"Mr. Ambrose, I'm sorry, but Mr. Simmons is on the phone again and insists on talking to you." Edgar's expression had made it clear to Peggy, that a phone call from a decrepit old caretaker from Maine was not the kind of emergency that warranted his attention when he was in the middle of highly sensitive legal discussions. She'd scurried out of the room, knowing that she was in line for another dressing down from her temperamental boss. The meeting was put on hold and Edgar left the boardroom so that he could put the old man in his place. He had plans to deal with Peggy later.

"Simmons, what the hell do you want?" he'd almost shouted into the phone.

"Mr. Ambrose, you've got to come up here right now!" The elderly man's voice cracked with either age or emotion. Edgar couldn't tell which.

"There is no way I can come up to Charity, Simmons. I am a busy man! I pay you to take care of that damned house! If you can't do it, I'll just get someone else!"

There was a brief silence before Alfred Simmons responded. "I don't think so, Mr. Ambrose. There ain't no one in Charity who'll step foot in that house. I'm the only one and I don't think I care to go there too many more times."

Edgar let out his breath in exasperation. "Okay Simmons, I'll bite. Why don't you want to go to the house anymore?"

"Because that house of yours is pure evil through and through. There's unsettled spirits roamin' through its rooms. Everyone who's lived there's left 'cause of them spirits."

It took Edgar's mind a few moments to process the caretaker's words. His initial response turned quickly from confusion to rage. "Spirits! Do you mean ghosts? Are you trying to tell me that you called me and interrupted my meeting to tell me that my house is haunted? Are you insane?"

Edgar let loose a long, drawn out string of profanity, while the old man waited for a chance to respond. "I sure ain't crazy, Mr. Ambrose. I seen things too. The damn house is as haunted as hell! You need to come on up here and see it for yourself!"

Edgar's temper erupted again, and after chewing Alfred out for several more minutes, Edgar slammed the phone down, realizing that he had no choice but to go to Charity and take care of the situation himself. Edgar was a firm believer in the old adage that if you wanted something done right, you better do it yourself. "Damnit, I should have known better than to think that old idiot could possibly take care of things!" he muttered under his breath.

Now, driving up to Charity, his thoughts drifted back to the lovely Victorian house that looked out on the ocean.

The house in Charity had once been his home. He'd lived there with his wife Mariah and their young daughter Mary, until a tragedy that took both their lives. And now that stupid man he'd hired to watch the house had the audacity to tell him that the house was haunted. He swore under his breath. Haunted! Ridiculous! In the last five years, eight tenants had moved in and then out. The last tenant left almost six months ago. It was probably because the old man was shooting his mouth off about ghosts and scaring everyone away! Edgar had been keeping the property as an investment, but it certainly wasn't making him any money and he was tired of dealing with this imbecile of a caretaker. He was on his way to fire the ignorant old man and sell the house for whatever he was able to get.

Although for the past several years he'd fought hard to block memories of his past life in Charity, without effort his thoughts drifted back to happier days spent with Mariah before she became ill. Her beauty and her laughter filled him like the smell of a sweet perfume, and his eyes filled with unbidden and uncommon tears.

"Stop it!" he said out loud to himself. "I've done all of this I intend to do!"

The reprimand helped, as well as the knowledge that things hadn't always been happy, and Mariah hadn't remained lovely. The realization that towards the end, their lives had been a living hell, pushed away any temptation to romanticize a relationship that had produced nothing but disaster and pain.

He glanced through his side window at a blonde in a red Corvette that was passing on his left. She was obviously giving him the eye. Edgar was handsome and rich and women were no problem. He gave her a bored smile and turned his attention back to the road. Women like her were a dime a dozen. There were several ladies waiting for him in New York that made this gal look like day old pastry. The blonde sensed his disinterest and accelerated past him. She swerved quickly in front of his car in attempt to show her anger. Edgar slowed down, waiting until she was no longer in sight.

Women had always been available to him. When he'd met Mariah, he'd honestly believed that he could settle down with one person. For a couple of years, they were very happy. But then Mary had been born, and Mariah had changed. Instead of the wild and reckless lover he'd married, she became a mother. Edgar had hated his own mother and he grew to hate Mariah and the child that she doted on. He’d begun trying to find reasons to stay late at the office. It hadn’t taken long for the women in Charity to smell blood and move in for the kill.

There had been several women, but one in particular. Joyce Gasper was the real estate agent that had sold him the house in Charity. Slim, with large breasts and honey blonde hair, they'd flirted casually on and off for years. Finally the flirting turned serious and Joyce gave Edgar a chance to see what was under those tight sweaters and short skirts she wore. She had a magnificent body and possessed the unrestrained passion that Mariah had once displayed.

