My Name is Franklin, Intro

My name is Franklin. I am 36 years old and previously enjoyed a happy life with my family in Quebec.  I am also alive. The relevance of this statement should become obvious very soon. The following will make very little sense to anyone reading this, but I assure you that all be become clear by the end of my tale.

I must take this moment to implore you to put down this book, walk away, hold you loved ones and continue your life as though you had never heard my name or laid eyes upon this book. Although I suppose if you were able to procure a copy or even the original of this book my mere words are unlikely to deter you. Indeed it is likely you are the one in need of help here.

With that warning out of the way, I will attempt to explain what is within these pages.

I grew up in Quebec, lived most of my life in the Canadian forests and spent a good portion of my younger days simply exploring the country. Exploration was in my blood, it was my being. I have trekked across this entire country and back again and enjoyed every moment of my travels.  The irony that it would be one of these adventures that would eventually end in my current predicament is not lost on me.

Several years ago, a friend of mine invited me on a exploration of an old dilapidated building. It was fairly out of the way but nothing special. No bats circling a belfry, nor was it built upon a teetering cliff with lightning striking at opportune times. By all means this was simply an abandoned office block.

This is a practice known as Urbex (meaning Urban Exploration) and something I was very interested in. It is good once and a while to explore the forests and woods  that man has made, if only for a sense of scale.
The night will stay in my mind forever, burning constantly within my skull like a branding iron. I have spent most of my days since that night wondering why, why did I go. What would have happened had I replied “no, sorry” rather than leaping feet first into this nightmare.

I digress, such thought is meaningless. The night of the climb (as Jay constantly referred to it_ Jay  and I prepped for the exploration, packing supplies and joking about the upcoming excursion. Jay was an experienced urban explorer, having explored and searched through the ruins of our bygone years since before the practice was popular, a master when compared with someone such as myself. I preferred walking through the woods to climbing through air ducts and cramped half destroyed buildings, though I was eager to learn.
The conversations on that night will always stick out to me as completely bizarre, if only because looking back, I was so naive, both Jay and I were so happy, excited and filled with a boyish want to scare ourselves through our own actions. So naive.

Once we reached the site, we found it to be boarded off. Jay took a crowbar to the boards and within moments we were inside. I must say it was not what I expected. I had expected to find some old entrance hall, what I found was genuinely eerie, although rendered trivial by the events of the following years, I remember I asked if we should leave, watching Jay push on into the darkness. I followed.
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BLARGG:
And here it is, the start of My Name is Franklin (working title, Its horrible). Fuck you Keef