Confusion

I seem to have an incurable love for all things confusing. I was looking for something I wrote a few years ago when I came across the strange little thing that follows. I didn't spell check it, but I don't think it's too bad :P I'm sorry if I'm weirding you out people.

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As the boy tracked across the graveyard, a pair of eyes traced him. He cringed, as though he could feel if... or maybe it was just the icy wind tracing his skin and steeling away with his warmth. The thought of the wind calmed the curious creature in it's cramped, claustrophobic position, out of sight, out of mind and out of bounds.
«Get a move on!» it thought.

It considered crawling back through the wall and climb back up the trapdoor in the floor. But it was pitch black inside the old church by now and superstition seemed an incurable decease to the being in question, so it waited, though not very patiently, to be alone with its exit point.

As it waited there in the dark, it's restless mind tracked back up the stairs inside, back into the tower and in just under the roof, over the ceiling. Lost in the delightful memory, just for a moment it was somewhere else entirely. It giggled, out loud.
Shit!
The boy outside stopped dead. Only his head moved, strangely disconnected from the stillness of his body, looking for the source of the sound. Then, inevitably, he hurried off. Inside the wall, sometimes curious creatures cant help themselves. When the boy looked back he saw the demonic creature of his imaginings coming out of the foundation wall. Now, he ran, panicked. Behind him, exiting the underground, relived and unsettled all at once, was a creature that had only meant to sneak a peak and wasn’t demonic in the least.

Hissing sounds and strange smells

We are out exploring again. Walking down the street. Stepping over the trample fence. Not looking around to see if anyone's watching, cause that makes you look like a criminal. Climbing through the open window, entering lawless zone it seems. Now I can allow myself a look around, because climbing thrugh windows always make you look like a criminal... I seek this stuff out, but I almost always sort of regret it even as I'm still doing it. This is a mellow place though. I stand around alone inside, waiting for Ramona to enter, and I'm not the least bit worried.

Last time we were here it was hot out, and the people in the gardens all around took a break out of their coffee drinking and gossiping to watch our every move. Apparently we were the most interesting thing for miles, and keeping track of who's watching, while pretending not to care who's watching is even harder than it sounds. We had a look around the outside and left it at that.

This time we knew where the open windows were, so now we don't have to walk all the way around this abandoned nursing home and draw everyones attention. A quick look around most of the first floor shows that this place is mostly emptied, and a lot of what remains has been destroyed with undeniable intent. Shattered pieces of porcelain that were once toilets is to be found all around.

One thing we do find is a few intact examples of is some of those famously freakish bathtubs that I've wanted to see for myself. They're wholly benign pieces of interior of course, but they seem to be flooded by some kind of dark fantasy world. I have to admit they give me a sort of feeling of patients being cared for in a rather rationalized manor, according to standardized rutines and a precisely calculated schedule, but they have a much darker reputation than that around the dark corners of the web. When people come across these in abandoned asylums they tend to be a little more high on their own adrenalin then what is strictly advisable. This triggers the imagination like you wouldnt believe, and in the meeting between spiked up imagination and technical looking bathtub the electrification bathtub is born. Anyone who cares to read up even a little bit knows that the history of psychiatry is home to many sad stories, inhumane treatments and even cruelty. But this is just a bathtub... seriously. No one were fried in here.

As we find the stairs, I feel a little more uneasy. It's pitch black in here. The door is of the kind that closes itself, as though it has a will of it's own. I have to check to make sure it doesnt also lock while it's at it. I know it would be stupid to have that sort of door in this sort of place, but I have to...

"What the fuck is that smell?!"
We notice it almost immediately after entering. That funny, chemical, out of place smell. I get the feeling it's coming from the basement.
"Kind of smells like diesel I think... maybe there's a generator down there."
I look down the stairs, though I don't see much besides darkness.

Upstairs it's much the same as downstairs. More of those bathtubs, more smashed toilets and more emptied fire-extinguishers. More and more doors and empty rooms, but then there's something and I stop.
"Hello?"
I haven't heard anything, or seen anything move. There's an outline against the bright light of the outside world. The matrass is one thing, but on top of it is a sleepingbag piled up in such a way that it looks strikingly like whoever it belongs to just got up and stepped into the next room a moment ago. No reply though, no sounds. Ramona is looking at me funny, probably wondering who I'm talking to or if it has really gone so far that I'm trying to talk to still shadows and dead buildings.
"I think someone lives here..."
Ramona pops her head around the corner.
"Could be months and months since they left... I bet they only stay here in the winter"
She goes inside to have a look.
"Hey, maybe we should move on. If somebody lives her... it's kind of rude..."
We move on.

There's two more occupied rooms down the same hallway. At least this indicates that they're somewhat sociable and friendly and not mass murderers...
"Cause they 'live together'? Come on, they hardly live together..."
"They do kind of! There's a whole big building and they just happen to live in the same corridor? I can see all of their doors from here."
Ramona's not buying my theory, but I'm sticking with it.

Eventually we make it up into the attic. This is a cramped, dark place. If there's anyone here it would be nearly impossible to know. The shadows in here are so deep they'll swallow you up and maybe even dissolve you entirely.

A ladder and an open hatch is a welcome distraction. It lead straight out into the sun and onto the flat roof of the new section of the building. I climb out, keeping my head down. I haven't forgotten the neighbours eyeing us from across the street. Ramona decides to go for a walk. A walk... I can already feel hands reaching for phones around the neighbouring streets. Grumpy onlookers will never find a more opportune moment as long as their dealing with such harmless troublemakers as us.
"Well... have fun." I sit down, leaning on the adjacent old part of the roof. I can see the entire roof from here, and staying behind only cost me a few anxious sideways glances back at the open hatch. No peaks inside though, I know there's nothing for me to find in there but my own paranoia.

