A Summer of Fear: A True Haunting in New England

by Patrick-Howard, Rebecca

  “Do you know about bad things happening here? Happening in this house?” Merricka asked. She was on her second smoke.

  “No. I asked Janet about the ghosts and she said nobody else had ever heard or seen anything. The interns said that’s not true. I did ask her if anything bad had happened here and she said no.”

  “It’s fucked up, it’s shit,” Sarah whispered. “How do you go to bed? I can’t sleep. Maybe not tonight.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it,” I muttered.

  The mood became more subdued but at least I felt vindicated somewhat. I wasn’t the only one hearing the sounds. I wasn’t going crazy.

  Vindication

  Despite the safety net I thought the Czech girls would bring, sleep was still hard to come by. The week hit me hard, even though Merricka, Sarah, and I got together every evening and talked. We did each other’s makeup, listened to music, and talked about our future plans. And, we listened to the sounds.

  “I’d go out of my fucking mind,” Merricka seethed as she paced around my room. “Where is this sage? You need more.”

  I gave it to her and she used her lighter to set it ablaze. While Sarah and I went through my summer dresses Merricka waved it around the corners of the room and then through the stairwell, grumbling to herself in Czech. The thick white smoke filled the room and soon the three of us were coughing. I opened a window and tried to push some of it out while Sarah laughed. “Yes, put some outside! The whole fucking grounds need it. Get rid of the ghosts!”

  Sleep evaded me for the next several days. The Tylenol had quit working. Warm chamomile tea and music did nothing to soothe me. I snapped at Kory again when she said something rude to me and even snapped at Janet when she told me I didn’t have enough of a “smile” in my voice when I answered the phone. “I’m sorry,” I’d snapped. “Is there a particular measurement of smile width you’d like for me to follow?”

  Janet and Kory had looked at me, stunned, and then both had turned their backs on me and returned to their work. But I didn’t get criticized about that again.

  All I could think about was sleep. I tried to nap after work but the girls would come and visit and not leave until nightfall. My idea of getting them to spend the night with me so that I didn’t have to sleep in there alone didn’t work. They’d have nothing to do with my bedroom.

  “I’m torn, David,” I moaned into the phone with him. “I’m scared as hell, but I’m also having fun with the girls. I’ve never been more terrified, or had so much fun, in my life I think. I’ve never had girlfriends before.”

  “Deep breaths, meditation. Try centering yourself,” he advised. “I don’t think what’s there can hurt you, just get into your brain. Mind over matter and maybe you can deal with it.”

  Mind over matter, mind over matter, I repeated to myself when I was feeling particularly scared and thought I wanted to scream. People sought the supernatural, looked for them. Living with a ghost couldn’t be so bad. I’d find new ways to sleep, new ways to ignore it. Or maybe I wouldn’t ignore it at all. Maybe I’d learn to be friends with it. That might work, too, right? Like a “Ghost and Mrs. Muir” type thing?

  Part of me hoped I could help the ghost/miserable spirit. It couldn’t find the light or whatever. I’d guide it. Maybe I was there to give it peace. Maybe that’s why I was there. But I didn’t know how I could help it when I could barely help myself.

  On Thursday I had to do inventory so, as a result, I got Friday afternoon off. Although I wanted to do nothing more than drag myself up the stairs and go to bed, I drove into town for lunch. I needed to get out of the farm house and make a store run anyway and it had been several days since I’d talked to my mother.

  I wasn’t feeling my best. I felt run down, fatigued. It was even hard taking a shower due to my lack of energy. I’d taken to wearing my hair in a ponytail and just slipping on jeans and T-shirts, when I’d usually wear dresses or skirts. I wasn’t paying attention to how I looked. Most days I felt as though I was moving through the thick fog that often surrounded the farm house, like I was swimming through molasses. My effort was only put towards finding the energy to get through the day and, more importantly, the nights.

  The night before I’d stepped outside my bedroom door to head downstairs to go to the bathroom and something across the hall had caught my eye in the empty room. It might have just been the way the light was reflecting from my own room, but for a second I was sure I saw the outline of a man standing in the middle of the floor, just looking at me. I’d been so scared I could barely move and then it had simply faded away, just dissipated into thin air. If I’d had a container in my bedroom I might have turned right around and peed in it rather than face leaving the room.

