I pulled back the door of the trailer and went inside. There were clothes everywhere, and a bed made of foam sheets stacked on top of one another. Next to the bed was a cooler, which I opened with a stick. The sides were covered in black mold, and there were two jars half full of mayonnaise, which had turned into yellow liquid with white blobs. On the other side of the bed was a cabinet with torn up newspapers and a few foldouts from Penthouse. As I made my way out, I noticed a lawn chair in one of the corners. I saw that a hole was cut out from the seat, and that there was a bucket duct taped underneath. I went over and realized it had been a toilet.

That was my first experience of Scary Farm, the abandoned farm next to the driving range in New Milford. I went there to take pictures for an English project last year, and found one of the most frightening places in Connecticut. It’s the only place I’ve truly been afraid of getting murdered. I haven’t come across any concrete information about it, but from what I can tell, a family lived there in the late Eighties. Their main activity was collecting junk. One day, they left it all behind and disappeared.

The levels of junk are staggering. It overflows from the two main buildings—the barn, and what I call the “compound.” In the barn there are stalls and stalls filled with tires. Others are filled with old furniture and stuffing; others with bikes—some exercise, some regular. One room is nothing but tools and cages. In a few places there are piles of pine cones with red string tied around them. Other than that, there isn’t much to see in the barn. The second floor is inaccessible—the entire right side of the building is collapsing, and the stairs have been crushed.

The bottom floor of the compound is proof that the family who lived there never threw anything out, and was probably stealing a lot of stuff too. In addition to things like cigarette machines, books like “The National Geographic African Traveler’s Companion” and “Introductory Biophysics,” a safe with large dents on one side, there are things like old shopping lists, Valentine’s Day cards to the family’s first grade son, and five Sunkist “Gems” inside an empty can of baby food.

The first time I went to Scary Farm, I entered the compound through the back. When I came out in front, I saw some stairs and looked up. A noose was hanging from one of the rafters. I went up and found something that made my heart stop—a wall covered with writing and pictures. There were multiple crosses with swastika arms, everything else was quotes:



“Slaughter/Scallywags/Reaper”

“Demented without reason”

“Never smile again—11 PM”

“Paul saved a life today! -NOT HIS OWN-”

“Beware of those stairs. You may easily fall and break your neck.”

“Lenny is no good—3/24/2002.”



They were made a little less scary by the fact that whoever had written them had also spray painted a lame “Rock and Roll” hand onto the wood, but the fact that someone had written so recently made me wonder if they were still there. There was a door that led to some dark rooms, but I couldn’t force myself to go in. I finally did two months ago. It’s pretty much the same as everywhere else, except that there are empty bottles of prescription pills everywhere.

There’s also plenty to find in land surrounding the buildings. Out back are overgrown pastures, stagnant ponds, and a path that leads into the woods. There are also bones spread throughout the grass in some parts. I’m think they’re deer bones, because I found a rotting pelt near them. Still, it didn’t seem like a place where an animal would fall down and die, and bones don’t slip out from under fur.

Overall, Scary Farm is one of the scariest places I’ve ever been. It’s right up there with Fairfield Hills, the abandoned mental hospital. There’s also tons more stuff to find and lots of places to explore—especially the uncharted woods. However, I wouldn’t recommend going any time soon. I went two weeks ago to get some more pictures, and an RV had appeared in front of the compound. Has the family returned? Are some scary drug-addict teens living there? I didn’t find out—as I was walking up to it, I saw something move inside, and courageously ran back to my car. Even the finest junk isn’t worth being murdered.