My
unexpected journey into the Internet over the last two years have
brought me to many incredible places. Some in my own state of New
Jersey.
I
met Mark and Walter through the most unassuming of circumstances.
They were working on a project and were curious if I was available to
provide some input. Having a softspot for any creative online work
(especially so, due to their Jersey roots) I, of course, obliged and
wanted to help where I could. Offering off-hand pointers and ideas
over a few months, Mark and I became friends and we had eventually
decided that we wanted to hang out. It was mostly for their
production, at first, but it was also because we had become friends
who had yet to actually meet. You know, the hazards of Internet
friendships. Their former stomping grounds were beloved vacation
areas of my family from years past. So the plans involving our
meeting already had promising ends.
They
hailed from an area of New Jersey that was literally right across the
river from Pennsylvania, namely, my cherished Pocono Mountains. I had
spent countless winter weekends and even a few summer excursions on
those ranges, from sledding hills and snow-kept resorts to water
parks and summer lodges. I loved visiting those mountains and we were
even fortunate enough to include it in one of our EMH videos, under
the guise of the nearby Pennsylvanian town, Jim Thorpe. The location
had actually belonged to to a rental property of Vinny’s family,
but we used it due to the in-game implications of the town.
Regardless,
the plan was to meet for lunch, roam the area, and talk about their
production and just generally hang out. We did just that. We got
cheesesteaks just over the river (steak sandwiches for those of you
not in the tri-state area) and I enjoyed the small restaurant we
found. I would eventually learn that this was a frequented
establishment of the guys, but at the time, I thought it was a chance
stop. It was actually one of their favorites. We also checked out the
Buck Hill Falls Inn, which was featured on MTV’s Fear.
It was a beautiful property, but incredibly patrolled so we did not
stop for long. Its history speaks for itself, if you were interested
enough to read more on its Wikipedia page. I would love to one day
wander its halls without hindrance, but that is, as of yet, but a
dream.
It
was early in the day and overcast. There was the occasional light
rain, but we continued our touring of the area, ignoring it. If
nothing else, it only added to my whimsical feelings of the
mountains. We passed a stretch of old motels which looked like they
had not been used since the seventies, at least. It was a scene
stripped from the Chernobyl incident, complete with rusted walls,
chipping paint, and mildly outdated architecture. They kept talking
about “showing me Millbrook,” but I had no idea what to expect. I
thought it may have been an old school or something, but as we
approached the old properties, my excitement peaked. We parked near a
designated state-park sign and got out in the rain. I saw a few old
houses and historical farm buildings scattered in every direction. As
we walked a bit, my mind exploded with a thousand connecting dots in
my personal history.
Being
a long time fan of Weird
NJ,
I have read about countless things that I had always wanted to see.
Many of these legends were taught to me when I was very young, long
before I was old enough to drive a car. So anything beyond the realm
of an hour away from Trenton was purely fiction to my young mind. Of
the “must-see” places I listed in my youth (Lambertville High
School and the Paulinskill Viaduct having been on it), there was
always one that I was not quite sure of its exact location. I read
once about a decent amount of land that the state had purchased from
its private owners, in order to flood it heavily via the dam / river
system and incorporate it into the Delaware Water Gap. I had heard of
these plans over ten years ago, so any inkling of these buildings
standing was lost in my maturity. I assumed that this was another
historical village already lost to time. When I read the article, the
property was already bought and the houses already sat vacant,
already a ghost town.
But
when we took a few steps into Millbrook Village, I realized why the
place sounded so familiar. We were here: the last exit in New Jersey.
I had always assumed, irrationally, that it was in the south. I
thought it was much further than the two and a half hours away from
central that I found myself. But I was there, almost ten years after
I had first heard about it. I suppose governmental bureaucracy is to
blame (or would thank
be
more suiting?) considering that this land should have been a few feet
under water by now. I would later learn that there is a conservation
effort in full swing and any such plans to develop the acres for the
waterways are now pretty much dead. This little strip of houses and
old buildings now remind me of as much of a relic as Colonial
Williamsburg in Virginia, complete with informative boards and
plaques and the occasional tourist event hosted by a ranger or
volunteer.
We
kept walking and although this was now a beautiful little piece of
park property, it was still a bit spooky. It was, very obviously,
formerly a place where people lived their daily lives. All of the
houses were still adequately maintained and locked up, leaving us
feeling a few decades in the past. Some of the older farm structures,
the ones obviously maintained as the historical buildings, seemed out
of place in our time, but right at home, tucked away in these
mountain forests.
We
continued on and I noticed that there was a small creek running
alongside the trail that the houses were loosely settled on. As we
followed it, the park line stopped and was roped off by a “dangerous
area” sign and, if remember correctly, FEMA insignias. Naturally,
we stepped over the fallen plastic barrier and continued on. The
grass became incredibly rocky, to the point that we were merely
walking on what resembled earthquake debris and pebbles. The little
creek to our left was now bleeding onto these rocks and I hypothesized that this was the bit of the flooding project the
government-hired companies managed to start work on before the
project was cancelled. There was one more building at the end of this
bizarre scene and it certainly was not as maintained as the other
buildings closer to the road.
