But they only grew louder. Now, the thumps that had emanated from downstairs earlier were outside my door, soft sounds that could have been someone bumping into a wall or catching their foot on the stairs. And the creaks became rhythmic, someone walking back and forth or up and down the stairs. They were purposeful sounds, made with intention and not the result of some old pipe or groaning rafter. A footstep, a handclap, a whistle…these were noises I know and recognized.
I kept reading, trying to immerse myself in the book. If I could just get lost on the aisle of Avalon and find myself with Morgaine and Lancelot I could forget what was going on around me, what sensed me and knew I was there.
Ghosts can’t hurt you, ghosts can’t hurt you…I repeated it over and over again, my body growing colder and heart racing with every new thud against my door, every pounding on the stairs.
Maybe they couldn’t hurt you, but they terrified me.
I tossed and turned that night as the sounds outside my room grew increasingly louder and louder. The footsteps continued up and down the staircase until the wee hours of the morning in an almost comical fashion, like someone was having trouble remembering what they’d come for. I was too afraid to open my bedroom door and peer outside. At least my room was bright, safe. Nothing had happened in there. Sleeping in the dark was not an option. I soon found that I couldn’t sleep with my back to the center of the room, either. Although I hadn’t seen or heard anything directly in my bedroom, I couldn’t risk making myself that vulnerable and slept with one eye open. As a result, I got very little sleep and woke up on Sunday feeling cranky and exhausted.
I’d planned on another day of exploring, but it was impossible. Instead, I hung around the farm house and tried to write. The room was starting to feel like a prison to me by afternoon. The four walls offered nothing to new to look at and even though my windows offered a beautiful view of the pond and mountains, everything felt so far away from me. Still nervous about opening the door, I hadn’t even left the room it to go to the bathroom. I finally passed out from exhaustion in the middle of the day with the radio on and got several hours of sleep before waking up at sunset, only to face the night sounds again.
Even I appreciated the irony of the fact that I could explore a place like Danvers yet have trouble with a few creepy noises outside my room. But every day the darkness of the woods surrounding the resort seemed to crush in on me a little harder and the gravel road to the farm house seemed a little longer. If I could just hold out until the other staff members arrived, I’d be fine.
I kept repeating that to myself.
I’d be fine.
David
David wrote me back the next week. Having put my foot in my mouth, I’d asked him the one question that was a sore spot with him–if he was married yet. Apparently, both the wedding and relationship were called off and it was fairly recent. I felt bad for asking, but it had been such a long time since we’d talked I didn’t know there was any trouble there.
Still, it was nice to hear from him. Finally, I had someone to write to. Other than my mother, that is. I’d struck out with making friends of my fellow co-workers. We barely had more than a friendly, casual relationship in the office. Some days they’d pass right by all day and do scarcely more than glance my way. One day I went an entire day without speaking to anyone other than those who called in on the phone–the ones I could get to before Janet jumped in and answered, that is. I’d tried inviting Kory to dinner in town but struck out there. The other women were all married with families and despite my hope that one would invite me over to dinner one night for a home cooked meal, it never happened. No matter what I did, I felt like I was inconveniencing people. If I asked Janet a question, for instance, she’d look up with an exasperated look on her face and bark, “What?” The main manager didn’t interact with me at all and often looked at me as though trying to remember who I was and how I got there. They didn’t need me to work in the office. I was starting to wonder why I was there myself. Ironically, I was starting to feel like a ghost myself, just moving through the rooms, keeping to myself, and trying not to interrupt the things around me.
Writing to David gave me the opportunity to at least prove I still existed. Between him, my mother, and the waitress at the tavern over in Falcon, I had regular communication with people now who knew who I was and expressed interest in what I was doing. The waitress, whose name I’d learned was Grace, was slowly becoming my closest friend–a thought that might have depressed me under normal circumstances but now seemed okay. She was probably a year younger than me and always greeted me with a warm, welcoming smile. On her breaks she’d sometimes slide in across from me at my booth and we’d chat about the town, current movies, and plans for the summer. The restaurant was a busy one, and she always appeared to be the only one working, but she was never too busy to throw a few kind words my way and I lapped them up like a hungry dog.
And then there was David.
There are some people in your life you can go years without talking to and then pick right back up where you left off. We were like that. We’d bonded as children in our weirdness (he ate bugs and talked to himself and pretended a unicorn picked me up every night and took me to a magical land under Lake Michigan) and although as adults we had little in common something just kept us hanging on. Maybe it was nothing more than a shared past, but it was enough.
Now, during the day when Janet didn’t give me anything to do and I was sitting at my desk, bored senseless after cleaning it for the fifteenth time that day, I could write David long emails. At first, he might go a day without answering them. Soon, however, he was responding almost immediately. I think he must have been lonely, too. I described the grounds, the house, what was going on at night, what had happened in Kentucky, how sad and lonely I was feeling, and my excitement about graduate school. He wrote about his job, his breakup, and new recipes he was trying out.
Neither one of us got out much.
