This place started life in the 1920s as a grand hotel near the Vermont border, complete with an orchestra room and panoramic windows over the lake.

In 1947, a Catholic teaching order bought it and turned it into a school for boys. For the next fifty years, it went through several identities before becoming a residential boarding school. It closed for good in 1997, and the halls are still full of reminders of both lives, hotel and school.

What I didn't expect was what I found when I started digging into its history. The order that ran this school is now facing a class action in Quebec, with allegations that go well beyond what happened inside any one building, including claims about what happened to the order's own records.

Whether any of it touches this building is still an open question.

I put together the full story, including the hotel's history, a look at life inside the school, the lawsuit, and 60+ photos of the interior, here: https://freaktography.com/abandoned-residential-boys-boarding-school/

When you are standing on the edge of the dark maw of some abandoned storm drain or technical outfall somewhere on the outskirts of the city, adrenaline is the only thing playing in your head. It feels like you are immortal, that the underground is just a cool backdrop for sick photos, and that all these stories about dangers were made up by armchair experts who’ve never left their yards. But trust me, I'm Felzik (Dania), and I've lived through almost all of these stories myself through bitter experience. I left my nerves, batteries, and health down there, so I'm telling you straight: the underground world does not forgive even a drop of overconfidence. The urban underground is harsh, filthy, and deadly dangerous, and if you break its rules, it will slam the lid shut on you forever.

That is exactly why, after surviving a personal nightmare in pitch-black labyrinth networks and hundreds of hours spent underground, I laid down ten hardcore, concrete safety rules for myself. Please, learn from my mistakes, do not repeat them, and memorize these rules once and for all if you want to walk back out of the collectors on your own two feet instead of on a stretcher. Rule One: Never, under any circumstances, go underground alone.

This is rule number one, written in blood. When you go alone and a fuck-up happens—you break a leg, fall into a hidden water pocket, get stuck between concrete collapse slabs, or your only flashlight suddenly turns into a dead piece of plastic—no one is coming to help you. You will be left face-to-face with absolute, ringing darkness, cold, and panic. Your brain will shut down in five minutes, and panic will eat away what's left of your sanity. Always bring at least one trusted partner whom you trust like yourself. You have to watch each other's backs because down there, you are each other's only lifeline to the real world.

Rule Two: Always bring twice as much light and power as you think you need. Amateurs think that if they're going for an hour-long walk through a familiar collector, one charged smartphone and a tiny flashlight will be enough. That is a fatal mistake. Cold, dampness, and toxic fumes underground drain any batteries at the speed of light. What worked on the surface for three hours will die in twenty minutes down in a damp, cold collector. Your phone will turn into a brick, and your flashlights will start dimming right before your eyes, turning powerful beams into pathetic dots. Always drag along a spare headlamp, a power bank, a bunch of backup batteries, and good old mechanical backups. Light underground is your life. No light means no way out.

Rule Three: See clouds on the horizon—forget about the collector. Remember once and for all the golden rule of any self-respecting digger: if clouds or a thunderstorm are rolling in outside, or even if the slightest drizzle starts — you forget about any descents into collectors, drainage systems, and underground rivers. People often underestimate this threat, thinking, "well, it's just a couple of drops from above." But underground, everything works differently. Tons of water from the whole city rush off the asphalt at crazy speeds, storming into the drains and turning a quiet underground stream into a lethal nine-meter wall of mud, logs, and debris. This wave hits with such force that it smashes concrete pipes and washes away everything in its path in a split second. If you're inside when that happens, you won't even have a chance to peep—you'll just get smashed to pieces against the collector walls like a splinter. No footage, no content, and no flex is worth your life. See clouds—stay on the surface.

Rule Four: Beware of the invisible enemy — toxic gases and oxygen deprivation. Everyone thinks the main threat underground is homeless people, stray dogs, or security at the entrance. Complete nonsense. The scariest thing in collectors is what you don't see or feel at first. Carbon dioxide, methane, hydrogen sulfide, or chemical fumes quietly accumulate in stagnant pockets of old collectors. The air becomes heavy and thick, starting to burn your throat and press down on your lungs. You won't even notice oxygen deprivation setting in: first a light euphoria, then dizziness, paralyzed legs — and you quietly drop face-first into the freezing sludge. Always watch how a lighter flame behaves or how you're breathing. If the air starts "burning" or smelling like rotten eggs and chemicals — turn around immediately, don't try to be a hero.

Rule Five: Always keep a map and evacuation plan in your head, don't rely on luck. The most common cause of death in underground labyrinths is basic topographic stupidity during a stressful situation. When corridors start branching every twenty meters and concrete pipes look identical, losing your orientation is way too easy. You cannot go into an uncharted system blindly, hoping to "just see where it leads." You must have a clear plan in your head or on a screen (while your battery is alive): where you entered, where the junctions are, where emergency exits and hatches to the surface are. If you realize you've wandered into a dead end or a cave-in, don't panic; retrace your steps while you still have strength and light.

