Thirty Years
It seems like I visited the museum (I have to call it that because I don't think it had a name) last year with my friend when we stayed in her parents' cabin; I can still feel that gawky awe of stumbling across a subway station entrance in a clearing in the woods. It was just there. The ticket price inside was about $50. We didn't have any money, but because of the magic of being kids, we zoomed through the entrance, pretending our parents were calling.
But that had to have been in the late 80s; you could run into anything back then. My friend moved to Ohio the year after, and I don't even think she remembers who I am now. It's so depressing thinking about how long ago everything was. If you're reading this, Adrienne, I still miss you.
When I tried to find the place again a few years later (mid-late nineties when I could drive myself), the place was boarded up. All that was left was the subway station gate and a few solar panels. Me and my buddies searched all over the woods for a secondary entrance, but if there was one, we didn't find it. The internet back then was a chaotic hole, so we didn't find any information there either.
As you've been following this blog, you know I'm no stranger to urban exploration (I even had to turn on the "select readers only" privacy settings because of the time I visited Toronto's abandoned Bay Station and got arrested because I'd said too much here!). I got my first taste when my friend and I rode the 6 train past the last stop at City hall and passed through the glorious old station that's been closed for decades. Since then, I've visited every dead mall I could find, Sensabaugh Tunnel in Tennessee (creepy AF), and Centralia, PA.
You know where I'm going with this: that museum is mine.
This was more than an art museum. It was the inside of someone's heart. Not everything was beautiful. Halls of caged faces, thumping drumbeats and heart-wrenching tunes, lights so dim, the place felt like a haunted house — or a tomb. It took the candy coating off the world and taught my young heart that it was okay to be a little gloomy. Someone else felt the same as me, but she was talented enough to bring those images out of her head.
Since the museum is no longer operating and I had to search the dark corners of the interwebs for information, naturally I've come across message boards full of argumentative people passing theories back and forth. Of course, I have my own ideas (which I've shared), but until we hear from the real creator (not counting that horseshit explanation comment "blairames" left in 2004 on my ScaryPizza story, of all places), this urban legend will continue to grow.
Thirty years seems like as good a time as any to go back and find some answers. Fans estimate the museum closed in 1990 (which still seems like ten years ago!), so me and the gang are headed that way this weekend to find out what's left. If we're lucky, we'll find a way inside, but I can't imagine anything would be left behind. Although, I'm sure that subway car will still be there. It'd be so cool to see it there not moving just like the nonsense the MTA is pulling on a daily basis. At least it'll be quiet.
Written by Diya. 10:35am. Friday, September 25, 2020
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