I didn’t know much about David-the-man. We hadn’t spoken in a long time and my memories were of him as a little boy, or him as an awkward teenager. In some ways, it was like having a pen pal I’d never met.
On some nights, when it was hard to sleep, if I could get up enough courage to open my bedroom door I’d steal downstairs in the darkness, flip on the low-wattage lamp at my desk, and write him longwinded emails. Even while the noises above me carried on throughout the wee hours of the morning and terrified me to the point where I often wanted to throw my things in the car (forget the blasted refrigerator-I’d find another one) and hightail it out of there, my letters to him were an anchor of sanity. Writing about the weather, a movie I’d just treated myself to, a nightmare I’d had, a song I’d heard and liked…anything to keep my mind off of what was going on around me.
Usually, after work, I’d drive into town and eat dinner. Sue Ellen, my favorite server at the tavern, was always waiting for me, ready to serve me a bowl of chowder or a burger. Her smile was a welcomed sight after spending a day of mind-numbing work with people who hardly said more than a word to me. I was aching to talk to someone and found I sometimes held her back from her duties by spilling out everything that was on my mind. If she minded, she didn’t show it. I didn’t tell her about what was going on in the farm house. Part of me was still trying to explain it away in the hopes that it was simply the sounds an old house made; creaks and groans from settling and wind.
But I knew it wasn’t.
Instead of being a “problem child” for her, I tried to be enthusiastic, bubbly, friendly. Everything that was bottled up inside me just spilled out as soon as I saw her and I couldn’t wait to laugh with someone, talk to them.
Now that I was writing to David, I could talk to him as well. The first phone call was a little awkward since we hadn’t spoken in a long time, but we started with text messages and worked up from there. Soon, I could spend an hour or more on the phone with him and not even realize the time was going by.
“That’s the fi
rst time I’ve laughed in a long time,” he said after the first call. We were recovering from different things, but still mending nonetheless.
Sometimes I’d stop and pull over at a gas station or store on my way back and call David. We didn’t always have things to say to each other that were of any importance, but he was laughing more at my stupid jokes and that was a chance from the morose tone he’d had when I’d first gotten back in touch with him. I laughed a lot, too–the most I did all day. It was fun talking to him. I liked him more and more as a person and not just someone from my childhood. I also liked the fact that he was a piece of me and my history and in a time when I wasn’t real sure who I was or where I was going that was comforting.
He knew about the house, how I felt living there. “I’m spooked and afraid,” I told him frankly. “I can’t sleep. I’m thinking of buying some Tylenol PM or something.”
“Have you tried talking to what’s going on?” he asked. “Seeing if you can help it?”
No, I hadn’t, but my mother had suggested the same thing.
“I’m afraid it might actually answer back,” I joked.
The truth was, the fear in me was starting to become a routine, something I counted on having every night. A very big part of me was now afraid it might be me causing what was going on.
The New Staff
We’re getting some new staff today,” Janet announced with as much excitement as I’d seen her show.
I’d perceived something in the air by the way everyone was running around the downstairs, shuffling papers and cleaning up more than usual. The news lifted my spirits as well, although I felt incredibly tired. What little sleep I was getting I achieved in spurts–a few hours here and there while it was daylight and then a restless tossing and turning at night. The radio helped but if the song became too fast, too loud, or was even something I loved I’d wake up in an instant. I also woke up every time I turned over, snored, or felt any changes in the air currents.
It was getting old.
“How many are coming?” I asked. They’d put me to work filing that morning and I welcomed the chance to do something different. Keeping busy made the day go by much faster.
“Five today,” Tina (I wasn’t sure what she did but I thought she was pretty high up on the totem pole) answered. “And then a few more on Friday. We’re starting to fill up.”
“Are they kitchen workers?” I asked hopefully. I was losing money quickly by the amount I had to eat out. Meals were worked into my salary but since the kitchen wasn’t open yet, I was on my own. Barely earning more than minimum wage, my paycheck didn’t stretch far.
“No,” Janet explained, “these are interns so they’ll be living in the intern cabin down by the pond.”
My heart sank. No food yet. And the intern cabin was pretty far from the farm house–a fifteen minute walk or short car drive. While there would at least be other people on the grounds and I wouldn’t be completely alone anymore, they’d be so far away it would still feel like it. And they’d all be living together which meant they’d probably bond right away. But I was determined not to let that stop me from being friendly and trying to do my best to make a good impression. This was my first real opportunity to make friends and I was going to grab it. (Hopefully, without looking desperate.)
The new staff members rolled in around lunchtime. There were five of them, as promised, and they were all college students studying various things from park management to health sciences and education. From the easy way they talked and joked with one another it appeared they’d known each other before their arrival. “They’ve been getting together all year for retreats and workshops,” Janet explained as we sat down for lunch in the cafeteria. It was my first day of getting to eat onsite. Apparently, from here on out, the kitchen would be open for lunch. That still meant I had dinner on my own but it was something.