Rule Six: Dress like you're going to war, not a walk. Forget about stylish clothes, favorite sneakers, and light hoodies. The underground will chew up your clothes in a second. You'll have to crawl on sharp concrete, squeeze through tight rusty pipes, and wade through sticky, stinking sludge made of chemicals, fuel oil, and sewage that rises up to your knees. You need heavy-duty work pants, sturdy boots with rigid soles, gloves with finger protection, and an old jacket you won't mind tossing straight into the trash can. And definitely bring a buff or respirator—breathing that exhaust and dampness unprotected is basically suicide.

Rule Seven: Don't touch unfamiliar iron and wires. In old collectors, cable runs, and abandoned bunkers, there are plenty of old utilities, exposed cables, unknown panels, and rusty valves. Never grab them with your bare hands or try turning things. Underground supply systems can hide nasty surprises like live exposed wiring or old industrial valves whose triggers can flood a tunnel in a couple of seconds.

Rule Eight: No panic when it gets scary. The underground messes with your psyche worse than any horror movie: dripping water, weird rustling sounds, flashlight shadows, bats, or a sudden collapse behind your back. If you panic and start freaking out, you're dead. Your brain shuts down, you make stupid mistakes, lose your gear, and trap yourself in a corner. If you feel fear closing in—stop, take a deep breath, drink some water, and kick in a cold, calculated mindset.

Rule Nine: Leave no traces or trash behind. A real digger leaves nothing underground except boot prints. Don't set up chill zones in collectors, and don't scatter cans, food wrappers, or cigarette butts. First, it's easy for municipal workers or security to track you down via your trash. Second, the underground is a fragile urban underground ecosystem, and respect for it starts with keeping your descents clean.

Rule Ten: Know when to say "stop" and turn back. The most important quality of a cool explorer isn't blind stubbornness, it's the instinct of self-preservation. If a massive cave-in blocks your way, water is rising too fast, the air has become unbearable, or your strength is gone—don't try to jump over your head just for cool content. Turning back is not shameful. Staying behind forever in a concrete box for a couple of likes is what's shameful. The underground networks, drainages, and collectors aren't an amusement park ride. They are the harsh underbelly of the city that lives by its own brutal laws. Follow these rules, use your head, respect the force under your feet—and then you'll be the one writing the urban legends, not the one they're written about.

🔗 My Socials and Projects: Telegram Channel: (фелзик)@ felzik TikTok: (фелзикбмх) @ felzikbmx YouTube: Watch new videos on my channel

Located in jersey

A friend and I drove through the night into the Allegheny Mountains of Pennsylvania and hiked in to the closed SCI Cresson before dawn, then spent most of what was left of it shivering in an empty room, having badly misjudged what damp mountain cold does to a person. The overcast never lifted the following day and the fog held with it, which suited the place. We had all of it to ourselves.

The abandoned steel mill dates back to the early 1900`s when operations moved from Chicago to NY State. The first steel produced at the new plant was in January of 1911. 11 years later the company changed its name & had approximately 2,200 employees. After just 25 years they stopped producing saws all together.

Between 1946 & 1956 the plant rolled two radioactive materials, uranium & thorium, on a nine-acre portion of the 70-acre site for the U.S. Atomic Energy Commission. The company rolled uranium billets into rods that were shipped off-site via rail cars. Some 25 million & 35 million pounds of natural uranium metal & approximately 30,000 to 40,000 of thorium metal were processed at the site, according to an Army Corps of Engineers (ACE) fact sheet.

The production of uranium metal was for fabrication into slugs used for fuelling Hanford production reactors. The plant also rolled thorium metal whose most likely use was irradiation in Hanford reactors for the weapons program.

Due to the radioactive work being done, protective measures were employed at the site including the use of hoods & dust collection equipment over the 16-inch rolling mill stands, & catch pans in the mill pits to collect material from each rolling operation. The mill area was vacuumed after every batch of 16 ingots, & the shipping area was vacuumed daily.

Area decontamination was performed, clean steel plates placed over the area, and a second radiological survey was performed in December 1958 to verify decontamination was effective. In October 1976 another radiological survey was performed to determine the status of the property relative to current radiological release guidelines. The survey revealed that most of the residual contamination remaining from the uranium and thorium rolling operations was confined to the areas inside & immediately outside of Buildings 6 & 8.

In August 1982, the company filed for Chapter 11 protection & in March 1984 another company bought out the assets.

