"Do you remember the one about the windmill that used to stand on the hill?" she asked, as the wind blew leaves and fog across the inn's reinforced windows.
"Of course," he replied, glancing at the windows, "although, that one was way before our time."
The wood in the fireplace crackled, startling the two as they sat near it.
"What about the one that used to haunt the slate caves near the fallen trees; you know, the one that chased the cart makers when they were young, and would do so every time that they passed with supplies?" she asked.
"Yes, I heard that one too," he replied, "that was a good one. I remember visiting that turn in the road when we came home from school once."
"It seems that we've heard all of them," he added, "we even heard the ones from before our own time that the elders tell every night here in the inn."
They glanced over at the elders who were sitting further from the fireplace.
The two spoke on about the local wood ghosts, mountain shadows, and wispy apparitions that seemed to plague the townsfolk and passing travelers in the old mountain land.
"Well, you know, that other people used to live here, and that they had their own lives to live. It makes sense that they would love this land so much, that even after they were gone, they wouldn't want to leave." she said, having taken the candle from his hand. "They seem to like to make themselves known to anyone, especially to those who are alone in the wild."
"Yes, I believe it. But, I wouldn't go out after dark if I were you, not even with a candle. It would be too easy for a wispy ghost to blow it out, stand an inch from your face, and say: Boo!"
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