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Speaker 1: I don't remember the first time I watched an urban

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exploration video. I don't think it started as a lightning

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bolt moment. It just sort of crept in little by

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little until it was the only thing I watched. Most

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kits around me were obsessed with gaming videos and things

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like prank channels, But me, I ended up on channels

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where people walked through empty malls and long forgotten tunnels,

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with water dripping down the walls and silence stretching for miles.

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It fascinated me. These were places people had once depended on,

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places that held stories without ever telling them directly. I

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wondered what had happened to them, why they had left,

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why no one had come back. Even at ten, I

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found comfort in those silences. Something about those forgotten corners

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of the world felt honest to me, raw, untouched by

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the polished garbage the rest of the Internet churned out.

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While my classmates were trading memes and game clips, I

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was mapping out places I wanted to visit one day.

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I'd dream about it at night, wondering endless concrete hallways,

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no sound but my own breath and the scuff of

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my shoes, flashlight beam jittering across crack tile. I wanted

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to be there more than anywhere else. I didn't wait

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long to try it for myself. There was a gas

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station just off the interstate, a place that had shut

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down five or six years earlier after a truck slammed

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through its front windows. My friend Josh dared me to

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go there after school one day. I told him I

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had already planned to. That was a lie, but it worked.

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We brought our bikes and ditched them behind the dumpsters.

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The building looked small behind the road, but up close

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it stretched deep. The windows were covered in faded boards,

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and some one had spray painted something unreadable in green

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across the siding. We stepped behind the counter and found

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the freezer still half open. Inside were candy bars that

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had sagged into themselves. The labels were faded, their insides bloated.

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Being in one of these places felt amazing, more so

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than I'd ever imagined. It felt like I was stepping

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into a memory I was never supposed to be a

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part of. It was one thing to walk through a

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place and wonder who used to be there. It was

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another to be a piece of them. I remember Josh

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making a joke something stupid about ghosts. But I wasn't

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really listening to what he had to say, and that

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was the moment it clicked. I wasn't just breaking into places.

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I was doing the closest thing to time traveling as possible,

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stepping sideways into someone else's story. We left after that,

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but I came back alone a few times. Never told

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Josh I didn't need his or any one's company. A

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couple years later, I'd find Grace and Vance. His videos

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were really simple. He'd start with a quiet drone shot

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over a deserted property, then ease in to narration. He

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felt more like a documentary than a vlog. I'd never

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seen him try to do that whole ghost story cliche

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that most content creators seemed to try nowadays. His camera

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did the talking. I found his channel late one night,

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or watching a video about an abandoned power station in

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the Balkans. YouTube AutoPlay kicked in and landed me on

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Grayson's tour of a sunken hotel off the coast of Italy.

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The whole thing was underwater at high tide, and he'd

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gone at dusk, wading through flooded hallways with his camera

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above the waterline, narrating it like it was a love letter.

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I binged watched his entire catalog that week. He explored

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old prisons in Iceland, war bunkers and Belgium, collap schools

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in the deserts of Chile. He never acted like it

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was braver than anyone else. He moved through every place

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with respect. I wanted to do that, too, wanted to

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be that. I started practicing with a phone camera in

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empty parking garages, trying to mimic his pacing. I studied

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his videos, replayed them over and over, tried to figure

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out what he looked for. I followed every platform he

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posted on, commented on everything, hoping one day he'd notice.

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I didn't even feel like a fan of his. If

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I'm being honest, he felt more of a teacher to me,

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guiding me to a future I was destined to reach.

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It was a Tuesday night. If I remember correctly, I

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should have been working on a lab write up for chemistry,

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but I'd already convinced myself it could wait. I had

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my phone propped against a glass of water on my desk,

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headphones in my lamp, the only thing keeping the room

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from going black. I was scrolling through video suggestions in

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that half focused trance I always seemed to fall into.

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That was when I saw it. Grayson Vance abandoned a hospital.

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As per usual, a simple title and thumbnail. Grayson's voice

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came on almost immediately, wasted the same way with a

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brief intro, a few quiet cuts of him walking the perimeter,

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showing the outside before slipping inside. I felt my chest

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tightened with excitement as I realized I recognized that place.