He spent many afternoons and nights with Joyce. She was relentless and satisfied his urges completely. Then things changed. Joyce began to talk about being together forever and begging him to leave Mariah. It wasn't that he was opposed to leaving his wife, it was the fact that he had no interest in committing to Joyce. Why did women always try to rope you into forever, he wondered. Why can't they just have a little fun and go on their way like men do?

He'd reached the point where he'd been considering ways to end their relationship when Mariah and Mary died. This had not only given him a way out of town but also a chance to get away from Joyce. Even Joyce couldn't bring herself to go after a man who'd just lost his family in such a tragic way. Edgar figured that Joyce's own sense of guilt had given him a chance to make a clean break. Thank God for guilt, he thought. And thank God he'd never had any!

Now, he was on his way back to Charity, and unfortunately, to Joyce. Her real estate firm had been the only one in town who would handle the sale of his house. After all the crazy stories Alfred Simmons had spread, he'd be lucky to get even half what the house was worth. Although Edgar told himself that he'd wanted the real estate company to send someone besides Joyce, somewhere in the back of his mind, the idea of a sexual encounter for old times sake played images that gave him some hope that this trip might have at least one pleasurable aspect.

Edgar noticed the road sign that announced the city limits of Charity. He could feel his stomach tighten. Charity was a small town, yet many of Maine's most influential citizens lived within its borders. It was considered 'quaint' by Easterners. However, Edgar Ambrose had moved his family there for the status, not for the charm.

Now, it only represented the horror he'd left behind.

He drove slowly through the middle of town. Everything looked the same. Nothing had changed. Of course nothing ever changed in Charity. The town's ambiance was closely guarded by the city council and even changing the color of the trim on your house could take years to find approval.

Several citizens walked down the brick sidewalks of the town, but Edgar didn't recognize anyone. Feeling chilled, he turned off the air-conditioner in the car and rolled down his window. The cool spring air invaded the car's interior. It brought back a brief memory of Mariah as she danced in her bare feet on the new grass, the first spring they'd lived in Charity. Her coal black hair had billowed behind her and her dark eyes had shone with joy. She had been so beautiful it had taken his breath away. If only she'd stayed that way, he thought. If only we'd never had a child.

Edgar turned south in the middle of town and headed towards the outskirts where his house waited. A cold wind suddenly picked up and swept through the car. "Damn," he said out loud. He'd just turned off the air-conditioner, he hoped he wouldn't have to turn on the heater. He decided to ignore it. He glanced at his watch. Nearly seven o’clock. He was grateful that someone was willing to meet him this late, even if it was Joyce. Now, if he could just get the papers signed and get out of here by eight, he could still make it home tonight, get a little sleep and get up first thing in the morning without losing too much time from work.

Edgar turned on his headlights so that he could clearly see the road that led down to the bay. It was getting dark a little early. A glance at the sky told him that the disappearance of sunlight had more to do with the dark clouds that were moving in than it did the time of day.

The road wrapped itself through the trees that lined the highway until the car approached a clearing. For just a moment, Edgar refused to look at the sight he knew waited for him. He kept his eyes on the road, slowed the car and came to a stop. After taking a deep breath, he glanced up to see his once beautiful home. Although still aesthetically pleasing, it now held memories so dark and painful, that any pleasure he'd ever had in it had been replaced with revulsion.

Edgar could feel the hairs on the back of his neck move as if someone had lightly run their fingers across his skin. Mariah used to stroke him in the same place when they made love. The thought made the chill from the cold night air feel as if it sought to seep inside him, slowing down his ability to breathe and think. "Stop it!" he said out loud. "You’re letting that damn old man get to you! Quit being a fool and get this over with!"

Edgar put the car back into gear and drove down to the front of the house. Another car waited there, a dark blue Cadillac, He parked the BMW and slowly got out. The door of the Caddy opened and a tall blonde woman stepped out. Joyce!

"Hello, Edgar," she said.

She was still beautiful and incredibly sexy. Her skirt clung to her long legs and her breasts strained against the buttons on her silk blouse as they attempted to hold back the bountiful promise of female pulchritude that threatened to burst forth. Edgar felt his body react to her as though it remembered what it felt like to connect itself to her warm and willing flesh and wanted only to join her again in the grip of passion.

He forced himself to look away from her beckoning body. He was determined to speak to her in a tone that displayed only professional interest. He tried hard to disregard the physical effect she was having on him.

"Hello, Joyce. Thanks for meeting me here. I'd like to wrap this up as soon as possible and get home."

She frowned. "Of course. This shouldn't take long." She glanced at the darkening sky. "Let's go inside. I think it's going to storm."