We
half-heartedly looked for ways in, but it was probably for the better
that we could not find an entrance. It was a farmhouse with what
appeared to be a cleared out second story. We discovered this by
(haphazardly using a long stick I found) swaying open one of the
blown-off doors on the outside of the second story. Although the top
floor may have been empty, the interior of the first floor was filled
to the brim with wood and rusted machinery. Like I said, it was all
just very... bizarre.
The
rain had begun picking up so we decided to go back to the car. The
guys showed me one other park that had a picturesque hillside picnic
area overlooking a lake and upon hitting the road again, Mark told me
about this old abandoned house that he had filmed a short project in
a few years ago. He really talked this place up and I pictured a red
barn, but in the mountains, and its accompanying farmhouse. Upon
reaching the site, Mark was astonished (and disappointed) to see that
the lot was completely razed. There were police markings and tapes
all over the foundation and I could still see a half-standing
chimney. It was disheartening to see, even as someone who never had
the opportunity to see the horrifying place in its glory days. Well,
that was that and we drove further into my beloved Pocono Mountains.
Since
it we knew it would be getting late, we had plans at a local bed and
breakfast for a multi-roomed suite. Apparently, since it was a
relatively dead time in the season, it was a bargain. Once we got
there, we found this beautiful Victorian house on a large piece of
land. The owners house was tucked away in the back and Mark knew, via
phone calls, that they would be home, and we should just go into the
B&B. Our keys were on the counter along with a note (this is how
deserted the place was) and we pretty much wandered unfettered. It
was packed with porcelain dolls and stuffed animals and beautiful
furniture. There was a wraparound closed-in porch, dotted with
breakfast tables for their morning guests. In the living room there
was a pretty well stocked bar (with a warning to overzealous guests
that we were on camera) and family photo albums and beautiful chess
sets. There was also a large, ornate fireplace that I would have
loved to have seen in action, but a family of gigantic (seriously,
people sized) teddy bears were in the way to entertain such a notion.
Not to mention the lack of burnable fuel and whatnot.
We
made our way up the stairs and found our rooms easily. There was an
entire third story of rooms, as well, and we ended up (being alone in
the house and thus, invoking the natural law of “no parents / no
rules”) exploring every one. If I recall correctly, the third
story’s honeymoon-esque suite was a tad unsettling due to how cold
it was. We promptly shut that door and returned to the comfortable
and warmly-lit second story. The house was so inviting and we were so
starved from society that we hung out with our door open for almost
entirely the whole night.
Many
stories were exchanged and we again talked about their pending
production (which has, unfortunately, been cancelled since due to
unavoidable circumstances). Since they were smokers, we took many
trips downstairs to the porch so they could fuel their habit.
However, concurrently, we had some incredible conversations staring
off into the dark woods, accompanied by the owners’ multiple cats.
As the night wore on, I finally saw Evil Dead (and have since saw the
second one) for the first time. We also may or may not have raided
the open refrigerator we found upon exploring “portions bearing
dissuasive barriers” of the house. But I would know nothing of the
incident.
There
was also one more bit of the story that I had failed to recall during
my first write-up of this trip, so Mark himself wrote this little
blurb for me:
An
absolutely epic 24 hour span, and in hindsight, we nearly became part
of Weird
NJ
legend my friend.
When
we parked at the, *sigh*, razed house up near Millbrook Village, a
black pickup truck passed by along the road heading in the opposite
direction we had been traveling in. We assumed at the time that
either they were lost or thought we were an unmarked police car
sitting off in the woods, because they slowed down. We pulled
out behind them, and they came to a stop entirely. I remember
Jeff or Walter joking that they were axe murderers as we passed them
and noticed the vehicle had tinted windows and you couldn't see
inside (which again, someone joked about). We pulled into a
'rest area' / visitor's center of sorts and realized we were alone,
but the truck pulled in behind us. We had just got out of my
vehicle and again joked about the truck being shady at best. It
sped around the parking lot and then raced out.
We
went on with our day and night and didn't think anything of it
afterwards. The
next day, we found out that for the first time in nearly 30 years,
someone had been murdered in the area, and it happened to be on the
very road we saw the suspicious vehicle. At the time, little
information was known other than there were two individuals who
committed the crime. The victim had been stabbed over 20 times
and it happened only a few miles up the road from where we were a
mere couple of hours later. The vehicle had evidence of the
murder inside it and was some kind of truck similar to the one we
saw. I remember Jeff saying, "Shit like that doesn't
happen there" in reference to the incident, and I had to say to
him, "Well, turns out it does". In the end it was
more of a domestic incident where the suspects knew the victim, but
for a few weeks, we joked about it as the cap to a unique first time
meeting that would lead to many more adventures. Awesome trip!
Furthermore,
the next morning, they showed me the far side the Viaduct. The
Paulinskill Viaduct, which I so frequently write about, actually
extends for miles
in
either direction. We found the portion that actually extends into
Pennsylvania. Who knew?
Another
charming example of how my life is a series of unintended reactions
to various explosions of activities and interactions that I could
never have foretold experiencing.
