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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
     
    D avid 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