The Echoes of Letchworth Village

As I stepped through the crumbling entrance of Letchworth Village, psychiatric hospital , my camera tremble in my hands . The once majestic buildings now loomed above me, It’s facade shrouded in a tangled web of Ivy and neglect.

I had heard the whispers about this place the atrocities committed writhing its walls, The countless lives shattered by cruelty and neglect . The hospital ` s dark history seemed to seep from every brick , every rusting hinge.

My footsteps echoed through the deserted corridors as I explored the decaying wards. In the silence, I could almost hear the faint whispers of lost souls- the patients who had suffered and died within this walls.

I stopped in front of a door with a faded sign children’s ward. A shiver ran down my spine as I crossed the door open. The room was small with throws of rusting beds like skeletal fingers reaching towards the ceiling.

My camera captured the eerie stillness, but I knew it couldn’t convey the sense of unease that settled in the pit of my Stomach. I feel like an intruder trespassing on the memories of those who had suffered here.

As I explored further, the whisper seemed to grow louder. a chilling reminder of the horrors that had unfolded within these walls. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched by unseen eyes, that the lost souls of Letchworth Village were stirring, restless.

Eventually, I knew it was time to leave as I turned to depart, the whispers faded into silence, leaving behind the creaking of the old wooden floorboards beneath my feet.

I emerged from the hospital blinking the bright sunlight. The world outside seemed louder, more vibrant, but the echoes of Letchworth village lingered within me ~ a hunting reminder of the atrocities that should never be forgotten.