Shadows of the Forgotten: We Entered an Abandoned Liverpool Orphanage Shut Down for Brutal Abuse

The wind howling through the skeletal remains of the Liverpool docks didn’t feel like weather; it felt like a warning. I stood before the iron-wrought gates of a massive, decaying complex that once housed hundreds of children. This wasn’t just any derelict site. This was a notorious orphanage, shuttered decades ago following a series of harrowing scandals. The rumors were as thick as the dust inside: systemic abuse by the nuns who ran the place, secret rooms, and in more recent years, reports of “satanic rituals” conducted by those who dared to break in.

Today, the wrecking balls are waiting. This was the final chance to document the “Satanic Orphanage” before it becomes nothing more than a memory and a pile of red brick.

I. The Nursery: A False Sense of Peace

We started our explore at the nursery, a separate building on the same grounds. Walking into the basement felt like entering a different century. The wallpaper was peeling in long, vertical strips—floral patterns from the 1950s that looked like dead skin.

A bizarre discovery stopped us in our tracks: a shower in the middle of a basement room. Why would a nursery have a clinical shower in a dark, underground space? The dissonance was jarring. We found doors with children’s names still taped to them, and copies of The Daily Mail from years ago scattered like litter. In a corner, a pool table sat rotting, its green felt replaced by mold. It was a “games room” that felt devoid of any joy, a place where the air was stagnant and smelled of copper and wet earth.

II. The Main Orphanage: The Architecture of Control

As we trekked across the overgrown grounds toward the main orphanage, the scale of the trauma became visible. Much of the complex had already been demolished, leaving only the central stone structure standing. It looked like a hollowed-out skull.

Stepping inside, the grandeur was still evident. High ceilings with ornate coving, grand stone pillars, and wide, sweeping staircases. But the beauty was a mask. The walls had been stripped to the brick by scavengers and demolition crews, revealing the “bones” of the building. The intricate fireplaces, once the only source of warmth for cold, terrified children, were now filled with debris and ash.

III. The Dark Halls of the Nuns

The history of this place is stained. The orphanage was shut down after a long history of documented abuse. As we climbed the stairs, the atmosphere shifted. The Amygdala—the brain’s fear center—begins to fire rapidly when you enter a space where you know human suffering occurred.

We found what looked like the “Naughty Boys’ Room”—a small, cramped space with a single chair and a heavy door. On the wall, someone had scrawled: “Stay Calm.” In a place like this, “staying calm” was a survival tactic, not a suggestion.

We descended into the basement of the main building. This was a labyrinth of tunnels and storage rooms. We found massive, industrial-sized fridges where dry stores were kept—enough to feed hundreds. But there were also “tunnels within the walls”—narrow walkways that allowed the nuns to move between wings of the building unseen. It was a design meant for surveillance, a physical manifestation of the lack of privacy and the constant threat of being watched.

IV. The Dormitories and the Shadow of the Past

Climbing back up to the upper floors, we entered the vast dormitories. These were long, open halls where beds would have been lined up on either side. Standing in the middle, I could almost hear the silence of a hundred children.

I thought of the “Jimmy Savile era” vicars and the dodgy nuns who patrolled these aisles. This was the theater of the crime. I imagined a figure walking down the center of this room at night, the floorboards creaking under their boots, choosing a child for “discipline” or worse.

The building felt like it was holding its breath. We found a “Dome Room”—a beautiful architectural feature with a circular skylight. From a balcony, we could see the floor below, where a large “Pentagram” had allegedly been drawn by cultists in recent years. Looking closely at the floorboards, you could see where the wood had been scrubbed clean compared to the surrounding grime. Whether it was the work of “Goths and Romans” or something more sinister, the builders had clearly tried to erase the marks.

V. The Final Descent

The demolition crews had left the old floorings intact in some rooms, giving us a glimpse of the linoleum and tile that the children’s feet once touched. We climbed one last set of “suicide stairs”—steep, narrow steps that led to the roof. From the top, we looked out over Liverpool, the city moving on while this monument to misery waited for its end.

Leaving the “Satanic Orphanage” was a relief. The air outside was cold, but it didn’t feel heavy with the weight of the past. As we walked away, I looked back at the stone pillars. They aren’t building them like that anymore—and perhaps, given the history of what happened behind them, that’s a good thing.

The Liverpool orphanage won’t be here for much longer. In a few months, it will be a flat patch of land, and the secrets of the nuns and the suffering of the children will be buried under new foundations. But for today, the echoes of their silence remain etched in the brick and the dust.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AQMII3iHYGo