Grandpa's Ghost Story

"Ready Cathy?" I asked my granddaughter.  She shook her head yes.  A few quick steps, pushing the back of her sled, and she was flying through the snow.

"Here comes Bill," I shouted, launching my grandson.

We were at Wickham Park, 250 acres of woods, fields, ponds and gardens, between Manchester and East Hartford.  There's a view to the West, across a large open slope, to the city of Hartford.  The slope is popular for sledding when it's covered by a Winter snow, as it was on this day.

After a half dozen runs, we went to the log cabin for hot chocolate.

"This cabin is great to stop and get some hot chocolate.  It wasn't always so cozy," I said as we settled down to enjoy getting warmed up.

"What do you mean Grandpa?" asked Cathy.

"Well, do you really want to hear a ghost story?" I asked.

"Yes, yes," they both responded.

"My brother and I grew up a mile from here before it became a park.  The estate and buildings were deteriorating, no one having lived here for some time.  We had great adventures exploring it all."

"This cabin is new, built after the original burned.  My brother and I were exploring the old cabin late one day."

"What's that noise?" my brother asked.  "I think this place is haunted."

"The ghosts could be hiding anywhere," I said.  "Quick, shine the light over there."  Something was sneaking a look at us.

"A mask," my brother hollered.  "Not a ghost, but a robber."

"Well, that ghostly robber made a break for the door, running right past us.  Raccoons can move faster then you'd think possible," I said, laughing at the end of the story.

"How big was it?" asked Bill.

"Really, really, huge," I answered.

Everyone laughed.