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I knew those gates, the vines climbing the outer brick wall,

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the sign half swallowed by overgrowth. I paused the video,

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dragged the time bar back, and looked again. Then I

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opened a tab and searched for images of old Florence

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Hill Hospital. It matched. My mom would always drive past

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it when I was younger. The place had been locked

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up for decades, bordered tight and fenced off, though rumors

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always floated around about kids getting in through a loose fence.

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MO said he was used as a psych word. Some

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claimed it was a treatment scent of a violent to fenders.

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But regardless, Grayson was inside. He moved through it, slowly,

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panning across doorways and peeling walls. The audio picked up

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the creak of his boots on the tile, the quiet

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drip of water hitting metals somewhere in the distance. I

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couldn't believe it. He was only thirty minutes from where

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I lived. Grayson reached the hallway. One of the walls

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had collapsed inward, but he edged around it, ducking under

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reebarre and dry wall to step into a room that

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looked like an old kitchen or freezer storage. A row

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of broken industrial shelves leaned against the wall behind them,

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half hidden by a stack of topple boxes with something

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metallic embedded in the floor. He adjusted the focus, stepped closer,

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and knelt beside it. A hatch bolted down on one side,

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though the rust made it impossible to tell if it

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was still sealed properly. The camerangle dipped as he brushed

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dirt away with his sleeve. Then his voice came through again.

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What do we have here, he said, huh could be

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some runoff tunnel or a different section of the hospital.

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He tapped it once with a knuckle. Tell you what, guys,

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If this video hits a thousand likes within twenty four hours,

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I'll come back and go down there. He stood up.

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The video cut a few seconds later, replaced by his

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usual closing title card. I paused the screen, open the

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comment section, then scrolled back to the like counter one

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point two K. I refreshed the page. No new video.

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I checked his Twitter, No new announcements. Where was the video?

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I kept thinking about how close it was. How many

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years I'd spent watching videos of buildings in countries I'd

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never afford to visit, and now the biggest one of

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all might be sitting right outside my town waiting for

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someone to explore it. I was almost mad at myself

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for not thinking to go there. But if Grayson was

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taking his sweet time, maybe I could go first, maybe

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even catch him there in the middle of filming. The

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thoughts started as a fantasy, but it didn't stay one

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for long. Just a few minutes later, I had dug

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out my dad's old camcorder from the top of the closet.

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The battery was swollen, but it had a backup pack

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from a second and I used once for a film project.

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I charged them both and tested the mic in my room.

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The flashlight needed fresh batteries, too, so I biked to

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the gas station near the highway and picked up a

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six pack. I wrote a note and left it on

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the fridge so my mum wouldn't be worried. Something about

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group study. Every few minutes, I would imagine running into

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Grayson down there. What I would say, How I'd play

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it cool, maybe help him film, maybe even scare him

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a little and record his reaction. He'd laugh, we'd talk gear,

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He'd realize I was serious about this stuff, that I

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wasn't just another fan trying to leach off of his name.

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I packed everything into my school bag and zipped it tight.

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Before I left the house, I stood in front of

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my mirror, held the camera up to my eye, and

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practiced an intro. The words felt weird in my mouth,

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but I got through it. This could be the start

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of everything I'd ever dreamed of. The sun was starting

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to set when I got there. It hung behind a

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screen of clouds, turning the sky into the color of

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copper tarnish. I left my bike stashed beneath a clutter

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of dog woods across the road and crossed the gravel

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shoulder on foot. The outer gate had collapsed inward, its

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posts bend and the chains slack enough to dug beneath

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the hospital loomed ahead. The windows had been busted out,

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while remained of the glass clung to the frames in

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jagged patterns, catching the last light and reflecting it. I

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pulled out the camcorder and switched it on the battery,

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held steady the light on the side to life, casting

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a small circle ahead of me. I hit record and

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held it at chest level. All right, I said, I'm

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standing just outside Florence Hill Hospital. I'm here to see

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if I can find the spark Grace and Vance filmed

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in his latest video. There's supposed to be a hatch

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in the basement or storage wing. He said he'd go

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down next time BN. I figured, I wait. The intro

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came out stiff, but it felt good. I stepped inside

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through a doorway where both doors had been torn off.