Once Ramona returns, and I am pleased to observe that I have not been abducted by any monsters, we head back down into the attic. We find another room where someone has also clearly spent noticable amounts of time. A pipe or something is hanging from a rope. I follow the rope up, up and then horizontally across the supporting beams under the ceiling. There's also a misplaces door up above, across those beams. A great camping spot, Ramona notes. I look back at the pipe or whatever it is.
"Kind of reminds me... you know how sometimes people make booby traps in abandoned buildings?"
"Well, it's not working very well, is it?"
"I'm not saying that it is. And just because you can't tell how it's supposed to work, don't mean it doesn't."
Imagination is such a waste of space sometimes. I wish I would have turned my brain of and left it in a jar back home.

We walk back down through the old building, entering a part of the first floor that we had not yet seen. A few times I think I hear noises that are not made by us, but it might be just the building itself. Buildings make noises sometimes. Especially old ones that are not used to anyone walking their coridors or opening their doors.

There's more empty rooms and soon we're back by the doors that turned us back earlier. This part of the building seems to have been closed longer then the rest. The knob has been removed from the door, but it is mostly glas, and whoever broke it took care to removed enough of it from the frame to make a reasonably big hole. The walls and the ceiling on this side are engulfed in something that looks a bit like mould but is undoubtedly syntethic. Over by the doors it changes from white to a dark, muddy green though. We have a look around and find out that it's some sort of spray-on insulation. According to the info on the wrapping it was applied in the spring of 2012 at the earliest. We're thinking this place has been out of business since 2004 or 2005.

Eventually I'm reluctantly following Ramona down into the basement. This is when she does something strange. Suddenly she's whispering...

"Shhhhh... do you hear that sound?"
"What sound?"

There's that funny, unnatural smell again. Abandoned buildings have their smells, a wide assortment of smells, but they usually revolve around the same themes, mould, mildew, rot, and other organic causes. This is not one of them.

"There's a hissing sound, like a gas leak.... or maybe a spray can. Maybe there's someone here."
"No way. If we can hear them, they have to have heard us! Let's go back up."

We head back up. Ramona stops at the top of the stairs.
"I think there's someone down there... the sound just stopped. I could hear it up until now."
"Let's get out of here."

The straightest way to where we entered is closed. Being relatively long and flexible, I step through the broken glass easily, but Ramona doesnt like climbing or crawling or anything like that. She's going back upstairs the way we came.

"Fine!" I hop back to her side and walk resolutely towards the stairs.
"Did you hear that?!" I look back at her, but Ramona doesnt hear anything while walking apparently.
"What?"
"That sound... I think there's someone down there"

Upstairs I think I hear it once more and I can't really imagine what the fuck they're doing down there that I'm hearing two floors up if they know they're not alone. I always knew we might run into other people in here, but for some reason this is really starting to worry me, and it's really starting to ennoy me that I have to stop and wait for Ramona all the time. She doesnt seem worried in the slightest.

As we reach the stairs I can't help but thinking that this was the first place we smelled that funny smell, that this staircase go all the way down to the basement and that if someone went through the basement they would easily beat us back here. But it wouldn't help to worry about such things at that point and I remind myself that I have no real reason to be this worried. I turn on my flashlight to disrupt the stagnant darkness inside as I open the door.

We climb out a window, and back outside I'm immediately calm again, like we've passed through a magic portal and are back in the real world. The sun is shining and the street is just a few meters away with its cars and bikes and real, live people that I don't have to be afraid of. It might be that calm that is the reason I do this. That lovely feeling of returning to the real world after entering a different sort of place where you may expect different things from your surrounding and where you'd rather see and hear people before they see or hear you. A quiet, empty building, might suddenly feel more like a dark, magical maze if you smell trouble. This is where people come to break stuff, to do graffiti, to steal, to vandalize, to get high, and some unfortunate souls come to sleep. Unfailingly, someone brings a chainsaw to try and do some real damage. This happened here too, and I'd rather not run into one of those. That building might still be just a meter or so away, but that strange world and the dark basement with it's funny sounds and smells seemed miles away, and I was already making jokes about it.

"If it really was a gas leak, I wonder what kind of gas it might be.... wouldn't it be funny if in a few days from now we would read in the papers that someone had blown this place up, and all the neighbours had seen us come and go?!"
We both laugh.

I just can't quite stop wondering though. It's kind of a weakness with me.
"Do you really think there were people down there? And what do you recon they would need gas for in a place like that?"
After all, as my brother pointed out, this isnt like the US or something where they might cook with gas. What we do with gas here in Norway is mostly extract it, refine it and export it. I really can't think of a single purpose for it in a place like this. Ramona doesnt know. Neither does she care to know.
"People, or something else. But it definetly sounded like some kind of gas or fluid released under pressure."
We initially thought it could be garffiti artists, but in retrospect we both doubt it. We had not been particularly quiet, so it seemed unlikely that we would have gone unnoticed. Also, according to Ramona, the sound seemed too stable, like something fixed.

Lier Psychiatric Hospital, Dikemark and more Lier (Part 2)

Dikemark

This other place is as famous as Lier probably, only it seems like very few people have actually been there and seen it. The stories mostly revolve around this vast collection of buildings no one can seem to navigate, and the security.

“If you haven't seen Dikemark yet, your not going to!” someone wrote somewhere online.

Security was too tight apparently, and I was more then happy to take their word for it. But after finding similar stories about Lier to be mostly BS, we decided to have a look anyway.

We spent a cold winter day walking around and filling our little map with crosses and circles. We probably ended up looking mighty suspicious but we found nothing. Nothing conclusive at least. We saw lots of cool buildings but they all seemed to be in use one way or the other. Even if they weren't in use they appeared to be under surveillance. They were all in equally bad shape, but non of them visibly falling apart, and we didnt really want to step on anybodies toes, so we stayed well clear of most of them. As we're casually strolling past a building that looks rather like a prison (obviosly where they keep the criminally insane) we run into a woman who is eyeing us suspisiously. I smile at her and strike up a random conversation with my partner in crime. Ramona's catching my drift. The stranger doesnt say anything as she passes us. I'm getting rather good at acting like I feel at home in the strangest places I reckon.

Turns out we had stopped just short of the good stuff though. Weeks later we're probably looking rather suspicious again, walking up to a long since abandoned building right in between an apartment complex and the still active high security ward at Dikemark. Who ever closed this building clearly weren't kidding. I've heard this was done as some sort of exercice for the military or something. All the doors and windows within reach is thoroughly secured, but I still can't figure out if that little, red sign by the door is for real.

