A Message From Shireland

Shireland Amusement Park
by Furywork with photographs by dnb

Ok. Shireland Amusement Park, i.e. Evil Petting Zoo. Originally a place of only moderate interest - we had seen the pictures and were not that thrilled - it had become our next mission by default. Everything else seemed ambiguous. There was a lot of buzz on the forums but nothing concrete, and with my time in Chicagoland running short we did not want to risk a wild goose chase. Recent precipitation made drains less than inviting. Shireland seemed like an easy exploration: it had been done before, we knew exactly where it was, the name was, as far as we knew, ironic. The place looked harmless.

We used the national historic register to locate some other abandoned places in the area, printed up some maps and aerial photographs and headed out. It was just after noon on a Thursday. First stop was a bit disappointing, a historic church on an Elgin street corner. It looked pretty but our hopes were not high. We walked around it, the windows read “Warning, alarm.” We laughed at it, thinking nobody would install a security system in an abandoned building. Unless…it’s still of worth? Part of an attempt at preservation? In any case, the church was locked up tight, and after briefly popping in an empty apartment building, more of a construction site than anything, we were out and headed for the next spot.

The register referred us to a “Milk Condensing” facility, which didn’t appear to exist at all. We looped around the same section of Aurora for about an hour, not even finding the street corner it was supposed to be on. Worn out we grabbed some appetizers in one of Elgin’s many Mexican restaurants, and then headed for the main course: Shireland.

We saw it off the highway, sprawling out on the passenger side. The property seemed gigantic. A large “Shireland Amusement” billboard, odd that it still stands, officially announced the site. This was it. We took the next exit and parked in a Wendy’s. Thankful for our preparations, mostly many layers of clothes to fend of the day’s gray and bitter chill, we left the car and trekked up through some overgrown prairie. Dnb pointed out its evil resemblance to a minefield, markings (probably for gas lines) stuck up from the ground amidst piles of broken concrete.

We came out onto a quiet two-lane road and followed it beyond a hill to Shireland’s main gates. Both of us shared the impression that there was nothing evil about this petting zoo. The place was not much more exciting in person than in pictures, poorly matched paint on a couple steeples and corrals, though we had heard of treasures inside and did not lose hope. Besides, it was indeed abandoned, and some signs of decay were visible. We took a couple shots and entered.

Beyond the turnstile, the first building must’ve been the gift shop, or at least one of them. Inside were a dozen large cardboard boxes full of various Shireland themed t-shirts. There were numerous designs, all of horses, in nearly every size. Also, we found large bags full of oversized stuffed animals and a collection of rolled up horse-themed posters. “Can you imagine how many prize tickets it would normally take to get this stuff?” We left it for now, planning to come back later and joking about (seriously considering?) changing our wardrobes to strictly Shireland t-shirts.

Besides the toys, posters, and shirts we found some equipment. In the first building I started pulling at what looked like a red strobe light, until dnb said, “That’s an alarm.” The thing looked like a toy, however, very old and outdated. Neither of us were at all concerned that it was active. I couldn’t get it off the board it was bolted to, so we left it and continued searching. There were credit card scanners and label applicators, as well as a gigantic rusty knife.

The next building contained about 50 white plastic safari hats bearing the name of the park. We popped em on and laughed like idiots. 50 hats. I could sell these, I thought, I could make a living off selling white plastic safari hats. I was also seriously contemplating putting my own design on them and giving them to all my friends. We were ecstatic little scavengers, giddy on loot.

An adjacent structure looked quite similar, but contained items of a slightly different sort. Half the room was overflowing with white cardboard boxes. “Jewels!” exclaimed dnb. Possessed by some sort of pirate spirit we madly rummaged through the stuff to find, not in the least to our dismay, the belt buckles that Chuck had mentioned in a previous forum post. We pocketed one each and then moved on. Dnb braved the wooden stairs to the attic and I followed suit. The upper level was full of cheap children’s toys, plastic swords, a bag of hollow dragons and the like. We played for a couple minutes, sparring with ponies.

It was all junk but so much junk! This stuff seemed like gold in such quantities. Why 100 plastic dragons, how could one pass that up? One could…cover someone’s car with it for instance. Or these horsies, why we could cover someone’s entire vehicle with these. The possibilities for our booty seemed limitless, though I could not come up with anything concrete besides using it to cover someone’s car.

Normally our explorations yield one or two smallish souveniers, perhaps a ratty old book or a disused key. This was almost too much. Our first instinct was to take it all, take everything. The quantity of this stuff was mind-blowing and deceivingly attractive. I’m not sure what we would’ve done with all the stuffed animals for instance, and I can’t think of anyone who would want to buy a white plastic safari hat from a thin, iffy looking bearded guy. Perhaps we would’ve covered someone’s car with stuff.

