We had moved into our dream cabin, which was perfect for the kids and the dog since it had fresh air, no neighbors, and room for them. That morning, while my husband was unpacking, I was snapping a picture of the porch when our daughter pulled my hand and whispered, “The man in the woods waved again.” It was funny until the dog sprang up and barked at the trees.
Duke didn’t often snarl. Old labs didn’t mind squirrels so much. He stood at the railing and peered into the thick trees. His ears were pulled back, and his fur stood up.
I bent down to see what he was looking at. The trees kept put. The leaves were shaking because of the wind. I thought deer or raccoons had been there. Rosie, on the other hand, held my knee and murmured, “He does it every morning, Mum.”
6 years old. Her imagination was quite busy most days. She still named her stuffed elephant her teacher. I stroked her back and whispered, “There’s no man in the woods, sweetheart.” “Only trees and shadows.”
She didn’t utter a word. Duke sat next to her like a statue while she merely stared at the same area in the trees. The wind might have made me shake.
Malcolm, my spouse, took out a “Kitchen” box for no reason. He said, “Where do you want this?”
I responded, “In the kitchen,” and smiled weakly. Rosie thought she saw someone in the woods.
“Probably a hiker,” he replied. “Remember, we’re close to a trail.”
It was real. A real estate agent stated there were some excellent things about it. For some reason, Rosie’s face made me feel terrible.
Things had settled down by lunchtime. Malcolm was fixing the satellite dish, the kids were playing tag outside, and I was unpacking the dishes. Duke stayed on the porch. He looked at the woods.
I asked Malcolm if we should tell someone what we observed after the kids went to bed.
“What do you mean by report?” Are you saying we should tell someone about a man waving from the woods? Do you know how many people walk by here? If you want to, wave back.
He was right. It made me feel bad in some manner. Rosie didn’t say anything the next morning, but at 7:30, I spotted her waving at the trees from the porch.
I ran away quickly. “Rosie! Come in! It’s cold!”
She stayed still. Keep on waving. I looked where she was looking, but I didn’t see anything. I knelt down. Why are you doing this, darling?
“He waved first,” she remarked. “Every day since we got here.” He grins.
That made me shiver. We had been here for three days. Did she see someone every day?
I carefully led her inside. I didn’t want to worry her, but I didn’t like the idea that she thought a stranger waved at her every day.
I walked the trail by myself that afternoon. Duke followed me, wagging his tail and sniffing the air every now and again. If I told Malcolm, he would just roll his eyes.
Ten minutes into the woods, there was an old thermos hanging on a tree branch. It looked like someone had meant to leave the broken piece there.
People lower down made a rustic wooden bench that was covered with moss. The bench has a worn flannel jacket on it. No one was there. It seemed like everything was being observed.
I informed Malcolm what I had found that night. Shrugging. Maybe a place for aging trekkers to rest. People often discard old hiking gear in the woods.
I wasn’t sure. Not after Rosie started to draw.
The next morning, she slid a piece of paper over toast on the table. He was tall and skinny, and he wore a cap. He waved from the edge of the woods. His face had no eyes, just a mouth.
She cried, “This is him!”
Malcolm lifted an eyebrow. “That’s good.”
Rosie shakes her head. He is nice. He isn’t saying anything. But he does pay attention.
I tried to ignore it, but it kept getting on my nerves. Rosie always drew cats and rainbows. Not people. Definitely not strange, faceless ones.
I couldn’t deny how I felt on the fifth day. I went to the library in the little town to discover whether anyone had talked about the place being haunted. I didn’t believe in ghosts, but I wanted to know why.
I spoke with Edna, who has lived here her whole life. When I informed her where our cabin was, her face altered.
“That would be near Millerswood, right?” She asked.
“I responded, “Just to the east of it.”
She nodded slowly. A long time ago, Samuel Carver lived. He lived alone in the woods. People thought he was weird. He waved at kids who were strolling by. Not much talking. But he was nice. He once saved a little kid from drowning in a brook.
“What’s going on with him?” I questioned.
He died from the cold one winter. I noticed him by the path. He was sitting up straight, like he had fallen asleep. Poor thing.
It made me shiver. Can anyone see him now?
Edna shrugged her shoulders. Some people say their kids do. They think he only waves to people who are sad or need help.
I put Rosie to bed at home. “Why are you waving at the man in the woods, sweetheart?”
She gave me a look that said she was angry. Because he seems lonely. He probably wants to see someone.
I couldn’t sleep that night because I kept thinking about what Edna said. Rosie could have noticed something. It could have been a recollection or an experience instead of a ghost. Kids see things that we can’t.
Rosie and I watched the sun rise from the porch the next morning. She waved, as was expected. A calm Duke was sitting next to us. Followed where she was looking. I saw him first.
A man who was weak in the morning fog near the woods. I felt warmth when he raised his hand, even though I couldn’t see his face.
I wasn’t scared. I was relaxed. I felt like someone was watching us.
Rosie didn’t talk about him again after that. But she waved every day. Duke never roared again.
Months passed. We became acclimated to living in a cabin. While Malcolm was planting a garden, I started painting again. I saw a faded picture under a beam once as I was cleaning the attic. There was a man in a plaid shirt next to a younger Edna.
Brought it to town and showed it to her.
“Oh, that’s Samuel,” she replied as she handled the image carefully. “Long time no see.”
I told her to keep it, but she replied no. “No, dear. Keep it. It seems like he’s keeping an eye on your child.
I put the picture in Rosie’s room that night. She grinned at it.
“That’s him,” she remarked in a quiet voice. “He doesn’t seem as sad.”
I never told anyone. Too holy to touch.
Rosie, who is now a teenager, told me something that made me cry years later when we went back to the city for education and job.
She said, “Mom, I think he was my friend.” I was alone until I discovered how to talk. I stopped being pals with my former friends after I moved. He stood there and made me feel better.
Gave her a big hug. Maybe that’s why he waved.
Sometimes people leave more than simply stories. They leave behind tranquility, memories, and love. Things don’t have to be terrifying all the time. There are a few things. Some people in our lives are nice and patient.
I believe that kids are sometimes more important than adults. This could be why kids see things that adults don’t.
If a child waves at something you can’t see, don’t try to explain it. Maybe someone is waving back at you.