the same company”… at last be honest with yourself dude) might have missed it- but the worker records from the payroll office do take up some quite substantial rack space. Employer turnover seems to be massive, as if nobody had worked here longer than some weeks. Not impossible, but, this company closed in the fifties, where lifetime employment was the rule and not the exception. Makes me wonder why. The supplier bills too are curious. Lots of coded stuff, like “Product 427, 3 crates, 15000 Dollar. Ingredient 73b, 5tons, 500 Dollar.”

Why would a company that makes ceramic pipes encrypt their bookkeeping?

On a sidenote, good thing for me I shelled out for the new-fangled type of cell for my flash, alkaline something or whatever. Just thinking about trying to get out of here in the dark makes me panic.

Later. I won’t bother with trying to timestamp this anymore, as I broke my watch slipping down the stairs. This really is going to be my day I guess.


  • Puddin Tane

    Not much of a build up. A few spelling errors was all I found.