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

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 felt 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.
    Trembling, and with my blood running an icy river through me, I took another cautious step forward, my hand outstretched to slam the door closed just as soon as I had the gumption. I didn’t know whether to take my chance and run out the door and down the stairs or pull the shelf in front of it and barricade myself in.
    With a deliberateness that nearly made my heart stop, the door suddenly slammed shut, causing me to jump back at least a foot and trip on my pink shag rug and land on the floor.
    I waited for an instant to see if anything else would happen and when it didn’t I began walking towards the door again, this time determined to close it as hard as I could and set something heavy in front of it. Maybe it was one of the interns, thinking it would be funny to play a trick on me? Or someone had come in downstairs and caused a draft to blow up and open it? I didn’t think so, but I hoped it was true.
    Now, just a few feet from the door, I watched again in horror as the knob turned with ease and the door once again inched open almost half a foot before slamming shut with a firmness that made a few of the pictures I’d taped to the walls flutter to the floor.
    Tears sprung to my eyes and I moaned a little then. The idea of