Eastern State Penn.
“They told of dripping stone walls in uninhabited castles and of ivy-clad monastery ruins by moonlight, of locked inner rooms and secret dungeons, dank charnel houses and overgrown graveyards, of footsteps creaking upon staircases and fingers tapping at casements, of howlings and shriekings, groanings and scuttlings and the clanking of chains, of hooded monks and headless horseman, swirling mists and sudden winds, insubstantial specters and sheeted creatures, vampires and bloodhounds, bats and rats and spiders, of men found at dawn and women turned white-haired and raving lunatic, and of vanished corpses and curses upon heirs.”
- Susan Hill, The Woman in Black: A Ghost Story
One of the highlights of our trip to Philadelphia was exploring Eastern State Penitentiary. Once home to the lowest of society, it now sits empty, open to the public to explore its crumbling halls. You can tell by the arched hallways, the remains of brightly painted doors, glimpses of pristine whitewash - that it was once beautiful.
The building itself has presence. The walls watch. They attest to and hold moments of misery and pain, knowing that it be a thankless job. As we wandered the halls we discussed in hushed tones what it would have been like to exist here, to call this place home. Our steps were punctuated by cracks of lightening, the rumble of thunder and the hiss of rain slipping down forgotten cracks.
It was altogether memorable. Our time here was wrapped in an eerie calm. My memories of this space are tinged by rusty hues, chalky dust and noiseless echoes. They are beautiful and chilling.
Eastern State Penitentiary sits, wrapped in an enigmatic stillness, abandoned, secretive and remarkable.
