The Packing House

When we were kids, we used to hang out at a mysteriously abandoned meat packing plant, down in the middle of the woods, by the river. Construction on this crazy building was supposedly begun around the turn of the last century. Apparently, they ran out of money and just stopped.
There were many stories associated with this place. Several people were rumored to have fallen to their deaths there. It was very dilapidated and scary. Once, Tommy and I found a freshly killed goat there. Its throat had been slashed and the blood had not even congealed - which led us to believe that the goat killers were nearby.
We used to take girls there and give them tours at night. We knew the place like the backs of our hands. There were large holes in the floors where you could fall straight down to the basement - 4 floors. The girls would hold on to you very tightly. That was the idea, I guess.
I once carried the pregnant girlfriend of an Indian dude we knew up to the top floor, where we built a fire and partied. He was too drunk on moonshine to carry her and she was too pregnant to make it on her own.
When I was about 13, me and Floyd, a friend of mine from the 6th and 7th grades, once went up to the top floor and dared each other to walk out to the ends of these 4 foot long beams that stuck out off of the side of the building. They were about a foot wide. The dare was that our toes had to hang off the end and we had to stand there, with our arms held out, for a count of ten. We were over the tops of trees. Next we both stood on the edge, holding on to each other. That was a trust thing. I have a terrible fear of heights. Sometimes, to this day, I will think about that and shiver.
The place was covered in graffiti. My favorite piece read "MARY POPPINS IS A JUNKIE."