Ah, Washington… a place where the world never quite dries out, and the ghosts never quite stay put. In the ancient forests of the Olympic Peninsula, the trees lean a little too close, dripping secrets onto the mossy ground. Beneath Seattle’s bustling streets, the abandoned city slumbers — and sometimes, if you listen closely, it stirs. Out in Sedro-Woolley, the ruins of Northern State Hospital crumble into the ferns, yet the laughter and cries of the forgotten still twine through the halls like ivy.
The rain comes, and it stays. It puddles in the graveyards, it hums along the old mining roads swallowed by the mountains, it drips from the stones of Thornewood Castle, where the Gray Lady smiles patiently from windows no living soul dares open. Here, even Mount Rainier broods behind its veil of mist, hiding old tragedies and older things that have never needed a name.
So step lightly, traveler. Washington may seem welcoming — all lush green and silver fog — but oh, it sees you. And when you go home, don’t be surprised if you find a little mist curling at your doorstep… and a soft knock at the door on a night when no one should be out.