Read Online A Summer of Fear: A True Haunting in New England by Rebecca Patrick-Howard - Free Book Online

several hours of talking, laughing, and drinking a few glasses of wine with the girls I began telling them about my summer home and job.
    “I just can’t wait until my roommate gets there,” I finished at last. “I think the being alone is the worst part of all.”
    “Just one question,” a Polish girl from Warsaw asked in impeccable English. “Why are you still there? Why don’t you just leave?”
    The others nodded their heads in agreement.
    “That’s a very good question,” I answered. “And I don’t have a single good reason. Money, mostly. I need it to live on and to take with me for grad school in the fall.”
    “Aren’t you terrified?” a Chinese girl asked with wide eyes. “How do you sleep?”
    “I don’t,” I laughed. “I’ve slept better here than I have in weeks.” And that was the truth.
    “It sounds scary as hell,” Jenny, an American with jet black hair and two nose rings, snorted. “And it doesn’t just sound like a regular ghost, man. This thing, whatever it is, sounds like it KNOWS you. You know what I mean? It communicates with you.”
    “Well, I’ve never talked to it and had it answer back,” I interjected.
    “Doesn’t matter,” she shook her head. “You sing or play that music, it stops. It can hear you. So it’s not just one of those leftover energy shits. This thing has feelings, has a brain. You’d better be careful; it might not be a ghost at all.”
    Telling these strangers about my nights in the farmhouse did make it sound scarier and more terrible. It was as if the distance in miles gave me an emotional distance with more clarity. Suddenly, I felt stupid for continuing to stay.
    “They’re just noises though, right?” I posed this question to Vickie, my roommate, once we were back in our room. “That’s what I keep telling myself. I mean, it’s not like I’m seeing ghosts or a lady in white or anything. Just sounds really.”
    “Maybe,” she said slowly. “But even with ‘just noises’ it’s obviously bothering you. I don’t think any one person can say, ‘That haunting is not so bad.’ It’s how it affects YOU that matters the most. And if you can’t learn to live with them then you don’t need to be there. Honestly, I don’t see why you would stay if you’re not happy anyway. Just the way you describe the job would be enough for me to say my goodbyes and quit.”
    “I don’t like the job,” I admitted. “I feel lonely, sad. Afraid in the house, but sad in the job. Maybe if I enjoyed the job I could deal with what was going on in the house, you know? Like it would even it out a little.”
     

    I was feeling much more like myself on Monday afternoon when I checked out and started back to New Hampshire. With extra time I pulled into Salem and did a little more sightseeing. I was charmed by the town itself, and even with its cheesiness and tourist traps it was a quaint place with easily navigable streets and shops and I enjoyed myself there. There were loads of shops selling crystals, charms, and books on witchcraft and after walking past a few and window shopping I decided to go in one.
    The shop was empty except for the manager, a middle-aged woman in a black shirt and long blue skirt. She had a necklace with a fairy pendant on and sat on a stool behind the desk reading a Sherlock Holmes novel. I approached her cautiously, having taken in all the crystals and herbs, and asked for her help the best I could. I tried not to feel silly. After all, this was a store that sold books like “Reincarnation for Beginners” and crystal balls. Once I was finished explaining my situation, she laid down her book and took a long look at me, her eyes searching.
    “Let me ask you something,” she said at last.
    “Yes?”
    “Have you seen or heard anything in your room?”
    “Well,” I replied, “I hear most things in my room, but sometimes I’m downstairs. And the shadow on the landing was right outside my door.”
    “No,” she shook her head,