“Do you think we're on CCTV right now?”

“Don't know... I can't see any cameras.”

“Me neither...maybe they're inside.”

Doesnt really matter though. We'll be out of here soon and you just try tracking down two random people with nothing but a grainy depiction of their faces to go on. No one is going to bother. Still, are there really sensor triggered cameras in there? Why would anyone want to pay to have this place monitored? Pretty much every single window is broken and on the top floor two pipes are sticking out of the widows at each end of the building, the conductors of a continuous flow of water. It looks more or less like the least effective draining system imaginable. If all that water is what's coming out despite that, we can only imagine how much water is still inside.

Word on the web is that someone entered this building and were driven to madness by whatever they encountered. That's an urban legend that seems to go with every abandoned building worth it's salt. Not very inventive, but then again, they rarely are. Also, I'm pretty sure they just transferred it from another building around here that was allegedly burned down by the grieving boyfriend of the victim... 

“By the way, while we're here, do you wanna make a short stop at Lier?”

“... why? What are we going to check out this time?”

“Emmmm... we didnt finish up building B. Maybe we could check out the third floor.”

“If we go to Lier, I wanna see the basement... and the attic.”
We investigated all 5 floors of building E, no problem. But I don't intend to set foot in the basement or attic building B. Not that I seriously think something will happen, just that I know it will impact my sleeping for at least a few days.

“No way. No basement and no attic in building B. But what about building A? Don't you want to see what they're doing with it now?”

“Fine. We'll go to Lier.”

Lier

“Wow... it's just very gone isnt it? Is this really where it used to be?”

Now there's just empty space. And a snowman.

“Funny how all those rooms just doesnt exist anymore.”

“And the basement we never got to see...” Ramona seems to feel a little cheated.

“Don't be so sure. I bet it's down there somewhere. This isnt quite ground level.”

Ramona scrapes away some of the snow with her foot, revealing that we are in fact standing on the shattered pieces of the old brick building.
"Better start digging then."

By building E and B there's tire tracks in the snow all the way up.

“Must be security since this road is closed.”

“The tracks looks too heavy duty.”

“A tractor then?”

“Not quite.”

“Some sort of pick up truck or something maybe?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

 I stop for a moment to take a few pictures.

“Do you hear that funny grinding noise? It's my lens... the focus is malfunctioning. Never done that before."

I look up at the big, mint green building straight ahead. Building B. There's something epic about these big, old, abandoned buildings that I just can't seem to get over.

“So you finally got your supernatural experience?!” Ramona is being funny.

A few minutes later we're entering the restricted area around building B once again. It appears from the outside like B has been closed off once again. Who ever did it didnt bother with building E, and I'm really wondering why that is. We have to check if our eyes are deceiving us. The tire tracks go all the way up here, and there are plenty footprints. I'm trying to remember when the last snowfall was. Probably just a few days ago. Where we are now is probably the most risky place to be in a sense. We are well past the point where we can claim to be innocently going for a walk or something, in that we can hardly have missed the 2 meter high fence we have just come through, even if we didn't have to climb it or break it in any way. At the same time we are still not inside and hidden from security guards and other disapproving onlookers. We are out in the open, just waiting to get caught.

“I guess if we hear something, we'll just run.”

“Are you sure running out of here is the best approch to the problem? It will just make us look like a pair of criminals.”

“Maybe just hide behind a corner then...”

Even though a little mischief is always making me smile, this strange, bad feeling start creeping up on me again.

“Can you believe we've entered this place willingly?”

I feel like that now because we are not going in. I'm just not in the right mode so to speak. Ramona can believe it, I'm sure. But it is indeed closed now, though there are still a few open windows and someone clearly entered through a basement window in the last few days. As I stop to take an illustrative picture of that window and how very “difficult” it is to enter Lier, my lens start making that odd noise again while the focus just runs back and forth like crazy.

“I have had lenses malfunctioning before, but I've never heard that sound befor. And look at this now... the memoricard is full and the battery is empty...”
As much as I like to be spooked, this is kind of what happens when you don't clean up your memorycard, and don't charge your battery, and don't bring the spare card and battery. I'm well over expecting ghostly figures to appear in these pix. In all my hundreds of pix and movies from Lier there really only is one pic that I don't have an explanation for. An even if I don't have it, it doesnt mean that there is no explenation.

So we leave. On our way back down we run into some people on the corner of the E building. Two guys and two girls.

“Those people we met, I bet those guys were trying to impress their girlfriends.”

“Or they were hoping to make them their girlfriends by impressing them.”

“Didnt look as cool anymore when they ran into us though, did it? Maybe we messed up their game.”

“Haha! Too bad!”

Dikemark

This time, we weren't actually going there. We were going to Nedre Eiker, or maybe even as far as Skien. I'm just noticing the exit at the E18 highway: Asker, Dikemark, Borgen. The car makes a funny little jolt, like it sometimes does, and I automatically let go of the gas and scan the dashboard. The warning light for the breaks is on. Something wrong with the break? But then I notice the other one: oil. I need to stop the car as soon as possible, I know what happens to an engine with no oil. But then I notice the third one and realize the cause of all this. The rev meter is down to zero. The engine has simply stopped. It's not out of diesel. It's not overheated. I try the ignition a few more times and I get the feeling it's simply not getting any fuel. The guy from NAF (the Norwegian Car Owner's Assosiation..?) seems to be getting the same idea, so I've got this tiny little hope that that quarter of a tank might be a slight misreading so that this might be solved quickly and cheaply.

We're at Oslo Central Station houres and houres later when it hits me:

“Damn! I really, really miss that stupid car! Already! I started to wonder where it was parked, but then I realized it's not there at all. I miss it like it was a person or something...” 

Turns out, a week later, that I was onto something with the fuel. There is something called a camshaft, which controlls the valves and hence the coming and going of air in the engine. On the camshaft there is this tiny little sensor (at least I imagine it's tiny) that controlls the fuel injection. This little thingy had stopped working and was causing all the trouble. No sensor, no fuel, simply put.