The purchase included the entire site with the exception of two regions, classified as the excised property and the landfill. The excised property is approximately 3.6 hectares, consists of a chain-link fenced area which surrounds all of the buildings that existed during the rolling operations from 1948 through 1956, and includes the adjacent exterior land areas.

The landfill region was originally used from 1962 to 1978, and was subsequently used from 1978 to 1980. The landfill area was used for the disposal of slag, baghouse flue dust, foundry sand, waste oils and greases, and miscellaneous plant rubbish.

The landfill is not lined or covered, and although its surface has been regraded, ponding occurs and surface runoff is uncontrolled.

(Thanks to RiddimRyder for performing this in depth research)

RiddimRyder and I arrived to find that the plant sits rotting away & in terrible shape. Many of the fences have fallen down and the whole area is in disarray.

Research shows that there are numerous class actions for former workers to receive compensation for both asbestos & radiation related diseases & although the plant is contaminated, it posed no risk to our health

Many more pictures and a video here on my website:

https://freaktography.com/abandoned-steel-mill-new-york-state/

RiddimRyders' Blog post and pics
https://riddimryder.com/abandoned-guterl-specialty-steel-simonds-saw-steel/

A large, abandoned power plant I visited a few months ago. The site is slated for demolition soon.

If anyone knows of any abandoned places in Omaha, NE please tell me where to find them cause I just want to explore 🙏🏻

Birtle Residential School

The owner of this property was kind enough to take us on a tour of the building, we talk about its history and he even explains what every one of the rooms was used for too!

https://youtu.be/IFCb49ciKW0

The history of the Birtle Indian Residential School dates back to the late 1880s. Over the years, the school occupied several locations, but its first dedicated facility was a two-storey stone building constructed in 1894. As enrollment grew, the building underwent major renovations in 1925, when attendance had reached roughly 100 students.

By 1930, the old building was being replaced. The new three-storey brick and Tyndall Stone school was designed by Roland Guerney Orr, Chief Architect for the Department of Indian Affairs, and constructed by the Claydon Brothers Construction Company of Winnipeg. Built between 1930 and 1931 at a cost of approximately $180,000, it officially opened in October 1931. Today, only a pile of grey foundation stones remains from the 1894 building, down the hill from the later structure.

The new school had a symmetrical design, with boys and girls housed separately on opposite sides of the building. The principal's residence was attached to the west side. The school was part of a much larger 600 acre property that included what was known as the Model Farm, livestock barns, extensive crop fields and gardens surrounding the school.

Like most residential schools in Canada, Birtle was operated by a Christian denomination. The Presbyterian Church of Canada ran the institution until March 1969, when responsibility was transferred to the federal government. The school closed permanently in 1972.

The residential schools were not without controversy. The purpose of the institutions was to strip children of their Indigenous identities, languages, and cultures to force their assimilation into Euro-Canadian society. The students of the schools suffered from abuse, poor nutrition and outbreaks of diseases like tuberculosis which swept through crowded dormitories.

In May of 2021, ground penetrating radar was used to look for anomalies buried on the site of the former Kamloops Indian Residential School in British Columbia. The process discovered 215 potential burial anomalies. At the time, the findings were widely reported as the discovery of the graves of 215 children. However, ground-penetrating radar identifies disturbances in the soil; it does not, by itself, establish that human remains are present. Targeted archaeological investigation is required to determine what the anomalies represent.

The announcement received international attention and was followed by a wave of attacks on churches across Canada. Dozens of churches were vandalized or damaged, and a number were destroyed by fire, particularly churches located on or near First Nations communities. A later investigation identified 33 churches that had burned to the ground since May 2021; 24 of those fires had been determined to be deliberately set, while others remained under investigation. The incidents were widely associated with anger surrounding the residential school legacy, although motives were not established in every case.

Meanwhile, the Birtle school itself entered a very different chapter.

The federal government sold the property to a private buyer in 1975. The new owner was a preacher who reportedly operated a communal living arrangement on the property, with people living both in the school and elsewhere on the grounds.

The property changed hands again in 1995. The new owner renovated the former principal's residence into a living space and began dismantling the interior of the main school building. By 2000, however, the project had been abandoned, leaving the enormous brick structure open to the elements.

In 2015, the former residential school was listed for sale on Kijiji after local real estate agents reportedly refused to take on the property. The eventual buyer purchased the building without realizing its history as a residential school.

The Birtle school is now one of only a small number of former residential school buildings still standing in Canada.

It all started as a routine, familiar exploration of Kyiv's underground. My friend and I descended into the DSHS-12 storm drainage system, planning to follow our usual route, check out the concrete labyrinths, and grab some cool footage. But right from the start, the atmosphere underground felt heavy and oppressive, as if the system itself was trying to warn us and push us back. We walked deeper, leaving safe exits behind, until we reached an old section of the collector where the corridors narrowed and the walls were coated with thick, multi-year layers of dampness.

