The Ghost of Birch River Cabin
John T. Gaffield
Copyright 2011 John T. Gaffield
Fifth Edition – November, 2011
###
As he struggled to breathe, Jimmy regretted using the cabin so close to the river. The side of his face was pressed against the peak of the roof. It was an attempt to find the last bit of air above the water line that was quickly rising. He had found this place and thought it was the perfect spot for his fall deer hunt. He had actually seen a few deer running across the private drive as he was walking through the heavy rain to the cabin from the road. The deer ran out of sight too quickly for him to retrieve his gun from his pack, however. He had hiked to the spot from his small one room apartment in the small nearby town of Harsonville. The water filled in the last air gap above him. With his lungs filled with the last available breath, he started pounding his fists against the roof with the faint hope that someone would hear him. He knew it would be very unlikely. There were no other dwellings within at least half a mile in either direction along the river.
Paul pulled up to the entrance of the cabin drive, which was blocked by a chain between two posts. Trees along the two-lane dirt roadway blocked anyone from going around the chain. With his car still running and the windshield wipers pulsing back and forth, he stopped the car and reached into the glove box to remove a pair of pliers. Paul got out of his sedan, flipped up the hood on his fall jacket, and closed the door. As his uncle Bart had instructed, he detached the chain by using the pliers, since Bart had misplaced the key long ago. He dropped the chain and the eyebolt near the other post, and quickly made his way back to the car to get out of the rain.
Paul re-entered the driver's seat of his car. As he looked at his feet, he realized he just got wet mud on the carpeted floor mat from his hiking boots he was wearing. "Damn," he said aloud as he shook his head. He then shut the door. He thought to himself that he should not have bothered to have the car cleaned the past Wednesday. After returning the pliers to the glove box, he proceeded to drive past the two steel posts. Slowly continuing down the road to the cabin, he turned on the headlights, realizing the cloudy skies, the heavy forest, and the approaching darkness were obscuring his ability to see. His car was jostled from side to side as it splashed through the large puddle filled ruts in the drive. The road to the cabin wound down the hill in a switchback pattern. After several turns, and a good drop in height, he could see the cabin below him as the drive ended at point above the cabin. The river could be seen through the trees behind the cabin. He breathed a sigh of relief knowing that he was able to find the place and that he would be able to relax soon.
He stopped his car at the relatively small parking area set just above the roofline of the cabin. He picked up his cell phone from the center console and pressed a button to check the signal. A message appeared stating “Signal Lost.” He turned the phone off, and left it in the center console. He placed his keys inside the glove box and got out of the car.
He headed down the wooden stairway, through the rain, toward the cabin porch. A bright flash of lightning flashed overhead, and was quickly followed by a loud clap of thunder. Once on the porch and out of the rain, he removed his hood. He approached the window on his right. Remembering that Bart had told him that the key was on top of the window frame, he ran his fingers along the top of the window. Bart did not want the key to be too hard to find. Occasionally, unknown hunters would take up temporary residence in the cabin, and he did not want them breaking the door or a window to get into the cabin. He located the key and walked toward the front door. Before he was able to use the key, he heard a loud thump coming from somewhere inside the house. He paused for a moment. He was puzzled, but with all of the rain and thunder, it did not concern him much. He used the key to open the door.
Pushing the doorway inward, it creaked as it slowly swung into the main room of the cabin. A damp musty smell hit him as he moved into the main room. This caused a slight twitch his nose. He continued into the main room. After remembering the cabin had no electricity, he looked around the room with the remaining daylight filtering through the two front windows and the window in the front door overlooking the river. He saw a propane lantern on a picnic table to his right. Paul walked to the table, and he figured he had enough light to get it working.
After examining the lantern for a moment, he could see that the mantle was still intact, and as long as there was gas in the cylinder. He should be set. Near the lantern, he saw an old red Christmas tin with an image of a snowman on the lid. Then it dawned on him to open it. Sure enough, there were kitchen matches inside which were dry enough to light the lantern. He removed one match from the box and struck it on the box. The match ignited and cast a yellow light into the room. While holding the match, he began to twist the knob on the lantern. The propane hissed into the cylindrical glass chamber of the lantern through the mantle. He brought the match closer to the holes below the glass. Once the match was passed through one of the holes, a flash burst from inside the glass. Paul was slightly startled, as he usually was with not knowing when the gas would ignite. He then brought the match close to his lips and blew out the flame. The lamp was adjusted until the light was at its brightest.
With the spent match still in his hand, Paul looked around the small cabin again. As Paul moved his head from left to right, he looked closer at the inside of cabin. Being his first time, he wanted to check things out. It was basically a single room, with varnished yellow pine boards covering the walls. There was a picnic table to his left and a small kitchenette a few feet beyond the table. The kitchenette had just a few basic items such a deep sink with water fed from the well, a small cabinet with a counter on top and a cooler, since there was no electricity for a refrigerator, and a small propane cook stove. A few pots and pans hung from the wall above the cabinet, and various cups and dishes were set on the counter. The front windows overlooked the river, which was just beyond the front porch. A small number of different types of old chairs, and one old couch were set in front of the windows.
To his right was a steel frame bunk bed with the two levels having uncovered well faded and worn white with blue stripe single mattresses with blankets and sheets on top. There were two more mattresses leaning against the wall to his right. Further back to his right near the back corner was a stone fireplace with a simple wooden mantel above it. On the mantel was a rusted hunting rifle.
Paul remembered Bart mentioning that the rifle was found in the cabin one summer. Bart had suspected that a hunter had left it in the cabin for some reason, and it had been on display ever since. The dark brown painted plywood ceiling was above him. Most of the plywood panels were warped and drooping downward. Bart had said this was from a brief flood that happened in the fall of 1971. There wasn't too much structural damage from it, since the cabin did not see the water for too long, and Bart said that luckily no one was visiting the cabin when it happened. Above the bunk bed, there was a framed square panel in the ceiling for access to the attic.
He continued to look around, noticing some of the clutter left by previous visitors. Some forgotten clothes scattered on the floor near the walls, such as worn out t-shirts, and single socks without a match, and other assorted odds and ends scattered about the cabin. He decided to go to the front porch to check out the Birch River.
First he placed the match on the picnic table to his left. He then walked to the front door centered in the front of the house. The front door had a window in it. Paul began to pull the door inward. It was very stiff, likely due to the door swelling in the frame, but he was able to get it open. The sound of the loud rainstorm increased as the door no longer muffled the sound. He pushed the metal screen door open
and stepped out onto the wood plank covered front porch.
He walked to the railing at the edge of the porch. Some stray raindrops began striking his face. He looked down at the river. The river’s edge was within a foot of the porch. To him, it seemed close to the cabin, but this being his first time, it likely was normal. He lifted his gaze across the river. The far bank was roughly forty feet away, and some of the yellow and orange fall leaves, mostly still attached to branches, were touching the moderately fast flowing water. Paul smiled knowing that this would be a nice place to fly fish in the morning. He decided to return to