"My dad, a Freemason, had offered our woods as a location for rituals. My dog at the time, a black Labrador, was allowed to roam free. My parents often cooked over an open fire in a cauldron, either preparing food or chemical treatments for my father’s craftsmanship. Our log cabin we constructed out of pieces of old 18th century local buildings and is filled with oddities @. The hooded figures had been my birthday party, wandering the cemetery with lanterns ‘cause there was nowhere else to go.
“It’s not haunted,” I assured her. “That’s all just my family doing normal stuff."
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