Some years ago, you could — at least if you were fairly skinny and (preferably) not wearing your best clothes — squeeze under that torn, disjointed grid and get inside the derelict building it belongs to.
Unfortunately, the lock that previously didn’t work (as locks are intended, thus allowing you in) has now been mended; you can get under the grid but not much further. The building itself is perhaps the scariest abandoned building I’ve been in. It’s dreadful, to be honest. It’s not frightening only because of the dampness and the darkness, the windows boarded up and the heating turned off ages ago; it’s the feeling permeating the place, telling you the story of how it must have once been the place of chilling scenes. A feeling, I might add, that is substantiated by some fairly concrete evidence. There’s a fear that seems to linger on and a sense of utter isolation and abandonment has been absorbed into the now likewise abandoned walls. It’s not a place for the faint-hearted — but it was a terribly fascinating place to see from the inside. I guess that although — perhaps — I should count myself among the faint-hearted, my eagerness for discovery usually takes over. The night after, however, I found myself unable to sleep, cought up in a nightmare and mad fantasies, but awake.