It
was in 1992 that I first became "aware" of the hospital. This in itself
is ironic, given that I'd been driven past it on countless trips to
Dunstable throughout my childhood and youth. Although it was abandoned
in 1985, I can't honestly say that I'd ever paid it any attention
- it was just a boarded-up ruin by the side of the road. In fact,
when I stood directly outside it for the first time, I still paid
it little notice. Perhaps this was because I was really just a kid
- "tagging along" with some local hoons on a telephone box vandalism
spree (although why BT maintained a phone outside a hospital in the
middle of nowhere nearly a decade after it ceased to be viable, I'll
never know). Thus, I'd completely ignored the place for my entire
life...until one summer's night at Skindles hotel in 1992.
Enjoying
a few drinks with friends, the topic of converstion inevitably changed
from "the plausibility of time-travel" to "the supernatural". One
friend, James, seemed excited to bring up an escapade he'd recently
had with a different gang at the old hospital. With tales of patient's
records, archaic medical contraptions, and X-rays strewn about the
place we couldn't help but sit up and notice - after all, teenagers
are always on the lookout for adventure. In conveying what they found,
I couldn't help picking up the "blood on the walls" line. Our spines
seriously shivered - this place sounded eerie enough as it was. The
addition of blood was like something straight out of a horror movie
(although in reality, as we'd later discover, the many purported "blood
stains" are most likely something less sinister). James confirmed
his fright by stating that under no circumstances would he ever
go there at night. "Never" he said. Right then, I had no
idea what kind of impact the hospital would have on my life, but as
it would turn out - not only would I go there (indeed, I've since
calculated that in total I've spent at least 40 hours inside the walls)...but
I would also go there at night.