A Summer of Fear: A True Haunting in New England by Rebecca Patrick-Howard Page B

you about what happened there. About other people in the attic having problems.”
    “She told you not to tell me that, even after I asked her?”
    “Yeah,” Kory sighed. “I’m sorry.” With that, she turned and walked out the door.
    “It’s not true,” Tina declared. “Nobody killed themselves in that other room. Kory’s just telling you that to make up a story, maybe make you feel like you’re not crazy. Nobody else ever had a problem there.” But she didn’t say this very convincingly.
    I stomped over to my desk and sat down to write two emails–one to my mother and one to David. I had a story now; at least the mystery was solved. Maybe now I could start dealing with what was going on.
     

     
    T he sun was setting behind the trees, the sky purple with streaks of red. I could see the pond from my window and shivered at the implications my server had made. What was in there? Was it just an urban legend? My bedroom door was open, inviting. I expected the Czech girls to come visiting soon. The room across the hall was already deep in shadows. A thin pale light ran from my room, down the short hallway, and flooded the doorway. Like a trail of breadcrumbs, it seemed to welcome whatever was in there, possibly lead it right to my door. I didn’t care that night.
    I’d already burned some sage and cleansed my room again. A line of salt was laid across my doorframe; nobody could supposedly enter if they meant me harm. I’d meditated over a necklace I bought in Boston and wore it as a talisman to offer more protection. Now I stood by my door, my hand on my knob, and watched the dark room across from me.
    “Hello?” I called, doing my best to keep my voice steady. “Are you there?”
    Nothing happened.
    “I know what happened to you,” I said. “And I’m sorry. You must have felt sad, empty. Maybe you didn’t know what to do. I’ve felt that way, too. I’m sorry you felt this was the best option for you. And I know this is your home and I’m an intruder here, but you can’t keep scaring me. I don’t know that I can help you. You know the way you felt before you died? I’m starting to feel that way, too. And I don’t want to. You have to give me a break, cut me some slack.”
    The house remained quiet, but the pale light that once reached to the other door now started dissolving. As I watched in dismay, a dark shadow edged over it, creeping inch by inch until most of the line was gone. I could feel eyes on me, someone or something looking not only at me but through me, inside of me. Was there something standing across from me, mere feet away, studying me from their doorway as I tried to study it? The hair on the back of my neck stood up at point and cold chills ran down my arms. My instinct was to slam my door and lock myself inside, but I couldn’t make myself move.
    “It’s not just the noises, I might be able to live with that, but you’re always here, always watching me and messing with me. It makes me nervous. I’m scared. I don’t know how to help you. I don’t know what to do. So I want you to just leave me alone.”
    The last word was no sooner out of my mouth then the door to the empty room slammed shut with a force that made my own door quiver in its frame. The pale line of light reappeared now, unhampered by whatever had made it vanish.
    Moments later, two sets of footsteps came running up the stairs. I could hear Merricka and Sarah panting. “Are you okay?” Merricka called as the neared the top. They were staying in a cabin on the other side of the resort and had already walked nearly half a mile to reach me at the farm house.
    “We heard a loud bang,” Sarah wheezed.
    “It’s just my neighbor,” I pointed to the closed door. “I don’t think he wanted to play.”
    The girls talked me into going out that night, drinking with them at a local bar. I obliged, but I didn’t drink. When I returned home the door to the empty room was open again. Nothing changed. The whispers