grimmreader

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[grimmreader]

Pálida Caricia, by Emil Melmoth, 2022

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大河内山荘/雨の庭園 Okouchi Sanso Villa/Rainy Garden

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[grimmreader]

by urbex_et_prestige

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[grimmreader]

Wander far enough into the golden hills of California, and you'll begin to see mirages. Follow the echoes past bygone roads; chase them until the grass grows long, shatters and swallows the last pavement, and follow them further still—and when you stumble into a scene from the past, affixed in space and time, you'll know you've arrived. Some call it purgatory. Locals know the town as Bodie. Or Bodey. And still others insist it was Bodee originally; the fact is we'll never know its true name, and that's exactly what it wants.

They say nothing ever truly leaves Bodie. Wander the dusty streets and peek in through the windows, and you'll find this to be true. Plates and cups are neatly arranged on the tables, the chairs pulled out just far enough to accommodate their missing hosts. Still. Waiting. Over 150 years of waiting, suspended in a perpetual suspense that is never alleviated. You can't help but hold your breath. And all the while, the curtains sway gently in the dry California breeze—dry as bone. Dry as hell. Dry as the breath of a primordial being which feeds on the bones of the town's bygone inhabitants. But we convince ourselves the townsfolk left of their own free will. Surely they disappeared in the night when the air was cool... Mines ran dry, we say. They were in a hurry, we insist. We must, for we fear the rumbling which quakes beneath our feet. Somehow, the famous and plentiful earthquakes have spared this town. Not a dish broken, not a dried rose out of place. The entire infrastructure is made of matchsticks, and yet the even the wildest of fires avoid it. Perhaps they, too, fear that which dwells beneath.

it’s all you americans talk about… liminal space this… cryptid that