A year ago, Maine’s Senator Susan Collins committed political suicide live in front of the nation.
It’s safe to say that wasn’t her intention. But hers was the last, and deciding, swing vote in the Brett Kavanaugh confirmation hearings, and that’s what everyone remembers. Most of the Senate made their decisions early, whether along party lines or for other causes — not the least of which being to avoid the limelight; there’s no way to win votes on something like this. (Heck, even I recused myself.) But Collins didn’t rush. (more…)
Today is Election Day again, the “Tuesday next after the first Monday in the month of November”. Time to make your voices heard, my friends.
It’s an off year; in many states there’s not much to vote on. In fact, according to BallotPedia, today there’s fewer statewide ballot measures offered than in any year since 1947. There are two states with (more…)
She’d started the fire with the flashlight battery and a foil gum wrapper, something she said she’d seen on YouTube. Jake was amazed, but more he was grateful for the yellow light that came, driving away the fog and a chill he hadn’t known he’d felt until now. Carefully they fed birch bark, then twigs and splinters (more…)
It took a little while to explain the joke to Clarice, but when she got it she loved it. It turned out she’d been a Scooby-Doo fanatic as a kid, and being compared to Daphne delighted her. The conversation went on merrily for a time, which was a pleasant change.
It was also in stark contrast to the gloom outside. The night had been dark before, but now with the mist rising it was almost impossible to see past the reflection of the headlights. Jake slowed (more…)
They had just made it back out of the marshy area, and the trees to either side were a bit of a relief. Sue was saying, “Now, it should be around–” when “Look out!” came from the back seat. Jake stomped the brakes. What the hell–? (more…)
The woods is never completely empty. Even when you think you’re alone, you’re not; there’s always something watching. It might even be a predator; there’s coyotes and foxes out there, and every now and then someone spots a lynx. Even if not, there’s the birds and deer, rabbits and squirrels, and a teeming host of insects that you’ll never see — because they stay alive by hiding.
But whatever it is that’s watching, sometimes you can feel the eyes resting on you, tracking, measuring, making plans in which you’re either prospective dinner or diner. The old-timers say sometimes it’s not animals; it’s something called the spirit of the woods, maybe even the trees, old and patient and waiting for you to finally go away and let them grow in peace. But whatever it is, it’s always watching.
It was watching now.
This trip had seemed like a no-brainer in class. Most everyone had chosen to do a research project in the library, either transcribing hours of old reel-to-reel tapes or tracking down someone else’s transcription and trying to find a story in it. Dry and tedious; he was falling asleep just thinking about it.
But this sounded exciting! Ghost hunters at midnight, and never mind that there was no such thing. A bunch of kooks, sure, but they’d be sitting around telling ghost stories in a graveyard of all places. And best of all, he’d only need to write one page! (more…)
Jake sighed, trying to tune out the voice from the back seat, but without any luck. He’d had a thing for Clarice for over a year now, ever since Comp Two, and she was half the reason he took this folklore class to begin with. Tall, slender, pretty, blonde, and he was beginning to realize she had a whine that could etch glass. Which she used far too much; right now she was going on about all the other things she could be doing instead of taking a long ride to nowhere.
When they’d left campus an hour ago, he’d thought – hoped – she’d sit next to (more…)
Note: There really is such a place as Myra, Maine, out off the Stud Mill Road. I’m told it’s more or less where I put it, but I can’t swear to that, because every time I drive out there I go right on by. On Google Maps there’s a few small buildings hidden by the trees, and I know of one staunch fellow that’s building a small farm out there. Ghost hunters do visit the Jackson Cemetery, reputed to be one of the most haunted in the state, but there’s no gate nor even a fence. It’s on private property, so if you feel the urge to visit do be courteous — and very careful.
He hummed quietly to himself as he adjusted the last of the videocameras. They were VHS; the now-antique analog recorders were absolutely (more…)