...and the First Stony Point Night

While there are several ghost stories floating around about the Gilmor Sloan House, I had heard none of them as I mounted the steps to enter and spend my first night here. My daughter and I had joked about ghosts when we learned that I would be alone after my first gathering on this inaugural eve in the 18-room mansion. Actually, the house conjured images of Peter Pan more than Charles Adams. I was quite charmed by the house and being alone in it did not unsettle me.

My room is delightful. It is spacious, with a round, glass-top and skirted table and four chairs. They sit in front of bay type windows that are decorated with drapey valances at the top that match the peacock and floral print wallpaper. The colors are lusciously period: muted antique gold, cream, mauve and a deeper burgundy. The furniture, though mismatched, is also period or roughly so. There is a vanity with a mirror in a tall, carved frame, a dresser that reminds me of my grandfather's and a non-descript desk that appears to be made of the same dark-stained cherry wood. There is a high wing-back chair, suitably upholstered in colors that mirror the rest of the room. In it's own arched nook of the room, there is a large king-sized bed where I planned to sprawl expansively. I looked at it and felt the days exhaustion begin to creep into my bones.

I must unpack the rest of my things before I sleep. I was anxious to clear away the clutter that my boxes and suitcases had made. I wanted the aesthetic pleasure of crawling into my big bed in a room that had been perfectly tidied. I wanted to sit in the dimly lit space and breathe in contentment, satisfaction and peace. I could hardly wait!

It was already late, nearly eleven, and I had only a few more odds and ends that needed to be assigned placement. I had nearly completed the final tasks when I heard a noise that I thought sounded like it was coming from overhead. I froze and strained to listen. Nothing more. I reasoned that it must have been coming from outside. My hearing on my right side is poor. Since the extraction of the large meningioma brain tumor that had sent a tentacle snaking into my auditory canal, I can no longer tell where a sound is coming from. I resumed working, but soon I heard another sound...a sort of rustling noise. Was it a branch scraping the side of the house? The air was still. I saw no tree branches nodding in the wind. Once again I stood perfectly still to listen. This time I heard another noise followed shortly by a series of unapologetic footsteps. My heart began to pound and my breathing quickened. I didn't know what to do. I knew no one at the Center. There was nobody to call. I thought of the Directors, Kitty and Rick, but I knew they must have gone to bed. I haven't seen them since the Luke 6 meeting at their home and knew that Kitty was sick, trying to recover from sore throat and swollen glands. Their's was the only phone number I could access and the only names I could think of at that dark hour, but I dared not call them.

Then, with a burst of moxie, I pounced on my door and opened it into the hallway calling out in my gruffest, meanest voice,"HELLO?! "WHO'S THERE???" I heard shuffling feet move toward the top of the third floor stairway and stop. From my door, I could not see the now quiet feet at the top. I took a breath and moved boldly to the bottom of the stairs and looked up. There, looking meekly down at me was a timid-looking lady, somewhat younger than myself. "Ohhhhh" I said, with embarrassment. "I am the new host at the Gilmor Sloan House. It is my job to welcome guests!" She stared at me without comment. We just stood looking at one another. I had obviously scared her as much as she had frightened me. I stammered out an apology, explaining that this was my first night at Stony Point and that I had been told I would be alone in the house. A smile broke out on her face and her tense shoulders relaxed. "If I had been you," she said, "I think I would have been running out the back door!" We both had a good laugh, said good night and retired to our respective rooms.

Now I was really tired! The bed seemed to pull at me like a magnet. Hastily I brushed my teeth and surrendered myself to impending collapse. I tossed the large shammed pillows on a chair, pulled down the covers, folded back the sheets, preparing to sink into bed when I noticed stands of grey and black hairs all over the pillows. I threw open the bedding to reveal the full expanse of sheeting. The bedding was crumpled. There were the tell-tale signs that "some one's been sleeping in my bed!" Groaning, I rummaged around and found clean sheets in the bottom dresser drawer. So at midnight, the new volunteer recruit from Oakland, California changed her sheets and finally, exhausted went to bed. In the few seconds before sleep fully enveloped me, I took a quick inventory of my place in the universe at this moment of time. There were no sounds of exploding bombs or the whistle of missiles overhead, no bullets whizzing by. I was not swatting at life-threatening mosquitoes in sweltering nighttime heat. I did not feel a gnawing and relentless hollow in my belly or parching dryness in my throat. I did not hear my children crying in their sleep or wonder how I would feed them in the morning. So in gratitude for the blessings of this day, I said my thank you to God and slipped into slumber.

Tomorrow would be another good day.