My aunt Anna told me a story once. Said it was something her uncle told her when she was a kid. Said he got in trouble... real trouble.. and ran off into the woods to hide.

He went deeper than he’d ever gone before.

Said he found an old house way back in the trees. Didn’t remember ever seeing it before. There was a woman on the porch. Crying.

She looked like part of the house.
Like moss had started to grow on her face and nobody told her to wipe it off.

He asked if she was okay.
She said she wasn't. 
Said she was crying because she got slapped by her momma.  

He asked why.
She said because she sassed her grandma. 

Didn’t make sense at the time.
Still doesn’t.
But that’s how the story starts.

Anna could see spirits.
She saw things all the time in my childhood home.
Once she saw a ghost girl chasing my little brother Josh down the hallway.
Freaked her out so bad she got up and left.
Didn’t even say goodbye.

I saw something once too.
A little girl standing in my sister’s room.
I walked back and the room was empty.
I didn’t tell anyone.

Not until years later, when a neighbor described the same girl, standing in the same spot.

Anna told me that story about her uncle while folding towels.
Didn’t blink.
Just kept folding like she was telling me what time dinner was.
She told it a few more times before she died.

I used to think Anna would outlive us all.
She was tough.
Sometimes I thought she was the moss house.
I think about her sometimes when the house is quiet.
And I wonder if she’s still out there somewhere,
just waiting for someone to find her in the woods... just waiting to tell more stories.