Hauntings
The old hotel in the 1800's,(above) and as it stands today,(below).
I took my dogs for a walk this evening. These sub freezing temperatures are so uncomfortable for man and beasts alike. The air was so cold, so hollow that even the slightest sound was crisp and audible. There was no competition to be heard from the usually resounding nearby waterfall as it was thick laid with ice. There is an old inn just at the bottom of my hill. It is from the 1800's and was bustling with patrons back in its day. Now it is silent. Empty. Dark. Weathered, creaking wooden floors and dangling tin ceiling tiles. There are all sorts of critters with squatters rights , nesting in the many vacant rooms and bats aloft both in & round about it. As we walked, one of the dogs began to growl, then bark. Both were staring at the back room of the inn, where the kitchen had once been. In wondering what it could be, I recalled my neighbor had phoned me earlier to say she heard coyote calling out to one another last night on her property. An erie feeling came over me and the thought of werewolves in London. No sooner had this thought entered my brain when one of the dogs hair stood on end, razor backed. I didn't give him time to finish his deep, gnarled growl. I yanked hard on their leashes and scurried up to the corner. Remembering I had my camera in my pocket, I paused and snapped a photo, hoping later it would reveal some clandestine figure that only the dogs could sense. Although no life forms turned out on the photo, it certainly had an unsettling feel abut it. What fun to have had a little *spark* of mystery. Not as fun perhaps, had my 2 furred protectors not been there.
The old hotel in the 1800's,(above) and as it stands today,(below).
I took my dogs for a walk this evening. These sub freezing temperatures are so uncomfortable for man and beasts alike. The air was so cold, so hollow that even the slightest sound was crisp and audible. There was no competition to be heard from the usually resounding nearby waterfall as it was thick laid with ice. There is an old inn just at the bottom of my hill. It is from the 1800's and was bustling with patrons back in its day. Now it is silent. Empty. Dark. Weathered, creaking wooden floors and dangling tin ceiling tiles. There are all sorts of critters with squatters rights , nesting in the many vacant rooms and bats aloft both in & round about it. As we walked, one of the dogs began to growl, then bark. Both were staring at the back room of the inn, where the kitchen had once been. In wondering what it could be, I recalled my neighbor had phoned me earlier to say she heard coyote calling out to one another last night on her property. An erie feeling came over me and the thought of werewolves in London. No sooner had this thought entered my brain when one of the dogs hair stood on end, razor backed. I didn't give him time to finish his deep, gnarled growl. I yanked hard on their leashes and scurried up to the corner. Remembering I had my camera in my pocket, I paused and snapped a photo, hoping later it would reveal some clandestine figure that only the dogs could sense. Although no life forms turned out on the photo, it certainly had an unsettling feel abut it. What fun to have had a little *spark* of mystery. Not as fun perhaps, had my 2 furred protectors not been there.
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