Nobody Can Say It's You

37

The old cabin had stood in the backcountry for generations. It was situated in a little glen near a clear running stream. It was thought to have been abandoned decades ago, for the surrounding forest had slowly encroached upon it, engulfing it in a wall of vegetation and trees.

Still, its weathered logs stood defiant and strong against their advance. The land and the old cabin belonged to the Ralgnild (Ru-kneeled) clan. Everyone thought that all of the family died or moved off the mountain years ago, but that was not the case.

The pristine forest surrounding the dilapidated cabin was filled with all species of wildlife. Their songs and cries filled the air. If you listened hard enough, you could hear the roar of a mountain panther or black bear. The sights and sounds of life abounded throughout the glen, except in the area immediately surrounding the old cabin.

There, the grass refused to grow. The hardpan was barren of trees. It formed a packed ring around the little house that turned to mud and muck during rainy spells.

The raucous nocturnal chorus of chirping crickets, heard elsewhere in the woods at night, was silent here. No lightning bugs flew near the cabin. The golden flashes of miniature neon lights were absent in the ebony darkness outside its window. 

The air hung heavy and black as a tomb. No songbirds trilled their joyous calls. Silence surrounded the cabin like a tourniquet. The only birds ever seen on the roof were black ravens. Occasionally, a pair would dare to nest in the eaves of the old building.

Honeysuckle vines managed to clamber up the old rock chimney. The wooden shake shingles were ragged, and a few were missing from the sagging roof. The windows still bore the wavy bubbled-glass panes that belonged to the original owners.

The whole place looked forlorn and abandoned. Two empty rocking chairs sat on the porch, along with a rusted coffee can and a dead plant. 

A huge flat rock served as a step. Over the door hung a large bundle of dried leather beans strung together for protection and good luck. They were covered in spider webs and looked as if they'd hung for about as long as the cabin had been standing.

But looks were deceiving. The cabin was not deserted. It only appeared that way.

***

The lone occupant was a little old woman, one of the Ancients.

She had lived her whole life in the protected glen of this mountain spot, chopping her own wood and growing her food in the garden she kept in a short distance from her home. Long summer days were spent storing the harvest for the barren winter months. Surviving kept her occupied. 

She was not lonely. 

The spirits kept her company.