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House of Miracles

house of miracles
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Roscoe, NY

The sign in front used to say House of Miracles. Apparently the miracles ran out, and the retreat is closed.

Over the course of the past 35 years or so, we were told that the retreat was:

A home for unwed mothers
A place for troubled teens to get themselves together
A hideaway for serial killers who liked to prey on children while wearing clown suits
A home for members of a Mooni-type cult
A home for parents who didn't want to be parents anymore
A religious indoctrination camp
A real, honest to goodness House of Miracles, where evangelists and charismatic preachers came to practice their healing/embezzelment skills

Whatever it was, it is no more. It's a beautiful place, too, in an idyllic setting. Now, with the empty parking lot and bare sign and a lakefront that looks like a ghost town, it just seem sad and forlorn.

Across the street is a camp for Hasidic Jews. People mill about all day and into the evening; the place is bustling with business all the time. But it's like no one dares cross the street. On one side, a vibrant retreat filled with life. On the other, just lingering ghosts of past miracles and/or evil clown serial killers.

Comments

Keep those photos with the commentary coming...

An empty building haunted by evil clown serial killers.

Sounds like a good plot for slasher film....

;)

Roscoe's kinda turning into a dump, ya think? I go up to Deposit, and it laways astounds me how the town seems in some swirly "down the drain" thing.

Eh, not really. There were always parts of Roscoe that were kind of "Deliverance" like, but the main part of town itself is still quaint and, if you look at my other photos, most of Roscoe is still stunningly beautiful.

Take picture of Raffy begging for forgiveness!

//runs and hides over on the Darkside

Anyone who goes around and offs evil clowns is okay in my book. Those things are seriously demented.

They give me the creeps, but my son Cary, now 22 years old, has a true clown phobia. If he happens upon a picture of one, or one shows up on TV, he goes pale and gets all "Go away go away go awaaaaay!" And I believe I know the source of his fear.

Remember those Fisher Price Jack-in-the-Box toys? You'd crank the handle and it would play "Pop Goes the Weasel". When Cary was about 6 months old, I was turning the handle for him, listening to the tinkling melody going da-da-da, dada da da daaaa...... and then suddenly POP went the scary insane turquoise faced clown with red evil eyes!

Cary jumped and screamed and started bawling his poor little head off. I picked him up and his heart was racing like mad...he hid his face in my shoulder and it took forever to calm him down - and from that day on, he loathed clowns. I kept finding the little clown guys that went to the Fisher Price Circus Train set in the garbage can. It finally dawned on me that Cary was trying his best to make his world a safer place.

Anyway. Clowns bad. Big, big bad.