We found three signs labeled “Shireland Gift Shoppe,” one for each of the buildings, and dragged them out. We were still drunk on our discoveries, and feeling playful we arranged the signs and some toys. Rearmed with swords we took some vaguely amusing timer photos of ourselves. We put the toys back so the snow wouldn’t ruin them.

It was time to see what else there was to Shireland. Beyond the entrance area and gift shops was a bridge, with a mini-railroad running beneath. When we got to lower ground, we realized that someone had hung a stuffed horse off the bridge, by the neck in true executioner style. It was sort of comical and sort of creepy so we photographed it.

Next we came upon what looked like outdoor stables. Rather dull structures composed of single stalls originally used to house horses. Beyond that we spotted a stage and bleachers, an outdoor auditorium apparently used to perform children’s shows. There was little to see so we headed back. In the other direction we briefly explored another outdoor stage and the anchors and bare posts of what used to be a huge tent. It had gotten dark and on our way back to the gift shops, we were slightly puzzled by an area of the park illuminated by electric lights. It seemed quite strange for this place to have power, and I said so to dnb. It would’ve been ridiculous for someone to still be paying their bills for this property. Dnb suggested that the power company just hadn’t gotten around to cutting it off, and I wondered if sites like these had year-long (or longer) contracts that take a while to run out. With those two explanations we were satisfied and put this out of mind. After all, we had stumbled upon lights on other explorations.

We came back to the first gift shop, the room with the shirts. Thus began a long, somewhat chaotic and somewhat methodical search, or rather filtering, for two complete sets of Shireland t-shirts. There were at least 14 different designs, and we wanted to have one of each. The goal was a shirt of each design in both a small, for myself, and a large, for dnb. It was tough as some of the boxes had more than one type of shirt, and certain sizes seemed nowhere in sight. More than once I thought, “We’re getting way too greedy, we ought to just go while the going’s good.” We turned the place into a complete mess but finally succeeded, after about an hour. I’m not quite sure why we did this, except simply that we could. The shirts were there, plentiful, more than enough for any other explorer who came along (there were literally hundreds), and it all seemed abandoned and useless to everyone else. We, on the other hand, perhaps were serious about changing our wardrobes to something totally out-of-character for us and completely mysterious to all nonCUErs.

We had collated the shirts and folded them neatly. Then rather meticulously stuffed them into my backpack and a tote bag we had conveniently found. We were ready to leave when we spotted another light we had not first noticed. It was coming from a building we meant to check out in the very beginning but somehow overlooked. Again I had the thought, “Go while the going’s good.” At the same time I was somewhat disappointed with this as a mission, after all we came to explore not scavenge, and there had been rather little to see besides the merchandise. I also figured we had come this far and would probably never come back, so might as well check out everything.

We walked over to the doors, its windows busted, eerie fluorescent light shining out of them. I was getting terrible vibes from this place; so far we had felt like kings here, completely safe and secure, but honestly this building seemed different. It was probably the light, but it looked a lot neater and “in-use” than anything else in Shireland. There were some cabinets and a broom, and I got this bad feeling that someone was working here in the daytime, trying to maintain or perhaps refurbish.

My god this part is awful. Suddenly I spotted a single red flash coming from the far wall. It was only the blink of a red LED but it practically knocked me off my feet. I froze, watching it, but it didn’t happen again as I had hoped. I prayed that it was just the routine, repetitive blinking of some piece of machinery. Ordinary and impersonal. This thing was mechanical, but it was not impersonal. It was irregular, it had happened only once, and it was scaring the hell out of me. It seemed to say, “I know what you’ve got in the bag, I know what you’re up to.” Honestly, all this from one red blink.

“ Stop. There was a light, shit a red light.” We scampered back outside, and on my way out I thought I saw it again. “There, right there. Maybe it will happen again, maybe it’s just something blinking.” We stood outside the door, peering in through the window, watching it. Another blink and for a split second I was relieved.

And then it hit us: Blinding noise. Sound, a siren, Christ! It was unbelievably loud, I couldn’t think, I could only freak out and panic.

I must point out that the following account of my reaction is admittedly a post-hoc analysis; my awareness and understanding of what I was going through did not come then, at that point there were no words. There was nothing but noise and raw adrenaline. Now I realize that instantly my whole perception of our surroundings and even ourselves changed. Before, we were explorers, scavengers. When I see myself as an explorer and photographer of abandoned or off-limits places, I tend to have an edge, an extra boost in confidence despite the risk of police detection. That’s because I feel I have a right to explore and document certain public and private property, sometimes I even feel like I’m doing a service to places that have historical significance but are carelessly demolished by private companies and individuals. Same goes for things such as drains and bridges. “Public access for public works,” as the Cave Clan motto goes. What we do may sometimes be officially illegal, but I don’t ever feel we’re doing anything wrong. That goes for carrying out things we find in what’s essentially an “oversized dumpster” as dnb put it.