  At the tavern I must have looked as bad as I felt because when my favorite server approached me, she stopped dead in her tracks. “Oh, honey,” she sang. “Are you sick? Are you okay?”

  “That bad, huh?” I laughed weakly. I was so tired I wasn’t even sure I could manage to eat, despite how empty my stomach had to have been. I’d barely eaten in two days.

  “Well, you’ve looked rough before but this is about the worse. What’s going on?” She looked so sincere, so caring, I couldn’t help myself.

  I was tired of pretending everything was okay and even though there were tables full of people around me and the room was a little on the quiet side, I spilled my guts to her. I started with the isolation and then told her about the sounds, my inability to sleep, and then ended with the fact that although things were certainly getting better as far as companionship went I still wasn’t sure it was the job for me. I did not, however, tell her where I was working, what my job was, or even which town it was in.

  During my speech she had stood there, hands on her hips, her eyes sympathetic and trusting. When I finished she sat down in the booth across from me and reached out and took my hands. With solemn eyes she said, “I believe everything you said about the ghosts. I think there’s something in that place you’re living in, I do. You look bad, honey, and it can’t just be in your mind. I’ve seen and heard things, too. I know.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered, grateful someone else believed me. Just getting it all off my chest again helped. I’d talked to the girls in my hostel, the woman in the Salem shop, and even the Czech girls at the resort but somehow talking to this woman was different. She’d seen me from the beginning. In a way, she’d been on this journey with me.

  She smiled. “I just hope you’re not living out on Bethlehem Road because that place is awful. I dated a guy out there once and it’s got bad spirits. Awful ones. Not the good kind that you want around.”

  I looked at her with wide eyes. “That’s exactly where I’m staying.”

  She turned a little pale. “You’re not up at that farm house are you? The resort?”

  “Yes,” I nodded, eager. “Yes! Why?”

  “Oh, God,” she slapped her forehead. “Everyone around here knows about that place. That house is crazy haunted. All kinds of bad stuff. And that pond, too. Have you been to it? Honey, get out of there!”

  “I went to the pond a few times,” I said, a little unfocused. “I tried to walk around. Something didn’t feel right.”

  “Of course it didn’t,” she agreed. “I’ve heard all kinds of stories about it. Things thrown in it, things buried at the bottom…even that it covers up some caves and burial grounds. But the farm house…that’s another story.”

  “What happened there?” I asked excitedly. “Do you know? What is it?” Because I still felt if I could just figure out what “it” was, maybe I could learn to live with it… or make it go away.

  “I don’t know,” she replied a little sadly. “But growing up, we used to even dare each other to walk up to it, go to the grounds when everything was closed. That’s how bad of a reputation it has.”

  “Did you ever see anything there? Can you tell me?”

  She nodded. Once, when I was a teenager, I went up there with my boyfriend. It was M
arch, maybe early April. Everything was closed. They don’t have a caretaker living up there year-round, as you know. We poked around the pond but it was so dark and really foggy. I didn’t like it. I made him leave. Then, as we were walking back to the parking lot I felt like someone was watching me. I kept turning around, looking behind me, but nobody was there. I started walking faster, just pulling him along. We got all the way to the car and I was about to get in when I heard this whisper. Just real soft-like. It called my name. My boyfriend at the time, he heard it too. We looked at each other and looked around us, but nobody was there. Then, I looked up. Up in one of those attic rooms, there was a person. The window was dark, but you could still see him. He was tall, thin, and looking down at us. He raised his hand and pressed it to the glass and looked right at me. Then he disappeared.”

  I shivered, envisioning exactly what she was talking about. “You got out of there, right?”

  “Never went back again. Friends, though, they’ve heard crying, shouting, even singing. At the pond once a ball of light formed over the water and bounced around. Not light a lightening bug, but like fire. It’s just not a good place.”