Lier Psychiatric Hospital, Dikemark and more Lier (Part 1)

Apparently, Open Office Writer has given up on spellchecking all together... just so you're warned.

This is now long overdue, but as I did mention before: we did go back to the abandoned hospital in Lier. Come to think of it... I probably mentioned this in Norwegian. But since the world don't revolve around this blog, a recap is probably due anyway.

When we went to vitness the demolition of the first building we visited at Lier (building A), we also had a look at building E. This was rumoured to be the «worst» of them all. How ever you might be inclined to interpret that piece of information, we had come to the conclusion that B was clearly better secured and must therefore be the one to stay away from.

Building E was a good choice. It felt fairly safe, so we ended up investigating all 5 floors, even the basement. All high on this little success, I sugested that we should have a look at the B. E was so easy, this must be a good day.

«But how do you know such things» my mum asks me a few months later.

«I don't. I don't know anything. Sometimes I just get the worst feeling about something. Like you know this is a bad place to be, except you don't.»

This feeling is just like being affraid of something very specific, only you can't really attribut it to anything specific. I'm not saying that makes it supernatural. Feelings is the way our subconsious mind communicates with our consious mind. We pic up such wast amounts of informations, there is no way for us to prosess it consiously. This could be perfectly natural.

E made me reasonably tense, as you should always be in such places, but B was for Bad, apparently. I was filming this whole thing, and it still makes me cringe just to think of watching it. As we came up to one of the first doors, you can see me stop and almost start to reverse away from it. I felt like I've seen something really disturbing, but then decided I hadn't, and then entered. By the time we had covered the northern corridor on the first floor I wanted to run away so bad. But running always makes it worse. So we covered the souther corridor too before walking away slowly. I was never, ever going back there. That much was clear. But such convictions are all too fleeting. What's the worst thing that can happen, right?

So we went back, like we always do.

There's also a film from the second trip. This one I've gotten used to. It's on YouTube even. I've been told I seem so calm. So, so calm.

Don't be fooled though. It wasn't too bad I guess.

The first stairs we ventured up were so silent. Cracking stairs seem unreliable, but the floors and stairs that could collaps at any given moment, those are usually too soft for cracking, just like these stairs who stole away even the otherwise destinct sound of footsteps.

The second floor is much like the first. We found spray paint and a metal pipe in one room.

«Look! A murderwepon!»

I did after all play Cluedo as a kid. Besides, I remember reading somewhere that you wanna stay clear of graffiti artists in places like this, as they're often on edge and armed. From what I'm hearing it's also not uncommon to be high as a scyscraper when coming here.

«Sort of looks like a piece cut off from the fence outside, doesnt it?» I add curiously.

«So someone cut off a piece of the fence for a make shift wepon, when whatever they used to cut it off was probably at least as good?»

«Good point. Imagine the cutter you would need for that job!»

On a windowsill out in the hallway, there's more cans and a gas mask.

«Someone ran away screaming» I assure Ramona.

Or the cans are empty and the mask is broken. Who knows.

I start noticing after a while that my breath fogs in some rooms. Only in a few rooms here and there, and it's just not that cold. This is a bit weird.

In one such room, something is dripping from the ceiling.

«What's that?... rust... no, I mean blood»

It's a little kitchen, directly above the one from the first visit. It's orange, the stuff that's dripping. Rust and water I'm guessing.

«Cause blood is orange right?» I continue, a little worried that Ramona might think I'm being hysterical for real. This is when I notice that my breath is fogging.

«Rotten blood is.»

«What?»

«Rotten blood is orange. Have you never seen rotten blood?»

Ramona sounds genuinely surprised.

«Can't say I have...»

«Well, it also smelled so bad it almost knocked me out, so...»

«Good to know.»

A while later we're just casually crossing a room when there's a sound. Waves of sound.

«Was that you?» I ask.

«Yeah, probably was.»

I'm not convinced, but definetly willing to leave it alone for a while.

Monthes and monthes later, we're in a car, on a highway. This is when I remember it.

«That sound that time at Lier. I'm almost certain it wasnt you.»

The GoPro caught it on tape, and you can hear that it's a bigger sound from somewhere else in the building.

“We may not have been alone in there. I thought we would have known though.”

“Not nesesserily.”
“Well, I guess they could have noticed us first. Maybe it was just one person, so they would have had an advantage as far as sound goes.”

“Or maybe they saw us enter and had fun following us around.”

I considerd that for a moment, deciding how creepy it would be.

“If it was me in that situation I would have gotten the fuck out of there as quick as possible.”

But I would never be in that particular situation in the first place. I don't do this stupid shit on my own. Well, not this specific kind of stupid shit anyway.

I guess we weren't too difficult to keep track of, with Ramona uninpressed by the risks at hand combined with my willful ignorance of anything that might scare me too much. Also, stealth is not always a good thing in these places as it might be better if people can hear you coming. That way they might get the chance to reflect on their options before hitting you in the head with a blunt metal object, rather then after.

But then again, it was just a sound. Waves of sound. Could have been anything. Come to think of it (and I actually only came to think of this while typing) didnt we run into two guys outside a while earlier?

This text got to long so I've cut it in half right around here

Julebrusmysteriet (basert på et sant historie)

(Mest av alt et påskudd til å øve meg på å tegne i Photoshop, and 90% oppdikta.)

Det var en mørk og stormfull kveld (eller var det morgon? huska ikkje...) i et gammalt forlatt mentalsj... nei kva er det eg seie? Det her var jo på hybelen min. I allefall holdt eg på å lage middag, eller kvelds, eller frokost. Huska som sakt ikkje kva tid på døgnet det var, men i allefall mista eg noko på golvet som eg måtte plukke opp. På kjøkkenet som for tida er mitt eine og aleine har eg et altfor stort kjøkkenbord! Men det er egentlig bare stort i den forstand at det er for stort for det lisje kjøkkenet.Ved dette bordet står det to stola kor av den eine stakkaren er skvist mellom veggen og bordet. Når eg altså bøyde meg ned skulle det vise seg at det låg noko på denne stolen. Nemlig ei julebrus! Meir interessant: ei julebrus som ikkje var mi.