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The floor inside had walked from years of neglect. Dust

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and leaves had gathered into piles along the edges, and

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most of the tiles had cracked. The air hit me

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at once, wet, stagnant, and full of mildew. It clung

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to the inside of my nose and sat heavy in

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the back of my throat. Graffiti covered the walls in

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bursts of neon and black marker. A lot of it

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was nonsense tags, cartoonish faces, crude jokes, but a few

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names repeated across different wings. I used those to orient

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myself checking Grayson's video game following where the camera panneda

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crossed doorways or the way light had come in through

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broken window panes. I stopped every few minutes to get

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my bearings and film another few seconds of commentary, though

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my voice kept slipping into whispers without meaning to the

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deeper I moved, the darker it got. Most of the

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corridors were blocked by fallen ceiling panels or crossed furniture,

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but the root from the video matched just enough for

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me to follow it. After fifteen minutes, I started to

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recognize the pattern of damage from his footage, the water

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marks and the ceiling. I was close the hallway at

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the end of the service wing, curved slightly to the

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left and kept going until I hit a dead end.

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I had to double back and rewatch part of the

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video again. Grayson had veered off behind a broken freezer

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unit next to a side door labeled storage three C.

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I retraced my steps and found it. This time, the

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freezer door had rusted off its hinges, and now leaned

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sideways into the wall behind it, past the tangle of

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old shelving and a disassembled mop sinc sat the hatch.

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It already stood open, which fuelled me with excitement. The

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hatch itself was round, heavy looking, with a series of

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bolts plunged into one side and scorch marks fanned out

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across the floor. I angled the camera toward it and whispered,

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this is it. This is the hatch from the video.

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Grayson is probably down there as we speak. The hatch

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is even still open. I reached forward and brushed my

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fingers across the handle. It was worn from the heat

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trapped in the room. Let's do this. I pointed my

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flashlight down. The beams struggled to touch the floor. Only

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part of it was visible through the narrow gap in

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the concrete, just enough to show a ladder mounted to

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the far wall, stretching into shadows. The rungs were metal

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and bolted into place, though half of them looked eaten

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by rust. Several bolts had sheered away from the surrounding concrete.

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One side of the ladder swayed freely when I tapped

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it with my foot. I stared at it for a while.

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The camcorder was still recording. I brought it up and

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whispered to the mic, this thing is barely holding on.

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If it snaps, I'm screwed. I turned the flashlight between

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my teeth and lowered myself down. The metal flakes beneath

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my hands. Each rung felt slick and uncertain. The bolts

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moaned with even the slightest shift of weight. A few

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crumbled around the edges when I grabbed them. My fingers

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burned from holding on so tightly. Half way down, I

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paused to a just the camera angle, but I nearly

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slipped doing it, so I just let it dangle on

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its strap instead. I could hear my breath echoing off

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the walls. When I reached the floor, my boots hit

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uneven concrete. The walls on either side stretched into opposite directions.

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The flashlight beam bounced off metal shelving and fragments of

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painted wall. I took a slow breath and turned slowly.

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I was in the room was enormous concrete stretched beneath

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me in long, uneven slabs. Some sections had sunken, leaving

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shallow dips filled with stagnant water, rusted shelving units leaned

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against the brick walls, their contents either collapsed or covered

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in sheets of decomposing plastic. A gurney rested upside down

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near the center, one of his wheels spinning slowly before

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locking in place with a soft metallic click. I whispered

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into the camera. Bigger than I expected. Definitely not a

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storage closet. Let's see where Grayson is. My light followed

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a long pipe overhead, thick with corrosion and patched with

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what looked like duct tape and rubber fittings. Below it,

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the moisture had pulled into a discolored stain, slick and

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pulsing with slow drops. Each one landed with a clip

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at the far wall. Something caught my attention. I walked

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toward it slowly. My boots sent wet crunches into the dark,

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echoing back against the walls. The beam of my light

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lit up the last stretch of space with the concrete

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gave way to alder brick. The transition was uneven, almost

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as though the building had been expanded downward after the

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original structure had already been built. The wallpaper here peeled

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away in thick, soft curls behind it. Water stained plaster

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gave way to a painted mural. Blue clouds, yellow suns,

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animals drawn in past those shapes. A lion with cartoon

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eyes stood next to a duck wearing a nurse's cap.

