A stone wall reminded Jim that 150 years ago the dense forest was pastureland for the sheep that fed the mills.
No sooner did he think it than he came upon an old brick mill building, the kind that once dotted the New Hampshire landscape. Funny that it wasn’t on any maps or trail descriptions.
As he approached the air filled with the sound of activity. Curious, Jim forced a door open and entered a large room full of women turning raw wool into cloth. Jim stopped and stood, transfixed.
The trap sprung, the mill faded with its new occupant.
Word count = 100