For korleis skulle ei julebrus ha teke seg inn på kjøkenet mitt heilt på eiga hand?Og kva skulle motivet vere? Nokon måtte ha plassert den der! Men kven?

Kunne det ha seg sånn at nokon rett og slett hadde brutt seg inn på kjøkkenet mitt?

Kunne det vere overnaturlige krefter i sving? Sjølve flaska såg jo uforskamma normal ut, men ville den gå i oppløysning viss eg prøvde å ta på den? Var det bare ein luftspegling eller kan overnaturlige vesen frambringe masseproduserte, komersielle produkt av rein viljestyrke? Kunne dei i såfall masseprodusere dei og tjene seg rike??? Spørsmåla var mange.

Dette var kort sakt et bunnlaust mysterium. Her var det nødvendig å rådføre seg med nokon. Fortrinnsvis nokon som viste mykje, eller aller helst alt... Valet falt naturlig nok på den allvitande verdsveven, også kjent som internetten. Det viste seg at det var mange teori der ute i dei tusen haud.

Mange av dei likna på mine teoriar: spøkelser, ånder og til og med julenissen. Personlig tenker eg nok at det er litt i overkant overtruisk å antyde at julenissen skulle ha bomma på jula med over ein månad så den forklaringa har eg valt å sjå bort ifrå. Derimot var det ein anna teori som skilte seg ut.... det er jo slettes ikkje bare eg som har nøkkel til hybelen min sjølv om det bare er eg som bur her! Kunne det vere at nokon leika med meg? At nokon rett og slett hadde det hysterisk morsomt på mi bekostning? Men kva skulle vere meninga  med denne julebrusa? Julebrus er jo ei vare, ei sesongbetont vare. Ei raud sesongbetont vare. Den kan ellers betegnast som søt og fristande og liknar forøvrig svært på raudbrus eller Eventyrbrus. Når ein først er inne på "eventyr" så får en fort assosiasjona til andre søte, fristande, raude, sesongbetonte varer, som det raude, forgifta eplet i Snøhvit. Det her var ein såpassa enkel og nærliggande konklusjon at eg blei en aldri så liten smule bekymra. Korleis kunne eg ha unngått å sjå slik openbar symbolikk mens eg grådig konsumerte halve flaska? 

Eg syns med et eg merka et hint av en stikkande undertone til den ellers umiskjennelige lukta som kom fra den opne flaska. Og var ikkje det noko unaturlig, nesten radioaktivt over den raude fargen? Eg mena... meir enn vanlig liksom? 

Antagelig likna ikkje det her det aller minste på korleis eg såg ut, sidan eg rett og slett ikkje ser sånn ut, men ærlig talt... litt fantasi forventa eg at dei fleste innehar! I allefall såg den omtalte flaska omtrentlig slik ut. Viss teorien min stemte hadde eg nok kun kort tid igjen å leve.

Brusa var jo også utvilsomt å betegne som forbudt fruk uansett. Det var jo tross alt bare November. Og når vi er inne på forbudt frukt kan en jo trekke assosiasjonane vidare til andre eventyr. Kom den kanskje direkte frå kunnskapens bryggeri, overlevert av en slu slange? Hadde eg dømt meg sjøl til evig fortapelse og kunne forvente å bli forflytta til helvete omgåande? Ikkje bare skulle eg stige av frå livets selsomme damplokomotiv, men endestasjonen var nok allerede bestemt. 

Better late than never...?

I have a few times claimed to have photographic memory, but only in the most diluted sense, or only in a very selective way. I remember all my photos, every single one of the aproximately 20 000 pix I've got on my harddrive. If I see a picture of a flower or a few strands of grass, I can tell you where it was taken, why I was there, who I was with, what the weather was like etc. Sometimes when I drive by some town I have never stopped in, I see a house or a tree and some image I snapped through the windscreen 4 years ago pops into my head. I can probably tell you what softwear I used to edit it too, but then again there are memorable difrenses between Gimp, Adobe Lightroom, Photoshop and MS Picture Manager. But enough about that. I figured I'd try something new. I selected one of my many pictures randomely, and will now attempt to «remember» the circomstances of it. But I perfer to remember it creatively... and fill in the blanks... and by this I mean that I will probably just make something up. I mean.... come on. Who wants to read some randome day in the life of me? Nobody!

BTW: This text appears not to contain even a single typo, so I suspect Open Office Writer has finally given up this spell checking thing completely :P

So here it goes! A rainy evening in November! Or maybe some other time. My computer claims it was taken in the afternoon of Christmas day, 2008, but that doesnt seem right. Anyway, here it is, along with a wholy madeup story:

Bam, bam, bam goes the rain. And it wount hold up even for a moment to let you breath, to let you think or to let you see properly. I wish it would at the very least remind me, remind me why I'm out here, alone. I'm already soaked through and it's not over yet. There are still stuff to be done and steps to be taken. And still... My flashlight finds an abandoned skateboard. Something happend here, I'm sure. Someone left here in panic I imagine, or not by their own force. I paint picture of devils and demons in my mind and systematically neglect the lighter, bland scenarios. Soon, before I move on, this is burned into my memory specifically defined as a dark oman, a most sadistic hint at what's next. Around me the dark is getting denser, consuming my surroundings slowly. My flashlight is getting more pircing.

I'm it, the most visible thing for miles.

Whoever's out there have me at such a disadvantage that it's laughable. The wind is making all the creapy noises that wind makes and the trees are dancing in solute. I'm not laughing. Definetly not. I turn off my flashlight, my beacon of hope. I'm on my own now. I want to run. Instead I hunch down so noone will catch my siluette against the still bluish sky. I sit, I watch, I wait. The dark can't last for ever, right?

But, hey! What am I doing out here? The world ain't directed by Stephen King and if the devil even exists, I suppose he ain't on my case full time.

Or maybe it's a she?

Maybe it's me!

I exhale.

A wistle through exposed teeth.

Wouldnt that be neat!

But now I should probably go.

Because there's reason to believe it isnt so.

