This building in the desert was amazing and the energy from the place was all wrong--because it was a combination of the past and the present, both equally unsettled. Locals called it the slaughterhouse because the man who owned it would slaughter animals in the barn.
We wandered around the site and I just had to get a read on it because, well, you know me and abandoned sites, like in Julie and I's book "Abandoned Places: Abandoned Memories (Desert Edition)" we just had to get photos and a read. We were lucky enough to have a woman present who knew something of the history, so I did the read, without looking at her for confirmation or awaiting a response. I spoke until I had all I could gather expressed and then she told me the history.
My read went like this: There was a man not from that place, who came there and built this stately place to show off his standing. There was a young beautiful Spanish woman who was there and acted like a wife would, with wifely duties and responsibilities. There were also other families living there and the man had been married more than once.
Her history on the place was: A man came there from somewhere else and built the stately place to show off his standing. He had a thing for young beautiful women and as soon as he finished with one who got some age on her, he brought in another.
I wandered around to the outbuilding where there was much information. A man stood in one small room and drank beer, shot his shotgun out the window and pissed in the corner. He came there often. The room was filled with the debris of broken bottles and spent shell casings and the lingering odor of piss.
Another room, no one wanted to go inside of. Inside the doorway was a mummified puppy in a blanket. I pivoted on my feet and looked back at the doorway from inside the room and a scene unfolded with a young woman and 3 men, drugs, and something that got out of control. The woman was hysterical and wanted to leave, she paced outside, and sobbed. She never came back and would not speak of it. It broke them apart.
There was also a goat out back on the ground and had been scavenged. I read the jaw bone and knew the animal died instantly and not there. It was dumped there after being killed, but it had not suffered.
This site was very unsettling and the energy there was dark and so many different types that it overlapped and was confusing. I'm not sure wind, rain or weather will wear away the slaughterhouse's memories.
The bones of the house building had much melancholy amongst women and children associated with it and a stern man who to me looked a bit like a Mormon; tall, slender, with a stoic expression.
This place will haunt me for some time. I'm sure at night it comes alive with some locals haunting it more than anyone who lived there...
On a happier note, you know how I love to take a doll or stuffed animal from abandoned sites? Here's Slaughterhouse Bear--cleaned up and happily living with the other dolls
