I like abandoned places.

I having trouble finding the correct words. I’ve had people look at me funny when I tell them. I don’t think it’s strange. At least I’m not into taxidermy, right?

I find beauty in what once was.

The funny thing is that I was once terrified of abandoned places. My aunt used to call them “witch houses” and so, did I. They appeared to leer out at me, like the house in "Monster House."

I’m not sure when I made the switch. I think it involved the Internet. Maybe I saw an artfully redone photograph of an abandoned place. I saw them as beautiful relics of a time once past.

The south is crawling with such forgotten monuments. In fact, I saw an example just a month ago. While trying to find a place to change drivers, I turned down a random exit off I-64. In the 10 minutes it took to find a parking lot in which to pull over, I saw nearly a dozen places. We passed old farm and homesteads, just off the exit. As we turned, following signs to a church, we saw the remains of some kind of store or meeting place at a crossroads.

I very much wanted to stop, but we were pressed for time. The Outer Banks doesn’t hold the same charm. Whoever’s in charge is too good at tearing down what they consider being eyesores. Dowdy’s Amusement Park was the first amusement park on the OBX. It closed over a decade ago. It was torn down slowly until the main building was all that remained. I heard they let the local firefighters use it as target practice.

A big controversy on the banks was a set of houses. The beach had decayed so much that they were sitting in the surf, and had been condemned. Just after last summer, the city finally approved the go-ahead to have all but two torn down. Apparently, they’re supposed to be under renovation. I haven’t been able to get down that way.

There was also a former cabinetry place, but it was torn down to make way for houses that they haven’t even broke ground on. That and the cops got sick of people trespassing.

I actually find myself stressing about a few of my other pet projects here on the beach. There’s the restaurant by Walmart, the gas station by Jockey’s Ridge, the house by Jockey’s Ridge, the crab shack by the Manteo Bridge and the barn up by the Alligator River Bridge. They’re apparently revamping the gas station, but I haven’t seen dump trucks there since like Christmas. I pass by this place almost every day.

The Outer Banks claims to be on the rebound from economic distress. They are angering locals by clear cutting lots and turning them into shops we didn’t ask for. I know some of my favorite places are probably on a list of the damned. All I can do at this point is to capture their lonely memory in photographs.

I’ve only been inside one abandoned place and it took years to build up the courage. It was a house I had had my eyes on since the fifth grade. It was built at the edge of the neighborhood that backed up to Nags Head Elementary. All I could ever see from certain windows was the overgrown stone fence. I suspected it was abandoned years ago. I used to go for long walks, and one of them ended in that neighborhood. I saw the driveway, shrouded by greenery. The place looked like a monastery. It was out of place among the beach houses.

One night on Facebook I learned the truth. I was on the page “Abandoned Homes of North Carolina” when a picture popped up. It was a listing for the home. I was attracted by the Nags Head listing. I recognized the street and had a silent freak out session. It was the home that had creeped me out as a child.

The next vacation from school, I plotted and I planned. I was going to explore that place. As I understood the law, it was “safe” to enter if they hadn’t posted “No Trespassing” signs. I looped my sister in. We made a drive by, to assure that this wasn’t for naught. We finally set the date and tried not to psych ourselves out.

We dressed in long pants and closed-toed shoes. Luckily, it wasn’t unseasonably warm so we didn’t attract attention. We parked on the block. We made sure no one was looking, and we slipped into the overgrown yard, between the stone walls. The place had a creepy feel to it, which became clear as we tried to find the house.

We found a lonely, overgrown lamppost and made jokes about an opposite Narnia. We finally found the house. It looked like an old monastery like the walls promised it would. We snapped exterior pictures and plunged into a fenced yard. The place was in bad shape. It was obvious immature teenagers had had many a rave here. Someone ought to tell them it’s 2016.

We felt like we were being watched, but the nearest house was out of sight. We realized we hadn’t come with a good plan. We pushed open the custom wooden front door and called out a greeting, in case we weren’t alone. Nothing returned the greeting and we trundled inside.

The floor was littered with peeling ceiling and shattered skylight. We learned to watch our steps. We snapped pictures, now on high alert. I try to tell myself ghosts aren’t real, but I still get feelings. I refused to let us go into sections of the house, simply because I had a bad feeling. We only explored three rooms, because we started freaking ourselves out.

I want to go back. Unfortunately, whoever watches the property got wise. I still swing by and scowl at the shiny “No Trespassing” sign.

I want to make plans to explore more. I just need to wait for a warm winter’s day, when it’s OK to wear long pants and traffic won’t be a nightmare.

I found a warehouse in downtown Raleigh. I was photographing another abandoned warehouse that had been on the city bus route. I became attracted to a larger building across the train tracks. I finally found a hole through the chain link fence and began to walk the tracks. I was suddenly filled with this desire to find an entrance and explore again.

Instead, I saw trouble. A group of men was loitering by the building, where they hadn’t been 10 minutes ago when I first saw it. I grew nervous because I was out here alone and no one would know if I went missing, not for a day or two at least. I turned tail and ran, hollering to attract attention in case they gave chase.

Unfortunately, Raleigh has elected to tear down their old warehouse district. I wept the day I walked downtown and found demolition crews tearing holes in history.

Raleigh was once also home to an underground mall, where Cameron Village is now. In fact, the abandoned underground still remains, but it was sealed off just under the library and Fresh Market. I hear the Fresh Market is building into the Underground Mall. Makes me wish I hadn’t been semi-fired at the Fresh Market where I live.

My fascination with the abandoned has stretched into my writing. I have a series going. It’s about a group who travel the world hunting for magic in abandoned structures.

I wish I was a better photographer and/ or I splurged on a camera and better laptop because I think I would like to run an official blog about the abandoned places I can find. I had one on Instagram last summer but it became disused when I took on two jobs. It’s under "AbandonedOBX," if you’re interested.

I might have to delete that and try again when I have off school this coming year.