Haunted

My friend, an avid photographer, suggested we visit the ruins of the Brooksbrae Brick Factory to take pictures. Located in the New Jersey Pine Barrens, the ruins have become a well-known spot for graffiti artists. After a few false starts down rutted dirt roads, we finally found the turnoff, crossed over the abandoned railroad tracks and followed spray painted trees to the site. The mid-day sun lit up the tumbled bricks.

There were two kinds of stories being told at the ruins. The first was the story of the factory. Are there still Brooksbrae bricks in buildings somewhere, I wondered? I found some historical information later, online. At the site itself, there were only mysteries.

Where did the tunnels lead?  How big was the factory?   How did the bricks get from the middle of the woods to the railroad?

Ghosts whispered among the ruins. Were they the caretaker and his wife who died in the fire that started in their cottage in 1915?  Where did the workers live and where did they go after the factory closed? Were they immigrants? Are their descendants nearby?  

The second set of stories were told in vivid color. Clearly a “party spot,” dotted with the remains of campfires and unfortunately littered with empty cans of spray paint, names and tags called out “I was here.” The insistence that we notice them seemed more important than “art,” although there was what appeared to be a new wall of Halloween designs.

Haunted? Perhaps, but definitely haunting.