by Five Sisters

Created on: July 27, 2009

I never believed in ghosts until I had my own personal reason to; and the note of greeting on the knotty pine table would have been a clue to any other person more in tuned with such things.

I had rented a small rustic cabin in the Massachusetts' Berkshires back in 2004 with the hopes of launching a new novel [bah hah hah!] or at least finding the inspiration to start some kind of other magical writing adventure. I had rented the cabin directly from a writing teacher of mine and from the website she shared with me found it to be quaint and quiet and perfect for a peaceful writing retreat. I lasted three days.

It was on her property yet was surrounded only by acres and acres of deep woods. The only solitary visitors said to stroll by from time to time were the occasional turkey, deer, and bear; and of course the common grey squirrels and chipmunks that gathered at the edges and on the ledges of things just long enough to show me I wasn't all alone.

I had rented the cabin in the fall and the fall in Massachusetts is amazingly beautiful. The color of death [which is basically what the leaves are doing] was at its peak and the air was crisp enough to warrant a sweater when heading out to the woodpile to fuel up the little pot bellied stove. It was perfect - I was way past pumped.

The first afternoon I arrived I spent most of my time in the surrounding woods. The cabin was just about big enough to turn around in so there wasn't much to do other than write, and everyone knows one can't write unless one's ready. So I romped around out in the leaves hunting for deer or turkeys or bear [hunting being figurative here] "to get myself ready".

As the evening washed over me and the light grew dim I headed back to the cabin to grab a bite to eat and face the empty notebook on the table. There was a small radio for my "entertainment" and I remember listening to the presidential debates too. I thought Kerry was kicking butt at the time; I was wrong.

The single bed was upstairs in a small loft all covered with down and flannel and fluff. It looked amazingly inviting and it was without hesitation that I headed upstairs when the hour got late.

I got in, curled up and shut the lights off without fear. In the midst of counting my blessings, I think I was on number three, the walls, the air, heck the space all around me started to talk. Instantly I illuminated to light and started to talk back. I remember clearly what I

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