This FB Page Is Dedicated To Liminal Photography, And Here Are 77 Of The Most Eerie Photos

So what exactly makes these transitional spaces feel so off? Researchers Alexander Diel and Michael Lewis of Cardiff University think they’ve found an answer. They attribute the unsettling nature of liminal spaces to something called the uncanny valley.

Usually, this term describes how humanoids that almost look human make us uncomfortable. But the same principle applies here. When physical places appear familiar but subtly deviate from reality, they create that signature sense of eeriness.

Think about a classroom you walk past after school hours. You’ve seen it a hundred times filled with students and teachers, desks cluttered with backpacks and papers. But empty? Something feels wrong.

In the Journal of Science and Culture, Peter Heft calls this a “failure of presence.” Drawing on the work of Mark Fisher, Heft explains that eeriness happens when we see a situation in a different context than we expect. The schoolhouse should be busy and alive. When it’s unnaturally empty, our brains struggle to make sense of it.

“When people look at liminal spaces, they may feel a sense of uncertainty, unease or even fear. This is because liminal spaces are often associated with transitions, which can be unsettling for some people,” Keely Smith, lead interior designer at JD Elite interiors, tells HowStuffWorks. “They may also feel a sense of disorientation or a loss of sense of place, as these spaces lack clear markers of identity or ownership.”

But not every empty space qualifies as liminal. Your own home, even when vacant, doesn’t have that quality because you inhabit it constantly. You notice what needs fixing or cleaning. You’re used to it being yours.

Liminal spaces are different. They’re shared areas like airport bathrooms, hotel corridors, or stairwells where people don’t naturally linger. When you stop and really pay attention to these in-between zones, it feels almost subversive.

That focused attention on places we typically pass through without thinking is what gives liminality its strange power.

The current liminal space phenomenon really took off in 2019 when a creepypasta story about “the Backrooms” went viral on 4chan. The Backrooms are a fictional location described as an endless maze you can accidentally stumble into by “noclipping” out of reality, borrowing a term from video games where players glitch through walls.

The story featured an image that became iconic: a hallway with yellow carpets and wallpaper, fluorescent lights humming overhead, stretching on forever with no one in sight. The Backrooms have also been portrayed as inhabited by supernatural entities lurking in the empty corridors.

Then came COVID-19, and the phenomenon exploded. The first major spike in popularity for liminal space imagery came in March 2020, right when lockdowns began. Suddenly, the entire world was living in an in-between state.

University of Missouri professor Dr. Timothy Carson, who teaches liminal studies, calls the pandemic an “involuntary social liminality, a time/space that was full of uncertainty and ambiguity, all the landmarks gone, the future undefined.” During situations like this, “disorientation reigns,” he tells HowStuffWorks.

That feeling resonated with people in a profound way. “Most of the people I explain liminality to end up saying, ‘Ah! That’s what I’ve been in! I just didn’t have words for it!’” Carson says. The pandemic made transitional spaces and the emotions they stir impossible to ignore.

Which raises an obvious question: if these images make people feel untethered and uneasy, why do millions actively seek them out? Smith offers one explanation.

“In recent years, there has been a renewed interest in liminal spaces in architecture. This is partly due to the pandemic and the general uncertainty of life, which has made people more aware of transitional spaces and the emotions they evoke,” she says.

“Liminal spaces are being talked about as spaces of potential where people can reflect on their experiences and engage with their surroundings in new and meaningful ways.”

Maybe that’s it. In a world that often feels chaotic and overwhelming, there’s something almost meditative about sitting with the discomfort of these empty, in-between places. They don’t demand anything from us. They just exist, suspended in time, waiting for someone to pass through.

And in recognizing them, in giving them a name and a community, we’re acknowledging something true about the human experience: that we’re all just passing through, caught between one moment and the next, trying to make sense of the threshold.

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