  I had no idea what to say. I was dumbfounded. Before I could get anymore words out, a middle-aged woman at the next table over spoke up. “Sweetie, I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but I could hear what you were saying. And she’s right. I’ve lived here all my life and I know that place. You shouldn’t be staying there by yourself. And that house? Not good. If you’re like this after a little over a month or two, heavens knows what will happen in four.”

  I suddenly found myself wanting to break down in tears. People believed me. I wasn’t going crazy. The Czech girls had heard the sounds, these strangers were telling me to get out. It was like someone had opened the door for me and given me permission to be afraid and to walk away. I felt as though a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

  When I got back to the farmhouse the first person I encountered was Kory. She wasn’t my first choice but she’s who I had. “Kory,” began without any niceties. “Did something happen in this house a long time ago? Something bad?”

  Kory looked down at her feet, her long blond hair covering her face in sheets. At first, I didn’t think she was going to respond. I continued to stand in front of her, though, my hands on my hips. “It’s haunted, Kory, and not in a fun, Casper kind of way,” I said. “I’ve been living here for more than a month and feel like I’m going out of my damn mind. Between the noises that won’t let me sleep, the shadows, the lights, the sighs…It never stops. Janet said nobody else has ever heard or felt anything here, but I know that’s not true. So be straight with me.”

  “Hey, you don’t have to take that attitude with her,” Tina admonished. She’d stolen into the room, as quiet as a mouse. Now she glared at me with steely eyes. I didn’t care.

  “I’m not trying to be rude,” I said. “But somebody’s going to talk. Do you want to do it?”

  “I think we’re all a little too old to be talking about ghosts,” she scoffed.

  “Okay, fine,” I agreed. “Then it’s not a ghost. But that makes it worse because it means someone has been playing pranks on me. Banging on the doors at night, climbing up and down my stairs, thumping around in the empty attic room after everyone’s left…I don’t see how that is any better.” I was aware that my voice had gone up an octave. I was even feeling a surge of adrenalin. I needed to get myself under control.

  “Okay, it is haunted,” Kory said, jumping in before either Tina or I could say anything else. “And something did happen here.”

  “What?” I demanded.

  “A long time ago. In the attic. A man, a teenager really, killed himself. He hung himself in that empty room,” she said in a rush. “We used to put staff in that room, too, but nobody could sleep in there. That’s why you’re getting a roommate and they’re not putting her in there by herself.”

  “Huh,” I said, feeling a little vindicated. At one point it had felt like a man’s presence. I was a little proud of myself for being right. “And I’m not the only one to hear things, feel things, see stuff?”

  “No,” Kory agreed. “You’re not. Janet told me not to tell 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.

  The 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 and
thuds against my door, if anything, grew louder.

  It doesn’t care that it’s bothering me, I told myself as I pulled my blanket up over my face. I think it likes the fact that it’s driving me insane.

  Changes

  I thought knowing would help me deal with what was going on.

  It didn’t.

  That first night, I turned my music up and was actually able to ignore the sounds. I did okay on the second night, too. When I came out of the shower after work and heard a loud “thump” above me, I ignored it. Singing to myself, I nonchalantly walked up the stairs, paying no mind to the light footsteps that paced back and forth across the hall. I let myself into my room, smiled, and closed the door. Then I collapsed on the bed. But it was progress. I had a good four hour stretch of sleep without waking up and didn’t even flinch when I went to the bathroom in the middle of night, in spite of the loud exhale that filled the stairwell when I started down it.

  A sad man, I told myself. A man who couldn’t deal with whatever was in his heart and found a long-term solution to a short-term problem.

  Above, a crash and moan amplified my thoughts. It was quiet after that.

  But the next day, after work, I had another kind of surprise. As I let myself up the stairs and started towards my door, a nasty surprise met me. I nearly stepped on it but just happened to look down at the last moment and caught myself. The whole house could’ve heard my scream, had anyone else been in it.

  There, neatly placed where I couldn’t possibly miss it, was a mutilated rat. It wasn’t just dead; it had been cut into at least four parts. The blood pooled and ran under my door in thick lines.

  I vomited twice as I cleaned it up. And I swore I could hear the faint tinkling of laughter.