You think: Not every place should deserve the moniker “ghost town”, but this one sure does. You become quiet, you’re treading on someone’s past, you’re stalking some family’s history. Alert.
There’s this one house, a handful of objects poised in perfect harmony against archeology of peeling wallpapers. Two bicycle rims. An iron stove. A tattered suitcase. A frugal spirit lived here, you think.
Up the road, glorious derelict pickups serve as the foundations of an angry temple. It’s all but hollowed out, and all along the perimeter, wrathful admonishments and biblical verse – enough to frighten off any ghosts, and deter the curious.
And up atop a bluff, overlooking Anger, a family dwelling, considerably less pious and a lot more down to earth, you think. Diapers to change, milk for the cupboard. A pair of swallows bats at the window, and empty green glass jugs on the steep – a generous soul lived here.
You’d best move on, you don’t want to overstay your welcome.
Telegraph Creek, Northwest B.C.