Tomasz Cichy, a Polish urban exploration photographer who operates under the pseudonym Addic7ed Empire, has built a devoted following of nearly 30,000 people on Facebook through his haunting documentation of abandoned locations across Poland. His evocative images reveal a forgotten world suspended in time, binding the past to the present with an artistic vision that many compare to filmmaker David Lynch and author Edgar Allan Poe.

Cichy's photographs capture a mood that drifts between the serene and surreal, each frame weaving an almost cinematic narrative. In one striking image, an art nouveau staircase spirals toward nothingness, while another shows a wrecked grand piano tilted toward the ground with a solitary leaf resting on its strings. His work often channels a Neo-Gothic aesthetic, featuring images of palaces peering from tangled woodland with pointed turrets shrouded in ghostly mists, battered coffins forgotten in crypts, and rocking horses frozen in shafts of sunlight within shadowed attics.

Attic spaces hold particular fascination for the photographer. "When exploring abandoned houses, I often find the greatest treasures in the attic," Cichy writes in one Facebook post, accompanying a photograph of a wicker baby carriage sitting beside a chipped figure of the Virgin Mary, with what appears to be manacles hanging ominously from ceiling beams. The atmospheric quality of his work makes viewers feel as though they're walking alongside him, hearing stairwells creak and crows caw in the silence of these empty places.

"I'm literally touching history when I'm in these locations," Cichy told reporters. "At times, I feel like I'm a time traveler." This sentiment rings true throughout his extensive portfolio, which is filled with glimpses of a past carefully preserved in dust and silence. His most evocative images feature derelict country cottages bristling with personal relics left behind by former occupants: boxes of yellowing postcards, vases of wilted flowers, collections of toys, religious icons, and kitchen sinks still filled with unwashed pans.

The photographer's captions are often as poetic as his imagery, with Cichy writing lyrically about "fragments of life locked away in an old drawer." In describing one particularly well-preserved house, he notes that "just a few moments are enough to trigger a kaleidoscope of memories" and that the scene is so intact "one wouldn't be startled to see a benevolent grandmother enter with a pot of steaming bigos." However, his work can also venture into unsettling territory, such as one photograph showing a spinning wheel, sewing machine, and rocking chair positioned in a gloomy living room, captioned "I'm not dead yet" – an image that could easily serve as a promotional poster for horror films like The Conjuring series.

Cichy's unconventional hobby began innocuously enough through his natural curiosity and passion for photography. "My friends and I used to hang around a local abandoned brick factory, and I remember feeling strangely moved by the place," he explained. "I was bored of the usual pubs and restaurants, so I started impulsively seeking out other unoccupied locations near my neighborhood." As time passed, his obsession deepened, and he now admits to having only a vague idea of the total number of places he's explored – "several hundred," he estimates.

While palaces, houses, and churches rank among his favorite locations ("Of course, I don't mind visiting a good industrial site," he adds), his social media account showcases an extraordinary variety of subjects. His portfolio includes cars half-submerged in lakes, rusting trains, nuclear shelters, tanks, sports halls, shipwrecks, cemeteries, farmhouses, schools, cinemas, prisons, and hospitals. This stunning variety is matched by the quality of his photography, which is unsurprising given that Cichy also organizes photographic workshops for foreigners as a side business.

What may be more unexpected is Cichy's approach to urban exploration. While he readily admits to spending hours meticulously researching addresses to explore, he balances this with more spontaneous methods. "I also really enjoy unplanned trips where I just drive within a set radius looking for anything that catches the eye," he says. Regardless of his method of discovery, Cichy maintains a consistent guiding principle: treating every location with respect and leaving no trace of his presence.

"Even if I move something for a photo, I always return it to its original spot – I try to leave everything exactly as I found it," he explains, describing his personal code of conduct. This ethical approach extends to his careful documentation of places that might otherwise be lost to time and decay. His explorations aren't without risks, however, as accidents are an occupational hazard. Among his worst injuries was a broken knee sustained after falling through a hole, though he somehow managed to drive himself home afterward.

Cichy doesn't always explore alone, and his adventures have included encounters with dead animals and homeless people as part of the landscape he navigates. Despite these challenges and dangers, he finds the inconveniences worthwhile for the thrill his pastime provides. "When I find something that's been unvisited by others, the blood pumps faster – my eyes are like supernovas!" he enthuses. This excitement is infectious, and viewers often share his enthusiasm and surprise at his discoveries.

One particularly striking example involves a grotesque monster-like movie prop left behind by a film crew in the corner of a deserted mausoleum, its hulking skeletal mass wreathed in cobwebs and dust. While such a discovery might unnerve most people, Cichy remains unfazed by these unusual finds. "I'd heard rumors that it was there so wanted to see it for myself – I was amazed," he says. "It was spectacular and creepy, but I love horror films, so it's very hard to scare me."

"Spectacular and creepy" aptly describes many of his subjects, particularly the Soviet hospital in Legnica, western Poland, which Cichy rates as one of his favorite sites. During much of the Cold War, Legnica was a closed military town nicknamed "Little Moscow," and the hospital's vast, compelling spaces with peeling corridors and echoing rooms are scattered with remnants of yesteryear: Cyrillic graffiti, clunky machinery, and Soviet newspapers featuring patriotic headlines.

However, it's not just these unnerving places that draw Cichy in. His work also captures more nostalgic locations, such as a ruined holiday camp that sparked memories of his youth – listening to the Backstreet Boys on a cassette player in the 1990s, keeping his room tidy under the watchful eye of a supervisor named Mrs. Renata, and gathering courage to ask a girl named Monika to dance. Walking through these rooms with Cichy, past damaged teddy bears, chunky television sets, and tacky oil paintings of galloping stallions, feels like stepping directly into his memories, creating a sensation that is nostalgic, warm, and slightly surreal.

As author L.P. Hartley once wrote, "The past is a foreign country," and Cichy's photographs quietly underscore this truth through their documentation of spaces where time seems to have stopped. His work serves as both artistic expression and historical preservation, capturing moments and places that might otherwise be lost forever to the passage of time and urban development.