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A giraffe was curled into a bed with a thermometer

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in its mouth. I scanned across the floor in front

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of it. The dust of the floor was scattered around,

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revealing footprints and what looked to be drag marks. Grayson

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was definitely here. I moved through the corridor as quietly

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as I could. The walls here narrowed, there were fewer

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open rooms. The hall turned left and then again to

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the right, forming a horseshoe path around a closed off

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surgery wing. At least that's what the faded lettering said

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and the signs overhead. I kept imagining. I would turn

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a corner and seemed crouched over a tripod. Eventually I'd

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find his camera in a break room. It sat on

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a metal cart near a vending machine. The camera's glass

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had been cracked, but it still functioned. The logo blinked once,

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then faded. I could still navigate the video menu. I

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leaned closer and whispered into my own camcorder, barely containing myself.

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It's his. Let's see what I can find on it.

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He probably got spooked by some rat and dropped it.

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Poor guy. I smiled at the lens. My fingers hovered

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over the playback button before I was able to hit play,

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and alert popped up, letting me know the battery was low.

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Navigating the menu was slow, the button stuck. A couple

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of video files sat in the memory. I selected the

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most recent one and hit play. The footage opened with

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Grayson already exploring the basement, but the screen was entirely black.

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I thought maybe the file had corrupted, but the audio continued.

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A wet, slithering sound dragged across the speakers, something heavy

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scraping against concrete, then something else. Shallow breathing metal clattered

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in the background, followed by a wet cough, then gurgling.

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It sounded close to the mic. I leaned in. I

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moved to rewind. I was curious as to what had happened,

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but the display blinked once, then shut off. The battery

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died in my hands. I could have left then and there,

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maybe even should have, but I didn't. Grayson was down

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here somewhere. Maybe something has spooked him into hiding. But

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I just imagined myself doing something that scared even the

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most popular urban explorers. I saw an opportunity. This was

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my one and only chance to be a part of it.

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So I walked. Dust turned to grime. Drawings on the

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wall transitioned to a pale green beneath the layers of

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peeling white. I passed a rusted wheelchair with two broken

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foot rests and a dried smear along the cushion. Beyond that,

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a row of cracked observation windows stared out into padded cells.

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The batting had been torn open, foam exposed. Some of

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it was darkened with rot. I stepped carefully, trying to

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keep my breathing. Even the camera picked up everything. I

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00:23:30,240 --> 00:23:35,440
made sure of it. The hallway ahead sloped slightly to

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the left, its walls warped from years of water damage.

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I moved slow, careful. Where I stepped, my boots sank

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into patches of soggy paper that had melted into the tile.

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The beam of my flashlight shook across chipped paint and

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empty door frames. I turned the corner. That was when

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I saw him. A figure stood at the far end

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of the corridor, motionless back to me, feet spread apart,

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shoulders squared. He didn't move. I froze the light from

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my flashlight sat on his back. He was too far

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away to make out detail, but his silhouette was visible enough.

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My first thought, without hesitation, was that it was Grayson.

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I whispered into my camera. I think I just found him.

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The figure remained completely still. I switched off the flashlight,

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swallowed the tightness in my throat, and crouched behind an

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overturned gurney. The glow from my camera screen cast a

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dull blue over my hands. I angled it toward my face.

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All right, I whispered, I'm getting the scare and camera.

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He probably has no clue I'm even down here. I

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stood slowly, careful not to let my shoes drag. I

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inched forward, heart hammering in my ribs. The silence stretched,

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my mouth had gone dry. I kept one hand steady

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on the camcorder, the other clenched in my chest. I

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crept behind him, close enough now to make out the

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seams on his jacket. Then I jumped yo. The figure

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whipped round faster than anything I had ever seen. I

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caught a glimpse of the bandages, thick strips, yellowed with

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age and grime, wrapped tightly across his head. Only his

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00:25:58,240 --> 00:26:02,640
eyes were visible, and bursting from blood vessels that had

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ruptured beneath the lids. Before I could step back, he

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00:26:07,720 --> 00:26:11,960
slammed into me. His forehead cracked against my cheek bone

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with a thud. I hit the floor. My camera had

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tumbled across the tile, pouncing into a pile of torn insulation.