I pull my hood over my head and stalk off. You'd think if I had any extrordenairy dark powers I'd be onto it by now. I wouldnt hold my breath for such a revelation.

Come out, come out, wherever you are.

På gjenngrodde stiar gjennom skogen ferdast det to jenter. Nokon som ikkje veit betre kunne spørre seg kva i alle dagar to framande utanbygds ifrå skulle ha rota seg inn i skogen her for. Men for dei fleste ein kunne komme til å støyte på her ville svaret vare nærliggande, både i sinnet og med sitt prangande, fysiske nærvær. Vi har nok alle høyrt dei mørke historiene. Dei sanne, dei modifiserte og dei som er rein fabrikasjon. Men ingen kan vel påstår at dei veit kor grensa mellom fakta og fiksjon går? Sikker kan bare ein idiot vere, for ingen veit vel alt?

Denne plassen er altså et tidligare asyl, eller psykiatrisk sjukehus. No for tida seies det å vere heimsøkt, og ikkje bare litt heller. Det er jo lett nok å forstå at folk kan komme til slike konklusjonar bare av å sjå på det. Det ser jo ut som om vi har hamna på settet til ein grøssar. Sett i samanheng med psykiatrihistorias mange tilfelle av lobotomering, brutal sjokkbehandling, tvangstrøyer osv legg det seg endå eit lag dysterheit over plassen. Dei fleste av oss kan bare fantasere om korleis innsida av dei tyngste avdelingane på ein psykiatrisk instutisjon ser ut, og vi har jo sett filmar som Madhouse, Shutter Island og Gjøkeredet. Men la oss gløyme dei når vi no skal rote oss inn i ei sånn bygning og heller tenke på Elling. Elling er ein fiiiin film om folk som ikkje er heilt i vater som fikk meg til å le og grine gledestårer av gjenkjenning. La meg tenke på den i staden for å sjå for meg scener frå Ondskapens Hotell, Fritt Vilt og... Motorsagmasakeren. Bruk av motorsag er her jo i grunn tydelige tegn på...

Her er vi altså igjen... framfor oss har vi et gigantisk, raudbrunt hus. Tidligare besøkande har omtalt det som det verste av denne dystre samlinga, men vi har allereie besøkt bygg A, og bygg B er vi overraskande nok blitt einige om å holde oss unna, bygg C, D og G er fortsatt I drift (og praktisk nok skult bak en vegg av lauv), så då gjenstår kun bygg E.

Bygget er omringa av et 2 meter høgt gjerde. Bare synd for dei som satt det opp at det er av typen anleggsgjerde, usikra og dermed ubrukelig. For øyeblikket er det dessuten opent. Så vi spasserar rett inn. Vi holde oss sjølvsagt for gode for innbrot og hærverk, og på Lier er det slett ikkje nødvendig. I løpet av sommaren har her openbart vore stor trafikk for no er samtlege dører til nettopp dette bygget vidopne. «Det holdt liksom ikkje å opne ei dør!», vi ler hjertelig av denne kommentaren, for her er det openbart at nokon har hatt det i overkant arti med å begå innbrudd.

Sjølv om vi ikkje har vore i akkurat dette bygget før, kjenner vi allereie til den generelle byggestilen på Lier. Husa er bunnsolide betong/tegl-klossar som godt kan komme til å stå til evig tid. Trappene og trappeavsatsane er derimot i tre.

Vi kjem aller først til eit kjøkken, og så er oppdagelsesferda I gang, vi finne noko som ser litt ut som ei søppelbøtte, men med avløpsrør og vannlås og tilsynelatande påkobla både vatn og strøm. Kva kan det her vere? Forslaga er mange kvar gang vi finne noke!

Den vanvittige uroa eg har følt ved tidligare besøk har tapt seg, det blir ingen djup angst og søvnlause netter i etterkant. Eg nemner det fleire gangar under vegs. Vi ser mykje det same som sist, men litt nye ting. I dette bygget er det mange fine verandaar og vinterhagar. Det einaste som bryte med idyllen er at vindauga kun kan opnast med nøklar. Det ser rart ut, men vi kan jo tenke oss grunnen. I fleire rom er gardinene revne ned og sett fyr på. Dette er nok av nyare dato. Aska ligge enda i foldar som om det fremdeles var et sammanhengande stykke stoff. Urørt. Kanskje var det gjort nylig? Andre plassa kveilar klatreplantar seg inn gjennom vindauga og gjev meg en viss eventyrfølelse. Som om vi befinne oss i tårnet til tornerose, eller i Edens hage.

Fargane er psykedeliske, Lier skuffar aldri på denne fronter. Romma er gule, oransje, knall grøne, brune, rosa, raude! At det går an. Har tidligare høyrt folk le vekk at det selvfølgelig ikkje er GULE veggar på et psykiatrisk sjukehus, for alle med det minste peiling på fargelære veit jo at det ville vere ein særdeles dårlig ide, likevel tok dei altså feil. For dei som ikkje veit det er gul kjendt for å vere oppkvikkande og stressande. Og rosa og brunt? Ikkje for å fornærme nokon her, men kven vil ha rosa og brune veggar??? Det må vere for spesielt interesserte...

I det forrige bygget vi besøkte, besøkte vi ikkje loftet. Dette var min feil, enkelt og greit. Eg blånekta med engang eg såg trappa. Opp dit skulle ikkje eg. Det var ei bratt loftstrapp. Haudet først opp i et stort opent loftsrom såg eg for meg. Bare av den grunn skulle ikkje eg opp dit. Denne gange fortsett dei store, breie hovudtrappene heilt opp på loftet. Det høyres kanskje rart ut, men dette gjore heile utslaget. Pluss at eg antagelig er begynt å bli litt herda. Eg gjekk først opp trappa. Forsiktig, inntil veggen, vekta ytterst på kanten av trinna. Ramona blei hengande etter litt. Dette virka jo logisk nok frå et sikkerhetsperspektiv. Då eg kom opp skjønte eg derimot at det dreia seg om heilt andre ting. Ramona gjekk beine vegen opp uten tegn til forsiktighet, fremdeles godt fornøgd med underholdningsverdien i forsiktigheta mi. Eg ser vistnok vannvittig komisk ut i sånne situasjonar har eg fått høyre. «Bedre forsiktig enn daud» prøva eg meg litt bedrevitande, men bedrevitenskap bite ikkje på ho her.