“Hi,” I said to everyone, trying to appear cheerful and friendly as I sat down at the long table with them. “I’m glad to have some company here!”
The others introduced themselves and then went back to talking to one another, laughing at some inside joke. Well, I figured, I’d get to know them eventually. There were three girls and two guys. The oldest guy, Trent, was a graduate student. He was tall and lanky with a goatee and scar above his right cheek. Jeff, the shorter and better looking of the two, looked like a west coast surfer with his curly blond hair and tan skin. He looked like he’s just stepped out of a LL Bean catalog with his leather hiking boots, khaki shorts, and flannel shirt. Sherry, a chunky brunette, had a sweet smile and big green eyes. She occasionally caught mine and smiled at me. Julie, a smaller girl with bony arms and legs played with her hair a lot and rolled her eyes whether she was annoyed or found something funny. Then there was Maya, another grad student, from Wisconsin. Maya appeared to be dating Trent. Tall, like him, she was extremely athletic looking and had a loud, booming voice.
I spent the remainder of the lunch period talking to Janet. I apparently had a roommate coming in four weeks. This was news to me, but not necessarily not bad news. Surely I’d be able to sleep then. I was a little surprised that I was only just now learning about a new person and knew I’d have to move some of my stuff around, but I didn’t really care. The more the merrier.
“I hope this isn’t a problem for you,” Janet said, enunciating every word so that they were crisp and tart.
“Oh, no,” I replied with a smile. “I think it will be fun. What will she be doing here?”
“She’ll work in the office with you and help you out. You’ll share your workload.”
It was all I could do to keep from laughing aloud at that. Share my workload? I didn’t do anything! Now I was suspicious, though. Did they know they were going to hire her or were they displeased with me and thought another set of hands was needed? It was true I spent most of my time biding time, but it was because they wouldn’t give me any responsibilities!
At the end of the day I overheard the new staff talking about having a movie night in their cabin. I hoped they’d invite me but they didn’t. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask if I could join but since not one of them even looked my way, much less suggest it, I stayed quiet. Too shy to invite myself over, I simply said goodnight to everyone and watched as they all filed out and went their separate ways. The farm house was, once again, quiet and lonely.
I spent the evening lying in bed, starting on a new book (“The Book of Ruth”) and listening to an Iris Dement CD. The house was unusually quiet that night. Somewhere there on the grounds there were five people hanging out together, laughing and watching some kind of movie. I wanted to be with them. Several times I got up and started to drive over to their cabin but then talked myself out of it. I didn’t want to be pushy. Or appear too desperate.
Still, knowing they were nearby made me feel lighter and I slept better. Nothing bothered me.
The next day, I caught them at lunch talking about a new movie that had just come out. “Why don’t we go over to Portland and watch it?” Julie, rosy cheeked and soft spoken, asked. They were kind of grouped around my desk so I pretended I was part of the conversation, even though they hadn’t included me in the slightest.
“I’d like to see it,” I said. Actually, I had no idea what it was about but I wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to get out with others.
The five of them turned, almost in unison, and gazed down at me. Some of them wore surprised looks on their faces, like they’d forgotten I was there.
“Well, we can’t all fit in Julie’s car,” Jeff countered. “We’d have to take two.”
“I don’t mind driving,” I volunteered. “My car’s pretty big. I could take half.”
So, that evening I found myself chauffeuring around a group of interns as we made a long trek to Portland to watch a movie I really had no desire to see (looking on IMBD had been a bad idea).
Still, once we were there and sitting in the dark auditorium and laughing together at the silly parts I fel
t calm and at ease. I was sort of making friends and while I hadn’t clicked with anyone yet, they all seemed pretty friendly. And at least I was putting myself out there and trying. That had to count for something. Nobody offered to buy my ticket, help me pay for gas, or even say thank you when we got back, but I tried not to let that bother me.
I was exhausted from the drive and knew I’d probably fall asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. As I crawled into bed, though, the sounds started up almost immediately. First came the long, slow footsteps up the stairwell. Then, the shuffling outside my room. I was wide awake now, sitting up in the bed, staring at the door. My lamp cast a soft, warm glow but its light didn’t extend far. Most of the room was bathed in a dark, murky shadow. My breath hitched as I clutched the covers up to my chin and twisted my fingers, popping the knuckles one by one. A night of reprieve had almost made me forget how scared I could get; perhaps the mind could forget fear the way the body could forget pain.
Usually, the noises stopped outside my room. Nothing had actually come inside. But now, as I watched in horror, my doorknob began turning. It was just a slight movement at first, so slight I almost missed it. Initially I thought it was a shadow on the brass knob making it appear to move. But then the creak of the old latch gave it away and I jumped to my feet. I was halfway across the floor when the door inched open about half a foot and stopped.
“Hello?” I said into the quiet room. “Is anyone there?”
There was a stillness that was almost more intense than the noises had been. I couldn’t hear anything but my own breathing and it echoed in my ears, filling my head with the sound a large seashell might make if you put it up against your ear.
A Summer of Fear: A True Haunting in New England Page 4