Take A Walk Through This Creepy And Abandoned Hospital In Texas With Us

At the time of this writing, I have literally hundreds of pins across numerous states, all of which are places I’ve found myself and marked (no marking places I’ve never been allowed). Every year, I add many more. Over the last few years, I’ve found some incredible (and eerie) things, like entire abandoned towns, multi-story schools with desks and books still inside, homes with belongings still inside (including wedding photos and even a wedding dress, yikes), and, of course, the occasional hospital or asylum. Oh, then there was the time with the murder house that got remodeled, and I ended up with beautiful before/after photos, but that’s another story for another time.

Despite the lawlessness seemingly seeping out of every wall and crevice of these places, there are rules in the urbex world, like 1. Never mention exactly where your spots are (it’ll attract vandals and, besides, part of the fun is in doing the extensive footwork yourself), and 2. Never, EVER take things from sites or vandalize them.

Leave them as you found them. Period. Keep it nicely preserved for future explorers not unlike yourself to enjoy. Besides, the vandals will have already arrived, more likely than not – no need to further add to the destruction of these places. That’ll happen on its own without your assistance.

I found a place nearby to park and got my usual gear out -- steel-toed, knee-high boots, mosquito spray, an N95 respirator, and bear mace (you never know), among other things that are helpful for being as safe as humanly possible. Next came the camera, of course – my weapon of choice. Urbex and storm chasing have at least one thing in common: both hobbies are like trophy hunting, though instead of bringing antlers home I bring home photos. Thousands of them. I don’t even want to know how many terabytes of photos from storms and run-down buildings I have (sometimes both in the same photo).

It was incredibly easy to access – open, for the most part – and for a few minutes, I simply stood there in front of it, unable to believe what an enormous score this was.

I approached the building and entered what appeared to have been a lobby at some point through open doors, and from there I found some stairs. There were numerous elevator shafts in the building, all of which would be avoided like the plague. There’s no way to break a leg or lose your life faster than by falling down one of those bad boys, and I’m not about that life (or death).

In some rooms, there were still shelves, books, or medical equipment. I found a few red tubs marked "INFECTIOUS WASTE," which I went ahead and stayed far away from.

The story goes like this: the hospital closed more than 20 years ago. It had been open for more than 40 years by that time, and it had been plagued by internal controversy and financial struggles. According to the official story, the hospital closed because of "reductions in Medicare and Medicaid," but according to a nurse who used to work at the property, it really closed because of mismanagement, embezzlement, and fraud from upper management.

The hospital was involved in no less than one active lawsuit at the time it closed, and legend has it there were many more.

Walking through the quiet, empty halls, I couldn’t help but wonder: who was born here? Who died here, and who got a new lease on life here?

The morgue area, especially, was cloaked in a dark, heavy overall vibe, though during my entire time here, I did not experience anything unexplainable even once.

All you really need to do for a good scare is get lost inside your own mind – and all the eerie possibilities – while you lose yourself in the seemingly endless halls of what was once a bustling institution, now left to the elements to fade into black.