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My flashlight clattered near my hand. I gasped and rolled,

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grabbing for the light. When I found it, I twisted

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00:26:29,880 --> 00:26:34,480
the switch until it clicked back on. He stood only

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00:26:34,519 --> 00:26:38,480
a few feet away, swaying slightly, the folds of his

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straight jacket heavy with sweat and filth. The straps wound

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tight across his chest, soaked through. His face was covered

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in bandages that had melted away around the mouth, exposing

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00:26:51,640 --> 00:26:56,559
jagged teeth and gums coated in black rot. Dark puss

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00:26:56,599 --> 00:26:59,559
clung to his lips and dripped into the collar of

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his chair. His breath wheezed through clenched teeth. The sound

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00:27:05,160 --> 00:27:09,839
reminded me of water caught in a clogged drain. I

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launched myself upright and ran my boots slipped on the

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slick floor. I nearly lost my footing at the first

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corner behind me, I heard him or it scream, wet shrill,

351
00:27:26,920 --> 00:27:29,799
cracked in the middle, and then the crash of his

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body slamming into metal. He was chasing me. Gurney shattered

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as he ran through them. I heard wheels spinning, furniture

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scraping across the floor, something heavy hitting the wall. He

355
00:27:47,000 --> 00:27:51,359
made no effort to move around anything, just slammed through them,

356
00:27:51,400 --> 00:27:57,319
tearing it and himself apart in the process. Every corner turned,

357
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I expected him to cut me off. I heard him gag,

358
00:28:01,240 --> 00:28:04,960
thin cough, then dragging another breath through mucus and bile.

359
00:28:06,039 --> 00:28:08,720
His body slammed against the corner I had just cleared,

360
00:28:09,000 --> 00:28:14,599
and he recovered fast. Another screech, this one higher, almost animal.

361
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I barrowed through a doorway and nearly tripped over a table,

362
00:28:18,640 --> 00:28:23,319
flipped on its side, and vaulted it behind me. I

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00:28:23,359 --> 00:28:25,599
heard his body hit the edge and roll across it.

364
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The screech of nails or teeth or something sharp dragging

365
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over the surface, followed by a thump, then more footsteps.

366
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I glanced over my shoulder just once bent forward face.

367
00:28:42,200 --> 00:28:47,079
Slack drewel mixed with black fluid trailing behind him in globs.

368
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His shoulders rocked with each step, but his legs kept moving.

369
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Foam lined his jaw. Now I ran harder. Upperhead lights

370
00:28:59,000 --> 00:29:03,799
spilled in from the sh after above the hatch the ladder.

371
00:29:05,240 --> 00:29:10,079
I was almost there. It still dangled from its rusted bolts,

372
00:29:10,359 --> 00:29:14,119
swaying slightly. The top half clung to the concrete wall,

373
00:29:14,559 --> 00:29:18,039
the bottom half hung loose. The screws along the right

374
00:29:18,119 --> 00:29:23,440
side bent nearly to the point of snapping. I jumped.

375
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My hands caught a rung near my chest, and I

376
00:29:27,359 --> 00:29:31,160
hauled myself upward, my boots slamming against the wall. As

377
00:29:31,160 --> 00:29:34,759
I found a foothold, the metal rattled under my weight.

378
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The rung shifted beneath my palms, slipping half an inch

379
00:29:39,200 --> 00:29:46,799
before catching again Below me, I heard him. His feet

380
00:29:46,839 --> 00:29:53,519
slapped the tile. Then something heavier his full body, probably

381
00:29:53,559 --> 00:29:59,359
thrown itself forward. A choking gargle echoed upward, long and strained.

382
00:30:00,880 --> 00:30:04,079
When I glanced down, I saw him burst through the corridor,

383
00:30:04,440 --> 00:30:08,559
head tangled across his face, the bandages flaring outward as

384
00:30:08,599 --> 00:30:12,960
his jaws widened, his arms still bound in the jacket

385
00:30:13,359 --> 00:30:18,000
thrashed at his sides. He shouldn't have been able to climb.

386
00:30:18,759 --> 00:30:25,039
I thought I was safe, but he jumped. His head

387
00:30:25,119 --> 00:30:29,920
snapped upward, mouth opening wide. He sank his teeth into

388
00:30:29,960 --> 00:30:34,759
the rung just below my foot. His jaw clenched. Then

389
00:30:35,119 --> 00:30:38,240
his legs kicked off the floor, and he began to swing.