That alarm though, that accusatory warning light and its deadly auditory payload, my god. Suddenly I felt like a common thug, a burglar. “This place wasn’t completely abandoned, we had misjudged it,” and similar thoughts did not have to be thought, there was no time, no room for them amidst the noise anyway. This was suddenly taken for granted; I was now operating under the assumption that we were criminals, about to pay the piper. It was this jarring inversion of my immediate universe that I think hit me the hardest, and beyond the deafening, frightful noise it was this which muddled my thoughts most and impaired my logic.

I can’t even recall the first few minutes after that damn alarm, the imagery in my memory does not flow smoothly. It is choppy, as if there are missing frames. First we were by the door, frozen, then looking at each other, then maybe saying something, probably, “Shit! Shit!” Then suddenly we were 30 feet away back by the gift shop, me dumping the carefully folded t-shirts, a complete set of every Shireland design, in both small and large. We had closed the bag carefully, as it was a tricky zipper, but now I ripped the damn thing open wildly, tossing our prizes onto the floor as if they were poison. Dnb dropped his bags.

For a few seconds we didn’t know what to do, dnb wanted to run back the way we came, out the front gate, across the road and field and to the car. Perhaps that was a good idea, and of course part of me just wanted to dash for the car as well. However, it seemed impulsive and at that point I was very weary of doing anything impulsive. I was sure we were in grave danger and I wanted to proceed very carefully. I could not bear the thought of coming out of a place which was practically wailing and screaming “There they are! To arms good citizens of Huntley! Decapitate the criminals!” Thinking back on it perhaps it wasn’t that bad of an option, as the alarm, if even wired to a police station, would not elicit an immediate response, and that road we would’ve had to cross had little traffic.

Instead I told dnb we ought to bolt for the hills. Head for cover in the woods perhaps, do anything we had to in order to find another exit, a safer, quieter one away from that screaming building. Anything to get away from that blasted siren. So off we went, running frantically, my backpack flapping completely open behind me. The cold air I sucked violently hurt with every breath. We got to the trees but there was a fence we hadn’t seen before, tall wooden spikes, completely smooth and impossible to climb. I panicked further, options seemed to be running out. We followed the fence until it ended, then burst headfirst into the trees and burrs. It seemed as if we were running into a wall with only a little bit of give. The branches held and tore into our clothes, our hats, our faces. Finally we entered some sort of clearing, this was still Shireland territory, mind you, and we felt as vulnerable as ever. I asked dnb if he was thinking clearly because I no longer trusted my own judgment. He suggested we stop and hide out for a while, but I simply wanted out, now. I kept glancing behind me expecting cops and flashlight beams.

This clearing seemed less of a blessing and more of a curse, as it was surrounded by that wooden fence and littered with eerie Shireland Turrets, reminding us that the place still held us captive. I panicked a step further thinking our options were once again limited. Finally we found a gate and got out. Instinct told me to simply put as much distance between myself and that siren as possible. In front of us, however, was a fence and then the highway and we knew we were not yet free. We had no choice but to head straight, and I rammed straight at the fence, flipping over and falling to the ground, caring only about getting to the other side as quickly as possible. Getting up I think I smiled for the first time since this nightmare started, realizing how amusing that must’ve looked and with a tiny portion of myself appreciating this turn of events. Afterall, I was bored with the exploration and it had suddenly become a lot more exciting. This did not last long, however, and I was once again taken over by dread.

We walked along the highway, Shireland just to our right, looking very suspicious and wondering if the red light belonged to a camera or a motion sensor. We had slightly modified appearance (removed hats, gloves, and the cameras around my neck) just incase.

I no longer felt the adrenaline, but was experiencing a terrible aftereffect, a parasympathetic central nervous system reaction. My heart-rate slowed down and my blood pressure probably lowered. I suddenly felt sluggish, partly apathetic. My mind could no longer handle all the stress so it stopped caring. This was not a welcome change though, I still felt awful. My stomach felt like it was bunched up in my throat.

We walked along the highway, descended a hill, then started moving toward the car. I knew that if we had been seen on camera, and a patrol had been sent to look for us, our best bet would be to split up, probably walk the long way around, away from Shireland to the car. We walked around but did not split up. We still had no idea if we were safe, but I, like dnb, just wanted to get in the car and was almost resigned to walk directly towards it, accepting whatever happened. I was simultaneously alert, checking everyone for a uniform and every car for markings, and no longer fully concerned. As I said, I think I simply drained my capacity to care.

I still felt awful and didn’t feel the relief I should’ve when we got in the car. Even now, writing this 5 hours later I’m not completely at ease. At the same time, ever since we pulled out of Huntley we have been erupting into fits of laughter, hardly believing all the irony involved in the attempted shirt collection. A couple feet from me is my backpack. One pocket still has a red alarm-cover I cheerily tore off when it was still light and Shireland seemed gentle enough to play with.

 

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