I was raised in the quiet expanse of the Northwoods of Wisconsin, within the unincorporated bounds of a small town called Dancy. The community still holds tightly to its history, where an aging train depot, a schoolhouse, a general store, and a saloon stand as reminders of the late 1880s.

    Dancy sits along the edge of the George W. Mead State Wildlife Area, a vast stretch of wetlands and forest resting on a foundation of granite and quartz. Beneath the surface lie lakes and hidden rivers, weaving quietly through the land and giving the area an almost otherworldly presence.

    Spanning more than 33,000 acres, the George W. Mead State Wildlife Area is home to remarkable natural diversity. More than 270 species of birds have been cataloged there, along with countless mammals, reptiles, amphibians, and insects. Growing up nearby meant that more than eighty miles of trails and wild terrain became my playground. It was there that I developed a deep respect for the beauty and power of the natural world.

    But beneath the peaceful landscape, stories linger.

    Some of those stories happened inside my own home.

    Local lore warns people to leave the woods before twilight. Around Dancy, a phrase repeated with quiet seriousness is “foggy in the boggy.” It serves as both a warning and a reminder — that the wetlands can hold more than wildlife once the light begins to fade.

    The surrounding region carries a long and complicated history tied closely to the land itself. Conflicts over natural resources shaped the development of nearby areas including Lake DuBay, Knowlton, Eau Pleine, George W. Mead, and Rozellville. At the same time, these wetlands have long served as an important migration stop for birds, especially owls — silent watchers of the night that seem perfectly at home among the mysteries of these woods.

    Beyond the forests, Lake DuBay formed the backdrop to much of my childhood. Its wide waters and hydroelectric dam became the setting for countless memories of family gatherings, friendships, and the earliest stirrings of young love at DuBay Park.

    Traveling along Highway E reveals another side of the region — the cranberry marshes of Ocean Spray farms stretching across the landscape beside the powerful presence of the dam. Watching the gates open and the water surge forward is unforgettable, a moment where nature and human engineering meet in dramatic balance.

    Dancy itself sits at a curious crossroads. The land is rich with quartz and granite, the historic railway still runs through town, and an old church stands nearby. Together they create a place that feels quietly charged with history — and perhaps something more.

    The Victorian home where I grew up, known locally as the old Blacksmith Shop, has stood for generations. Its structure seems almost immune to time, anchored firmly in place as the world around it changes.

    What made the house unusual was not that I experienced strange things there — it was that so many other people did too.

    Over the years, something unusual became clear about that house and the land surrounding it.

    I was not the only one who experienced things there.

    It did not stop with our family. Over the years, friends who spent time at the house experienced things they could not explain. For many of them, our home in Dancy became the place where their first paranormal experience occurred.

    Many of the people who experienced these things are still alive today, and their memories remain consistent with my own.

    My mother was well aware that something unusual surrounded the house. She often encouraged me to tell the story fully in Stories of Mirrors, to lay out the experiences exactly as they happened.

    And the house itself was far from ordinary.

    Inside its walls my father operated an indoor cannabis grow, long before such things were openly discussed. The plants filled portions of the house with intense life, warmth, light, and moisture — another unusual layer to an environment already surrounded by wetlands, quartz-rich earth, and the quiet movement of hidden waters beneath the land.

    Some believe the property sits at the intersection of unseen forces.

    Whether that is true or not is something I have spent much of my life wondering about.

    Through Stories of Mirrors, I set out to understand the strange experiences tied to this place. Were the events connected to the land itself, the history of the house, or something deeper still?

    If we truly want to understand who we are, we cannot ignore the unexplained. The paranormal may simply be the part of reality we have not yet learned how to measure.

    Or perhaps it was something else entirely.

    Some believe certain places call to the families meant to live there. Sacred spaces sometimes choose their caretakers.

    If that is true, then perhaps the land around Dancy had already chosen us.