Loftete viser seg å vere ganske så... koselig..? «Viss eg måtte vere husokkupant en plass, så skulle eg budd her på loftet!» meddelar Ramona, heilt ut av det blå. Eg kan ikkje sei eg er enig i det utsagnet, men sånn midt på lyse dagen så var dette et relativt beroligande rom. I allefall i den grad det kan vere beroligande å befinne seg i fjerde etasje på et forlatt, falleferdig, vistnok hjemsøkt sjukehus. Loftet var ikkje et einaste stort rom sånn som loft av og til er. Huset har mønetak, med tre store utstikkarar der mønet går på tvers av hovudretninga til taket. Rommet strekke seg over lengda av en slik utstikker. Taket er pent tretak, over haudet på oss flyge svalar som vi har skremt opp. Det ovale vindet i enden av rommet er knust. Vi finne ei dør som ledar vidare innover loftet, men den er låst til vår store skuffelse. Vi har fått blod på tann og vil virkelig sjå reste av loftet.

Vi beveger oss ned ei etasje og til midten av bygget. Trappa her er i ei ganske anna forfattning enn den vi nettopp kom ned. Det virkar gjennomgåande at trappene i midten av bygga er betydelig meir medtatt enn dei andre to. Nokon har saga over rekkverket i øvre del av trappa, dette ligger no på skrå over nedre del som ei symbolsk sperring. Eg ville vanligvis ikkje vurdert denne trappa men... «Ka du trur? Trur du det er trygt?» Trygt er det ikkje, det kan eg forsåvidt sjå sjølv. Ramona veit ikkje. Dette er en god inndikator på at vi bør holde oss unda. Eg er lettskremt, Ramona er ikkje. «Det er jo hol i trinna». Vi veit begge at vi ikkje trenge å trakke på den tynne plata som utgjere sjølv trinnet. Men... «Det er jævlig høgt ned» konstatera eg.
Kanskje bare drøye 3 meter ned i neste trapp, men eg ville ikkje satsa store penga på at den holdt. Det er tre særdeles høge etasja under oss. Kanskje 9 meter ca? «Kanskje vi bare skal teste i andre enden først, så kanskje det er opent inn til midten der?» Eg var rimelig letta over denne logikken som plutselig kom til meg, seint men godt. Trappa i andre enden var knirkete, men heil. Resten av loftet er mykje det samme: overaskande beroligande med knuset ovale vindu og svalar under taket.

Når vi kjeme ned igjen i første etasje og skal til å forlate åstaden kjeme eg fram til at vi kanskje skal gjer det vi ikkje skulle gjer. Eg føler meg usedvanlig avslappa og foreslår til Ramona sin store overraskelse og fornøyelse at vi skal ta en kikk på kjellaren... for det kan vel ikkje skade...ikkje sant?
Vi lokalisera nermaste framkommelige trapp.
«Vent, var ikkje det ei dør her i stad?»
Ramona stussa over den opne trappenedgangen. Eg hadde ikkje tenkt over det, men vi hadde jo kikka gjennom et hull i ei dør tidligare på dagen. En ubehagelig tanke, men vi konkludera med at det må ha vore en annan plass i bygninga, for vi er rimelig sikkre på at vi ville vore klar over det viss vi ikkje var aleine. Idet Ramona forsvinne ned i mørket stoppa eg ho likevel. Eg vil fastsette spelereglane.
«Viss eg får noia, så går vi opp igjen ikkje sant?»
«Selvfølgelig.»
Då var det avgjort, eg følge på ned den smale trappa.

Vel nede krevs det likevel ein viss mental anstrengelse. Her er det mørkt, så den rimelig store lommelykta mi har fått fast prioritet i handa mi, alltid på så ein kan sjå kor en går. Vindu i dei første romma vi ser er høgt oppe under taket, smale, og ikkje minst, det er gitter for dei. Den einaste mulige vegen ut som vi veit om er den vegen vi kom inn, og den lisje trappa vi kom ned er vi no i ferd ved å vende ryggen og vandre så langt som overhode mulig vekk frå. Folk har satt fyr på ting i dette huset her før. Men eg tenker rooooolige tankar lenge nok til å få sett andre sida av gangen óg. Her er det vanlige vindauge i vanlig høgde og ikkje bare uten gitter men opne og uten meir enn 20-30 cm bakkeklaring. Lettelse. Då kan ein fokusere på andre ting som... kva i h****** som feila golvet.

Eller, det første spørsmålet som kjeme til meg er, korfor ville nokon knuse veggen inn til heis-rommet?! Eller ein vegg som veldig openbart har ei tom døropning rett ved den knuste biten av murveggen? Men det er ikkje noko «kven» eller «korfor». Det er det samme som uten mål og mening har fått heile den langsgåande koridoren til å sprekke opp langs midten. «Telehiv» konkluderar Ramona.
Her er det moderjord som har protestert på dei begrensningane menneska har skapt akkurat her. Antagelig er grunnarbeidet for dårlig. Eg finner det ganske interessant at dette svære bygget som vi nettopp har vandra gjennom på langs og på tvers og i høgda, skråsikkre på soliditeten, virkelig er så skrøpelig i botnen. Her er det som om moder jord går strategisk til verks for å bli kvitt det, sprenger fundamentet og ventar på at tyngdekrafta skal ta seg av resten. Virkelig interessant, for eg har aldri sett telehiv innandørs. Eg får ein liten fornemmelse av dei 4 tunge etasjane over oss her. Hadde ikkje vore kult å få dei i haudet.

