There is nothing quite like the smell of embalming fluid.
It's true that everything has a smell all its own but embalming fluid, the liquid used to preserve dead bodies for funerals, is something altogether unique. It smells like chemicals. It smells a bit sweet. It even smells a little dry. But for those who have smelled it and know it well they will say most of all it smells like death.
This room positively reeks of it.
It's not surprising, given that this is obviously the room where the bodies were prepared. The tile walls were white but that was years ago. They are now dusty and dirty, with the yellow of age that comes from years of neglect. The linoleum floor is just as dirty and worn. The counters are medical white like everything else in the room, and display several bottles which are mostly empty and broken. Shining the flashlight in the dark room it's possible to see a few have survived time and still contain murky dark pink liquid. The label on the bottle is faded and only the warning "CONTAINS FORMALDEHYDE" is legible. I'm tempted to take one as a souvenir but decide to leave it, at least for now.
The room's main attraction is a large white enameled table in the middle of the room. Looking at it I can't help but wonder how many people have been in this room, on this table. What brought them here and who waited for them, to say goodbye?
Looking around the room in the darkness I try to remind myself that this is only one more room, like any of the others that we've explored before. A ceiling, a floor, four walls and a door. Check. Although unlike a regular door you might see anywhere else the door to this room is much larger, maybe three times as wide as a regular door. And it doesn't swing open but slides along a track, like some sort of old hospital door. More like an garage door actually, with small windows to see in without opening the door. But no matter. Even though it has the necessary ceiling and floor and walls this room isn't quite like the other rooms I've been in before. Even the old abandoned hospital last year with its room after room of eerie forgotten beds and equipment didn't have the same feeling.
The feeling that I'm not alone.
Maybe it's to be expected. Even though it looks like no one has worked here for decades I'm sure at one time it was busy. Busy with life as well as death. People worked here at their job, trying to give closure to the grieving families. Preparing those who had died, getting them ready for their last moments with friends and families. How many people had rested on this table before being put into a coffin and then off to their proverbial final rest? Maybe it's only to be expected that this room, this building, contains spirits of those who had died.
I remind myself that I'm not afraid of the dark. Most people will say they stopped being afraid of the dark when they were little kids. But most people are liars. I was one of those liars. I remember when I was little telling my mom I no longer needed a light on to sleep. But how long it took to get to sleep that first night! And the next night. But eventually I got over my fears. Most of us do. But then come those other moments. Moments when we're no longer surrounded by the comfort of being in our own bed. Moments like when the power goes out at night and there's no one else home. Or walking alone down a dark street. Or, if you're like me and my friends, the first time you decide to explore an abandoned building at night.
Over the past year we've explored almost twenty different buildings. Some were little more than garages or shacks that had been abandoned and took only an hour or so to look through. Those were usually not too interesting. Most common are houses, long since abandoned, given up for one reason or another. One house we knew the owner had died and there was no one left to take over the house, so it sat vacant. Another was a farmhouse that had never sold and stood by itself just off a country road. These were fun to wander through, looking at the memories, trying to imagine the lives who had been there before us. Depending where we were going we usually tried to go during the day. It's safer and also a lot easier not having to carry a flashlight every step of the way. And if I'm being honest it's maybe not as... eerie... as when we go at night. But we do have to go at night sometimes. Usually because there are people who live or work nearby so there is a chance of being caught. Sometimes it's just the only time we can all get together to go as a group.
The first time we went out at night was a school that had closed a couple of years earlier. Going in the daytime would have been risky and could have been interrupted by a visit from the local police. That kind of excitement we didn't need. We went out shortly after midnight and explored for a few hours, wandering from room to room. It was mostly empty but it was still exciting to be out at night and in a newly found building. Being in a place at night always seems to feel different. Even in places I've been before during the day seem very different at night. It's like darkness changes a room more than simply removing light. It's like the room, the house, the building takes on a whole new personality. Whatever the reason, a night explore is always a little bit... different.
Tonight is no exception. We had read about a funeral home that used to operate in a small town nearby but that had gone out of business years ago. After checking it hadn't been converted into something else and was occupied, or torn down to make room for a parking lot or a field of weeds we planned a time to explore. Because there was a house down the block from the funeral home as well as a house just across the street we decided night time might be best. We planned to get there just before 1 a.m.
Little did we realize what was in store for us.
