Nantahala By Karen Badgley There is an old cabin far away from home. A mournful little house, a house full of dreams it seems to have been around forever. It doesn’t fit in with the jade and emerald leaves or with the young brook who babbles. The moss and stones and homemade curtains spin their own tales. The small fireplace and unfinished floors are bards of old legends. Traversing through this place of untold stories my whimsical imagination flies away with me. Races through these haunted halls, filled with the ghosts and spirits of those who loved and lost. The long dead tears and laughter echo. But who were these vibrant souls of my own creation? What tale does the disturbingly blood-like stain on the curtain recite? The tiny doors leading into nowhere? The tunnel in the basement that seems an endless void? Was it a crime of passion? Vengeance? Cold blood? an accident? What tragedy so profound left this house unfinished? I know that this is all in my head. That my imagination is probably overactive, yet I can't help but wonder about this little house tucked away at the edge of fairyland. Set amidst the rustle and crackle of the woods. What happened to you, somebody's little house of dreams?
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