Looking at the shadow of its chimney I remembered the cabin full of mosquitoes. Mr. McGregor told me they couldn’t get into the bedroom. There was a shower, a woodstove, and a bed. I would only be there a few weeks. Given the bear warnings it would be better than my tent.
Incidentally, there was also a ghost that rattled stuff, but so did the wind.
When I left I told Mr. McGregor about the ghost. He apologized. Normally he wouldn’t have rented the cabin, but I seemed like the kind of guy who wouldn’t mind Megan. I didn’t.
Linked to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers.
Poetry, Short Prose and Walking 