390
00:30:39,640 --> 00:30:42,759
He glanped on tight, using his molars, and cracked in

391
00:30:42,839 --> 00:30:47,480
sizors to hold himself steady. His feet scraped against the wall,

392
00:30:47,799 --> 00:30:54,759
searching for traction. Somehow impossibly, he started to pull himself

393
00:30:54,839 --> 00:31:03,400
higher by his mouth. The ladder shook hard. I screamed

394
00:31:03,400 --> 00:31:07,119
and climbed faster. My knees struck the wrungs. My shoulders

395
00:31:07,119 --> 00:31:09,880
scraped the edge of the hatch. I could hear the

396
00:31:09,960 --> 00:31:14,200
metal wrenching below, one of the supports, snapping with a

397
00:31:14,279 --> 00:31:19,960
sharp twang. I looked down once more. He was inches

398
00:31:20,039 --> 00:31:23,759
from my boots. Lips peeled back, blood leaking from his

399
00:31:23,839 --> 00:31:27,880
gums where metal had cut into his jaw. His eyes

400
00:31:27,960 --> 00:31:32,559
rolled upward, wide and straining. I swung my foot out

401
00:31:32,640 --> 00:31:39,079
and kicked hard. The ladder gave the top bolt snapped free.

402
00:31:39,279 --> 00:31:45,920
The structure lurched to the side. He fell I pulled

403
00:31:45,920 --> 00:31:49,400
myself through the hatch as the ladder tore away, crashing

404
00:31:49,480 --> 00:31:53,440
down into the dark. The impact echoed to the shaft,

405
00:31:53,720 --> 00:31:59,279
shaking the walls beneath it. I heard a wet, snapping

406
00:31:59,319 --> 00:32:05,160
sound and something low and guttural, a moan maybe, or

407
00:32:05,200 --> 00:32:11,079
a final breath. I didn't stay to find out. I

408
00:32:11,200 --> 00:32:15,440
ran until I couldn't feel my legs. The hospital doors

409
00:32:15,559 --> 00:32:18,720
passed in a blur. The light outside had shifted to

410
00:32:18,799 --> 00:32:24,319
blue just before dawn. The air stung my lungs as

411
00:32:24,359 --> 00:32:27,680
I pushed past the crumbling fence, falling to my knees

412
00:32:27,680 --> 00:32:31,319
in the weeds before crawling through the gap and stumbling

413
00:32:31,400 --> 00:32:35,160
on to the road. I made it half way down

414
00:32:35,160 --> 00:32:40,160
the road before my legs finally gave out completely. I

415
00:32:40,240 --> 00:32:42,839
collapsed on to a patch of gravel beside a rusted

416
00:32:42,880 --> 00:32:46,599
mar marker and lay there until my heart stopped hammering.

417
00:32:47,960 --> 00:32:50,480
At some point I reached the bus stop near the

418
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edge of town. I sat on the bench, hand shaking,

419
00:32:55,240 --> 00:33:02,359
shirt soaked through with sweat. I thought about calling someone.

420
00:33:02,960 --> 00:33:06,200
I thought about telling the police, leading them to the hatch.

421
00:33:07,160 --> 00:33:09,480
I even pulled out my phone and started the dial.

422
00:33:12,240 --> 00:33:16,599
Then I stopped. They'd ask why I was there, why

423
00:33:16,640 --> 00:33:19,359
I didn't call earlier, why I didn't stop when I

424
00:33:19,440 --> 00:33:24,319
first heard something they'd touched the hospital. It would all

425
00:33:24,319 --> 00:33:27,279
come back to me. Whether that thing in the strait

426
00:33:27,400 --> 00:33:34,079
jacket was human or not, I killed it, and so

427
00:33:35,599 --> 00:33:41,839
I just went back home. Grayson never posted again. His

428
00:33:42,000 --> 00:33:47,559
channel remained untouched. Comments slowed over time, then stopped completely.

429
00:33:48,960 --> 00:33:54,279
People moved on. New explorers took his place, and I

430
00:33:54,400 --> 00:34:09,079
never when urban exploring again