There’s an unsettling buzz creeping through Chesterburgh this week, a whisper that’s grown into a steady murmur demanding answers. For years, the old Wilkins Factory on East Mill Road stood as a rusting relic, a canvas for graffiti artists and the occasional late-night ghost story. But recently, something unprecedented has been happening: lights have flickered on inside its cracked windows at all hours, and strange shapes move just out of clear sight. The town’s familiar silhouette now carries an unfamiliar unease.

    Last Tuesday night, several neighbors reported hearing mechanical noises vibrating through the air — a soft but persistent hum like machines rising to life. One local, Mrs. Janice Feldman, told me, “I’ve lived here thirty years. Never once heard a thing out there after dark, except the wind or an owl. Now it’s like a factory ghost has come back to life, but with a grumble and groan that rattles my windows.” This report spread quickly, stirring a mix of curiosity and dread.

    The Wilkins Factory had been silent since its closure in the late 1980s, shuttered after a steady decline in manufacturing jobs. Once a bustling hub providing livelihoods for generations, it fell victim to shifting economies and the more modern allure of neighboring industrial districts. Locals remember it fondly, but mostly as a symbol of what the town had lost. Now, its abandonment felt less peaceful, more spectral.

    As a reporter and photographer for “Snapshot Chesterburgh,” I decided to investigate. What I found, captured in a series of grainy night photos, was something no one expected. The perimeter fences had been tampered with, locks visibly forced. Footprints in the mud suggested recent human activity, and inside one window, trading cards taped to the glass caught the flicker of light like tiny beacons. It was clear: someone was operating inside. But who, and why?

    On Wednesday, I attempted to speak with local authorities. The Chesterburgh Police Department declined to comment in detail but confirmed they had received several reports and were monitoring the situation. “We do not have evidence of criminal activity at this time,” an officer stated, suggesting that curiosity had simply bolstered local imaginations. Yet, that did little to quell the rumors swirling at the town diner and on social media threads.

    Meanwhile, the factory’s eerie illumination continued to puzzle the community. Passersby have caught glimpses of shadows resembling workers in old-fashioned uniforms, or perhaps mannequins staged by some unknown hand. One night, a faint smell of burnt metal wafted down the street, evoking memories of the factory’s smoking furnaces. Those sensory echoes only deepened the mystery, making some wonder if it was a prank—or something more deliberate.

    Several theories have popped up among Chesterburgh’s denizens. Some suggest a group of urban explorers or artists may be using the abandoned space as a nocturnal workshop or installation site. Others worry about illegal activities — a possible clandestine drug lab or squatters setting up residence. A few superstitious folks whisper about restless spirits tied to the factory’s turbulent history, an unquiet past manifesting in flickers and noises.

    Interestingly, the town council had previously rejected a redevelopment proposal for the site, citing budget constraints and environmental concerns. That decision now feels like a missed opportunity to reclaim what could be a community asset. Instead, the dilapidated structure sits in limbo, a breeding ground for uncertainty rather than renewal.

    In an effort to shed light—literally and figuratively—on what’s happening, I organized a daytime photo walk with local residents l