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Running an urban exploration blog was fun, at first.
Schools, hospitals, shopping malls–if a building can be abandoned, you've been in one. You've explored dozens of buildings, documenting each experience so anyone in the world can feel like they've been inside.
Too bad you've already been to all the interesting spots around here. You've gone out of state several times, so traveling isn't a problem, but if you want to find anything new you'd have to buy cheap plane tickets. (You don't feel like spending hundreds for a website.) You haven't made a new post in weeks.
Luckily, you know of a new building to check out. There's a rumor on your site's message board of a house a county over that's been vacant for a decade. One of the members found it while going on a walk.
They warned that it's infested with spiders, though.
You're eager to explore the building, even if the only thing you find is some bugs. While it's nowhere near as interesting as an amusement park (your best post, in your opinion), you're sure your followers will appreciate something. You hope a house full of spiders isn't too boring.
The dusk sun turns the empty house into an eerie silhouette.
The house hides away in a forest, surrounded by red and gold. (You always thought abandoned houses were most beautiful in autumn.) You wonder how someone even found this place, as there's nothing else but woods around here. Fumbling through your bag, you grab your camera then leave your car.
The house must have looked wonderful before arachnids took it over. Years of neglect have dulled the once pearl white paint, and holes mar its blue roof. Time and weather have broken most of its windows. A turret protrudes from the left side, watching over the yard and the sea of trees.
Who would want to abandon such a nice house?
As curious as you are, the webs that shroud it make you reconsider going in.
Cobwebs aren't uncommon in vacant buildings–it's not like anyone's around to clean the place–but you've never seen so many before. Thick strands hang from the roof, on the windows, and even cover the ground. You're worried you'll get stuck if you try walking through them!
Following the pathway, you pass the garden and step onto the porch. (Strange, the flowers look like they were watered recently...) You brush away some webbing that's caked onto the doorknob before opening the front door. It greets you with a harsh creak, one which would alert the neighbors if there were any.
