Welcome to Scary Story Podcast.

The closer I got to the truth, the more I wish I had stayed away.

Some mysteries are meant to remain unsolved.

My name is Edwin, and here's a scary story.

There was a photograph at my grandmother's home that always bothered me.

The story was that it had been taken by my grandfather somewhere in the border of Washington

and Canada.

From what I knew, my grandpa was not a photographer, and much less of some expert that could

modify or create anything artistic

out of images. But this image, to anyone else, was just of a scene of a cabin at the edge of what

appear to be a tree line. The trunks of these trees were dry, fog all around them, and a log cabin

with a stack of chopped wood neatly stacked by the

corner. It hung neatly on an empty wall with the light green paint that my grandma had chosen

long ago. Something should refuse to change after my grandpa died. In that room with the picture

on the wall is where I used to sleep whenever I visited my

grandma in the summers, being the only one of my cousins to actually like spending time out there

in the small community where she lived, along with all these other small houses and old neighbors.

Some who were always happy to see a kid riding around in a bike up and down the street.

I would often be the only one there.

I would go with Grandma to the store, always in two trips.

The second one to pick up what she forgot during the first.

It was eerie, I must admit.

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