H’okay, new post! Sorry for the lag, but there are A LOT of people who are writing books
and have the sudden urge to finish them before the end of next year.
This surge of work has really increased my chances to design more book covers and I’ve gotten a lot of compliments about how much my work has improved this year.
I actually updated my website and added a bunch of book covers that I’ve finished this past year if you’re interested in taking a gander 
Luckily, they were with authors that took what I made and didn’t try to change it into something that looks absolutely horrendous.
In other news, we’ve been good!
A lot has pretty much stayed the same aside from us:
- Deciding what our next car will be (a Scion iQ),
- Working out pretty consistently (I’ve gained five pounds but gone down a pants size! I maxed out at 115 on the bench on Friday!),
- Getting our kitties to like each other (they sleep on the same bed now!)
- And getting taxes done (we’re going to H&R Block tonight because we have absolutely no brains when it comes to taxes and math. No judging!)
So that’s fun. Onto show & Tell!
What I have to share with you today though is a story I wrote and posted to NoSleep a while ago.
It’s a story I recalled from when I was a kid. When we went up to the cabin, I was utterly terrified of the woods at night:
When I was a kid, I would scare easy. I hated ghost stories and “Bloody Mary” kinds of urban legends. I would frequently scare myself by making weird faces at the mirror. It was so bad that whenever I would be standing with my Mum in the checkout lane at the grocery store, looking at the tabloid magazines, even the slightest mention about cryptids or aliens would send me into a mini panic attack.
My family has owned a small cabin on a lake in northern Minnesota since before my siblings and I were born. This cabin is pretty much as rustic as it gets; constructed out of old logs, with an old fireplace, an outhouse, and a tilted foundation. With the cabin being about ninety-five years old, we’re pretty lucky to have running water and a working toilet now.
Every summer, my parents would load us all up in the car and trek for a good five hours to get up there for a week or so, and then return back to the cities almost every other week if my Dad was on call for his job. Before the trip, we’d round up little games and coloring books to keep us occupied. Depending on whether our Mum would be joining us for the trip up, my Dad would allow us to pick up something that would otherwise not have been approved upon by our very religious mother, such as Mad Magazine, ridiculous tabloids and, best of all, big league chew (yes we weren’t allowed to get big league chew because of the subliminal connotations.)
On such an occasion as this, my younger brother picked up a National Enquirer that had, as it happened, the “Batboy” blown up to maximum size on the front cover. I had to reassure my eleven-year-old mind that I was much too old to be freaked out by a fake newspaper.
The trip went as usual, boring and long until we finally arrived at our cabin shortly after sunset. We parked, brought our things into the cabin and lit a fire in the old, dusty hearth, which was customary of the first night up there.
We played a few card games, and after a while, went to bed.
The cabin was situated in the woods betwixt two super-mansion cabins that were relatively close by. But when the sun set, and you looked out into the pitch blackness of the night, you couldn’t feel more alone and isolated.
Around two o’clock in the morning I woke up and had to use the bathroom. To this day I still dread windows and mirrors at night. If I have the misfortune to go past one in my late night treks, I would panic and tell myself not to think about Bloody Mary or of a serial killed watching me from outside. That night, my trip to the bathroom was also made all the more creepy by the fact that I had been poring over the “Batboy” issue that we had picked up earlier.
As I got out of the bed, I squinted my eyes and thought about The Little Mermaid or something to distract me as I padded into the bathroom, and locked the door. The bathroom was relatively as run-down as the rest of the cabin with a small window that faced the backside of the cabin. In front of the window, was the trunk of large tree. We usually kept Christmas lights around that window to act as a form of night light. I finished up in there, and, as I tried to keep my eyes forward, my tired gaze locked onto that window. In the cheery Christmas-light-framed window, the blackness was broken by what I could only describe as a pair of thin, pale and very long fingers, pressed against the glass, tapping at the surface. I didn’t take my eyes away from whatever was at the window. I was terrified, but also confused and unable to register what I was seeing. It was a good ten seconds before the “hands” moved from their splayed position against the window. When they moved, I panicked, and wrenched the bathroom door open, my heart pounding in my chest. I quickly jumped into my bed, and curled into a ball under my sleeping blanket, shaking, having literally no idea what I had seen at the window. I had fallen asleep, and about two hours later, I awoke to the misty grey dawn creeping in the windows, unable to think about anything other than what I had seen.
To this day, I honestly have no idea what was at the window. When I return to our cabin, which has remained completely unchanged since then, I look at the window and wonder.
Happy Spring!
Mary
