I skittishly made my way towards the massive rusted boundary marker. This fence took on the illusion of growing, as I got closer. In reality, it must stand ten feet tall, but up close appeared to be more like twenty or thirty feet high. It is just one of the many fences that guard, or at least at one time guarded, the old orphanage on William Street in Cheektowaga. It was abandoned long ago and is now more commonly known as the “haunted orphan house”. The eyesore of a building is magnetic lure to all youngsters in the surrounding areas. I look down at the spine-chilling fence as I pull my self up and simultaneously question whether it is going to hold all of us climbing over it at the same time. The years of the treacherous Buffalo weather along with all of the trespassers have not been kind.
My nerves are getting the best of me at this point. My stomach wrenched in knots, and the chill in the October air has made the act of shivering painful. The yard is unkempt and reeks
All the trees are either lifeless or leafless. Everywhere I look is a shade of gray, which adds a certain amount of dread to each step I take closer to the entry. I make my way through what used to be a window but is now just a dark dirty entrance. It’s been now littered with broken glass, trash, cobwebs and rotten foliage.
of decay. As I near the fence I quickly find it littered with soggy newspapers, beer cans and rotting fall leaves. I make my way to the top I know I have to jump to get in the yard, so why can I not I force my self to let go? As I look at the broken windows in the dilapidated building, I instantly regret this foolish trip! There is no turning back now since all my friends are half way to the door. With eyes closed as tight as I could manage, I drop! I hit the wet cold ground harder than I could have ever imagined. My heart thumping like bass drums in a band, echoes in my ears, actually becomes deafening at this point. The terror from jumping down off t
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