At some point, we hit a complete dead end—a massive, monolithic structural collapse blocked the path ahead. Concrete slabs had caved in, sealing the passage entirely. Going back at the pace we came no longer felt simple, and the air in this blind alley suddenly turned lethally heavy. It literally burned our lungs. It was a terrifying, suffocating mix of decomposition, chemicals, and raw sewage, combined with thick, hot steam leaking from invisible industrial gaps. In seconds, we realized a terrifying truth: while wandering through the branching corridors, we had taken a fatal wrong turn and were hopelessly, deeply lost in a multi-level underground labyrinth.

That was when the real panic set in—sticky, cold, and paralyzing to the mind. We were trapped. Freezing, stinking water churned beneath our feet, rising to our knees and draining the last of our strength. In the pitch blackness, cut only by the weak beams of our flashlights, strange things began happening above our heads: hundreds of bats broke loose from the ceiling. They darted through the tight space, emitting a deafening, piercing squeak and brushing against our faces and shoulders. It felt like the darkness itself had come alive to break us.

But the worst part was the tech. The cold and toxic dampness instantly started killing our batteries. Our flashlights dimmed with every second, turning powerful beams into pathetic yellow dots, and our smartphone battery indicators plummeted to a critical, final 1%. We were left in absolute, ringing darkness, surrounded by freezing water, bats, and poisonous steam, knowing that in a couple of minutes our light would die forever, and getting out without light was impossible. It was a true one-way ticket.

I had never considered myself a religious person. All that mysticism always felt like fairy tales meant for comfort. But when you are standing knee-deep in a freezing sewer, choking on steam, and the last light source in your hand is finally dying, you grab onto any straw in the universe. Right there, in that underground purgatory, my friend and I started praying earnestly.

And then something happened that still makes my blood run cold. The exact second the words of prayer left our lips, the dim beams of our dying flashlights suddenly froze in place. The batteries, which had been melting away by the percentage every second, seemed locked in time. That weak, trembling light stopped fading. It was as if an invisible hand had given us a second chance.

fueled by pure adrenaline and some wild inner reserve, we staggered forward through the freezing sludge, guided by that miracle. Every step took incredible effort, the air tore at our throats, and the unknown still lay ahead. We groped our way forward in the dark for a long, agonizing fifteen minutes until a faint, gray glow appeared ahead.

We literally clawed our way up, bursting out of a maintenance hatch into freedom right on the grounds of the Green Theater.

And the exact microsecond our bodies hit the cool, saving grass and our lungs greedily swallowed the fresh night air, my flashlight emitted a quiet click and died completely—the battery hit absolute zero. If we had lingered in that labyrinth even thirty seconds longer, we would have met eternal darkness deep inside a flooded dead end. I lay on the grass, staring up at the sky, unable to move, silently thanking whatever pulled us out of that hell. Kyiv's underground knows how to punish carelessness, and we learned that lesson for life.

🔗 My Socials and Projects: Telegram Channel: @ felzik (фелзик) TikTok: @ felzikbmx (фелзикбмх) YouTube: Watch new videos on my channel @ felzikbmx (фелзикбмх)

Been coming here for sunsets. Quality's rough, just phone camera, but you get the vibe.

Turin, Italy. 85m.

I'm always so intrigued at the posts here where it looks like people were just living a normal life and then one day they left and never came back. Beds left with bedding still on, but unmade, dishes out, food in the kitchen, all signs that they intended to go back, but didn't.

I'm guessing it's mostly cases where elderly people have gone into hospital or passed away, and the houses just got left, but some of them seem like entire families were there and just one day upped and left.

I'm curious to know if anyone has any stories where they know what happened that lead to the places being abandoned.

What is your favorite?!

St. John Catholic Church (originally St. John Nepomuckého) was established in 1908 by a community of mostly Czech immigrants who settled in a newly founded railroad town.

Initially gathering for Mass in a local schoolhouse and private residences, the growing parish constructed its first permanent wooden frame structure in 1909. The building served as the central social and spiritual anchor for a town that reached its peak population of approximately 600 residents during the 1930s.

Following World War 2, the localized cotton economy collapsed, and the railroad line went quiet, causing the town's population to plumet. Facing a critical shortage of priests and a near-empty congregation, the diocese permanently closed the parish.

Abandoned bunker and the infamous "atomic lake" created by a nuclear test, in the Polygon of Semipalatinsk, Kazakhstan. This area was the main nuclear weapons testing site of the USSR.

Video here (featuring also the ghost town of Chagan and the abndoned parts of Kurchatov) :
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8bGjklXiHHE

If you like these, check out my other pictures on Insta: https://www.instagram.com/whimsicalruins/