Heldigvis fins det teknikkar for å behalde roen. Før eg går inn i et rom stoppar eg i døra og ta oversikt over det. Før eg går ut igjen og kryssar gangen ser eg til høgre og venstre, som om eg hadde med ein trafikkert veg å gjere, bare at her har forhåpentlegvis ingenting forandra seg. Det du trudde du såg i sidesynet var absolutt ingenting med mindre du såg det heilt tydelig, noko ein stort sett ikkje gjer med sidesynet. Merkelige lydar er kun merkelige viss ein høyre dei fleire gangar, eller begge høyre dei og begge syns dei var merkelige. Viss ein er litt klastrofobisk, overtruisk og mørkeredd sånn som meg som kan du vere sikker på at ein stad som Lier Sjukehus kjem til å krølle det til litt oppe i haudet ditt. Så her er det bare å roe ned og ikkje gå til grunne over litt skyggespel, optiske illusjonar og akkustikk om hjerna ens veve det samen til dei mest intrikate scenario og fantasiar om alt frå spøkelser og demona til lys levande lugubre karakterar med onde hensiktar som bearbeidar allereie tynnsletne nervar. GoPro-kameraet mitt kom dessutan i skade for å fange lugubre karakterar på film. Men det var heldigvis stortsett bare meg.

Ganske på tross av kva vi har blitt einige om på tidligare tidspunkt setter vi kursen mot bygg B. Men vi skal bare ta ein kikk blir vi einige om.
"Eg... skal prøve å vere litt meir forsiktig her" seie Ramone ganske så ukarakteristisk.
Eg trur ikkje heilt mine egne øyre, det har må jo dreie seg om en misforståelse... men eg prøva meg likevel:
"Ka er det eg høyre??? Mena du å antyde at din ellers eineståande karakter ikkje er fullkomment feilfri? Tar du sjølvkritikk?"
"Neida, selvfølgelig ikkje! Det eg seier er bare at spesielle situasjonar krever spesialtilpassing."

Her har det tidligare vore grundig lukka og låst, men i løpet av sommaren har det dukka opp ei opning. Gjerdet står også her ope. Ikkje det at det her heller hadde vore noko stress å løfte laus anleggsgjerdet, men det har ei viss symboleffekt likevel. Innafor, midt på det grønne palasset som har rykte på seg for å vere det mest forfallne, er det ei opa dør. Som om trykket hadde arbeida seg opp der inne til det svakaste leddet gav etter. Bare ei dør. Lurer på kva det skuldast. Innafor er det litt som ellers og litt nytt. Motorsagmasakeren ala Lier er like tilstedeværande her som ellers. Reine kutt gjennom trappegelender, det er ikkje tvil. Men samtidig har det sitt eige distinkte preg dette huset, og det er så langt frå den nesten koselig følelsen på loftet i nabobygget at det er til å få frysningar av. Ein av dei første romma vi kjem til er også her et kjøken. I det eg stikke haudet rundt hjørne til dette rommet får eg ein merkelig følelse som det ikkje lykkast meg heilt å verken huske skikkelig eller forstå. Det føles litt som om eg hadde trakka rett inn i helvete, men et augeblikk seinare såg eg at det var ikkje så forferdelig likevel... bare enda et forfallent rom, blant mange andre vi hadde sett både i dag, og andre dagar, både her og andre stadar. På filmen frå det vesle GoPro-kamerat som eg hadde i handa i dette øyeblikket kan en sjå at eg bråstoppa og nesten vil rygge litt unna, men så finne eg igjen fornufta mi langt bak i bevistheta mi ein plass. Det vesle kjøkkenet er ramponer av både tida og menneska, det er mørkt og dei høge vindauga er spikra igjen til over hauda våre.

Når vi kjem ut frå den tverrliggande delen av huset og over i hovuddelen, er vi inne i ein av desse karakteristiske lange korridorane. Vi går mot høgre først. Det som fort slår meg er at så godt som samtlege dører inn til pasientromma har små vindauga, eller kikkehull.
«Eg trur vi har funne høgsikkerhetsavdelinga eg!»
Eg blir litt begeistra, og får litt noia. Eit par dører lenger inn kjem vi til ei som er dobbel... og som ser ut til å ha ei kjerne av metall mellom den vanlige finéren.
«Sjekk den her! Det her er ikkje noko tulledør!»
Dette rommet har eg ikkje tenkt meg inn på merka eg. Det er spesielt berekna på å holde nokon trygt innestengt... ellers takk.

Ellers benytta eg meg meir og meir av muligheten til å komme meg ut av koridoren og inn i romma rundt. Jo lenger inn vi kjeme jo meir stressa blir eg. Eg har akkurat komt på nokon av mine egne bilde av utsida av akkurat dette bygget, og blandt anna det store vinduet i enden av akkurat denne koridoren, det som vi sakte men sikkert bevega oss mot akkurat da. Det var noke litt spesielt med dei bilda, men det skulle eg absolutt ikkje tenke på akkurat da bestemte eg.
Flashback til hybelen min i Dal, der eg satt å redigerte bilda:

           «Oj! Sjå på det! Det ser jo ut som mange ansikt i vinduet! Haha. Er sikkert bare på grunn av
            den dårlige kvaliteten og tåka... er sikkert sånn på alle bilde» *nervøs latter*

          «Hmmm, er vist ikkje sånn på dei andre bilda likevel... Fuck. Det var jo.... beroligande.»

Ein prøva jo alltid å holde ei viss oversikt i slike situasjonar, i allefall har eg gjort det til en vane å skanne omgivelsane mine med jamne mellomrom på slike stadar. Ta overblikk over en korridor før ein snur ryggen til den, og overblikk over et rom før ein går inn i det. Viss folka med motorsaga kjeme igjen for eksempel, vil eg vite om det før heller enn seinare. Eg stressa gjennom første etasje og så vil eg ut.
«Klokka er mykje» unnskylda eg det med. Eg trur ikkje eg lurte nokon med det utsagnet. Bygg B var dystert, og ein god del meir påfallande forfallent enn dei andre bygga. Flassa maling var det i dei andre og, men bygg B tar det liksom til nye høgder uten at eg heilt hadde trudd det var mulig. Men meir om det seinare. Vi havna nemlig her ein gang til, sjølv om følelsen av dette huset var så påfallande bedriten at det står i sterk kontrast til det nærmast behaglige E-bygget. Men slike følelsar er uhåndgripelige og falma fort til ingenting i hukommelsen.