Scenes of this hospital flickered through my dreams at night. I remember seeing the castle-like facade rising up from a thick fog, crenelations blacked with soot from the coal plant and years of harsh weather. Elongated towers resembled claws reaching into the sky. It was a much larger and foreboding place in my sleep; sometimes the hospital was hidden in tall, overgrown cliffs that could have been found deep in the South American jungle. Inside, stone catacombs networked into a bizarre but somehow logical series of corridors and hallways that spanned various heights that could not be defined in a set number of floors. I was always moving fast between doorways filled with light and the deep shadows, looking for someone. My faint recollections of this Escher-like asylum upon waking had definitely reminded me of this particular institution. Even though I had just made a trip here only a week or so earlier, I needed to visit once again.

It was a damp fall day when I returned with a friend, early in the morning. The smell of the forest mingled with the musty odor permeating from the old abandoned buildings. A small mountain of dirt had turned to mud behind the geriatric facility, and I noticed the fresh tire tracks that hugged tight along the structure. A small niche off this path had grown thick with thorny brush, and behind the greenery lay a gaping black hole where one of the old plywood boards had peeled off - either by weather or human hands. The mesh grate found on all the other windows was missing as well, and so we were invited inside...

I spent some time exploring the eternally dark first floor, shining my Maglite into the moldy crevices of the rooms jam packed with furniture, children's games, and other random items. I hadn't given these areas a good looking over before... and I'm glad I did.