So here's more about my great grandmother. Or maybe it's about my family, and the strange energy that surrounds us.

I told you about rebel hill, in Smyrna Mills, Maine. But I didnt tell you all of it. Rebel Hill is a road in a lonely town. My mothers side of the family has roots there dating all the way back to my great grandmother. I have a great uncle who still lives up there, and second cousins, and second aunts and so on and so forth. Smyrna Mills is a logging town, which means if youre husband wasnt cutting down trees you didnt have much. Theres a general store, a "high school" (which is the only school, and teaches all grades) and a small diner. thats pretty much it. there used to be a liquor store, but back in the forties the Pentecostals burnt it down. The pentecostals would also burn down your house if you had a television antennna, claiming it was "the devils pitchfork." The town itself is eerie, but something about rebel hill doesnt sit right.

Rebel hill itself is beautiful, theres a little creek on the side of the road, tiny strange houses, and a cute little stone bridge. on the right, the creek side, probably about 500 feet up the road, sits my great gransparents old cottage. about 200 more feet down the road, and you have my great uncle carl's house on the left. Surrounding carls house, is a beautiful field. in the distance of the field, there's a house shaped and colored like a pumpkin. the pumpkin house is supposedly owned by someone who is from my hometown, Torrington, Connecticut, and is said to have massive pot fields hidden amongst the wheat and thistles.

Effie and Hazen's (my great grandarents) cottage was small. It was probably the size of a studio apartment you could rent in Chicago for 500 a month, without the usually amenities, like running water or a toilet. You could reach the oven while you were sitting at the table, and you would have to fight off bears to get to the outhouse. Even still, they would have huge gatherings at the house. Even having my mothers whole immediate family come over was an ordeal. Five kids and my grandparents, easily filled the house.

One summer afternoon, the women prepared a huge meal, and everyone was getting ready to eat. Setting the table, kids washing up. There wasn't a cloud in the sky.

The food was on the table and everyone was sitting down to eat. Suddenly, there was a loud crack. My grandfather told everyone to get under the table, thinking there was some sort of air strike. glass shattered, there were flashes of light. Massive chaos enveloped the tiny cottage.

When everyone caught there breath, it came clear what had happened. The cottage was struck by lightning. Everything that was glass in the place was broken, not to mention there meal ruined. The family went out side, to see what happened, and were joined by neighbors who heard the crack. Still there wasnt a cloud in the sky, and twilight was setting in. They saw that the telephone pole had a burn mark in it, as well as the cast iron sink, which lead into the kitchen from the outside of the house. They think that lightning hit the pole, traveled to the sink, and then traveled inside of the house, hitting the light fixture above the table. it was a scary event, but they had to clean up the mess.

My mother remembers this clearly. they were all picking glass out of the furniture, the chairs, everything. there was a seat my great grandmother used to sit in, and my mom was picking at a seemingly small piece of glass in the chair. it turned out to be a huge shard that if someone was sitting in the chair, would have impaled them straight through the heart. They continued to clean, and thats when my mom noticed her hand started to feel funny.

My mother describes her hand to look like five sausages. Her right hand was swollen and red. What happened was when the lightning struck, hit the pole, the sink, and traveled into the house and hit the light over the table, a small bolt must have traveled to the fork in my mothers hand. She was wearing a small ring on her finger, which at this point was cutting into her skin due to her enlarged fingers. she was rushed to the hospital, where they cut the ring off her finger.

The cottage still stands. Probably when i was 12, was the first time i saw it since my great grandmother was alive, which was when i was a baby. My mom didn't want to get out of the car. it was hard to look at. Like you were locking eyes with some hostile bum on the street. Recently, my second cousins renovated the house. Neighbors and people who spent a lot of time there, say it was a huge mistake. They say it should just be bulldozed, they say its evil. Tainted ground.

There are many more stories about rebel hill, but i like to tell this one first, due to its severity. I mean, my mom got struck by lightning there. That just cant be normal.