He followed her without comment to the front porch of the house. Her buttocks fought back and forth under her tight skirt and the sight did nothing to cool his awakened desire for her.

Joyce slid the key into the lock and swung open the front door. The house was dark and the smell of stale air swept past him only to be sucked up by a sudden, cold wind that came from nowhere. Reluctantly he stepped inside the place that had haunted his dreams for the past five years. He'd sworn never to return, but here he was nonetheless.

Joyce flipped on a nearby light switch and the room was bathed in muted light from a chandelier that was the sole light fixture left in the large empty living room. Somehow the effect only added to the eeriness of the house as refracted light jumped around the room like small, ghostly fireflies that danced and then disappeared into the dark.

As he glanced around the house, his mind sought to remember it as it had once been - full of light and possibilities. But the plans he and Mariah had made had remained only grand intentions; dreams that had turned into living nightmares. Edgar's nightmares had finally begun to cease, following Mariah and Mary into the abyss of death where none of them would ever have the power to haunt him again - until the phone call from Alfred Simmons. Now the fires of his nightmares were being stoked to life again. Edgar was determined to rid himself of this house, this town and the life he'd once had. Let the dead be damned, he thought desperately. Let them be damned and gone for good!

He realized that Joyce was watching him. "Let's get on with this," he said more brusquely than he meant to.

"Of course." Joyce opened the large manila envelope that she'd carried into the house. "The contracts are all here. All you need to do is sign." Her tone was clipped and harsh. He realized that she was offended by his lack of response to her. He didn't care. All he wanted was to get out of that damned house. He was beginning to feel claustrophobic. It had never occurred to him that he would react this strongly to being back in the house. If he'd known, he never would have come.

Joyce walked over to the window seat in the large bay window that looked out on the ocean. It was the only place to sit since the furniture had all been removed. She sat down and motioned for Edgar to sit beside her. He hesitated for only a moment. He would sit next to the devil if it would get him out of that house a little sooner. His was breathing faster, and panic was wrapping itself around his heart, squeezing out every ounce of courage he possessed.

"Sign here, Edgar." Joyce's voice was chilly, and her body was stiff with indignation. She had expected a warmer reception from Edgar Ambrose. Perhaps even a passionate reunion of two separated lovers. She had accepted his move from Charity after the death of his wife and child, although she'd thought about following him to New York City. However, her pride kept her in the small town, bound to boredom and loneliness. Her life had been relegated to one night stands and unsatisfying trysts with rich married men who wouldn't leave their snobby wives, but were not above meeting her in motels out of town or enjoying her favors down on the beach, hidden in the clefts of the rocks that lined the shore. Joyce had no real desire for any of them. Not the way she'd wanted Edgar. The others had only been fillers while she waited for Edgar to come back and take her away. Her requests for money from the old, panting rich men who viewed her hard, lean body with uncontrollable desire, had always been fulfilled, and Joyce lived very comfortably in Charity. Yet she never forgot Edgar Ambrose. He had been her one chance to snag a rich man who was somewhere near her own age. He was also very attractive. The only thing stopping her had been his damned wife and child. Now that they were out of the way, why shouldn't she have him? she asked herself. As Edgar signed the papers, Joyce decided to go for broke. What have I got to lose? she wondered. "Edgar," she began, her voice cutting through the unnatural stillness. "I've been hoping that you'd return someday."

Edgar kept writing, not willing to get into an argument. "I know, Joyce. I'm sorry. You know, it's just so hard. Coming back here and everything." Edgar handed her the signed contracts. "Nothing personal. Surely you know that."

"No, Edgar. I don't know that at all. You left so suddenly. Couldn't you have called me? Said something? Leaving like that hurt me."

"I'm sorry." Edgar was getting tired of apologizing and was beginning to lose interest in Joyce. He stood up. It was getting late and as the shadows lengthened in the house, Edgar began to feel distinctly uncomfortable. He could swear that the atmosphere itself was changing. "Joyce, I've got to get back to New York. Would you do me a favor?" Joyce was silent so Edgar continued. "Would you please call Alfred and fire him? I don't want him hanging around the house while we're trying to sell it. All I need is more of these damned ghost stories circulating."

Joyce's anger level, already rising, finally exploded. "No, Edgar! I certainly will not fire that crazy old man for you! And please......run back to New York as fast as you can. I sure as hell don't want you to stay another minute in Charity!"

Joyce's outburst drove away any last stirrings of Edgar's desire. "Really, Joyce, you're becoming quite boring. Trust me, you can't possibly want me out of here more than I want out myself!"

Joyce shoved the papers into her briefcase and stood up. "You can go straight to hell, Edgar! I should never have given myself to such a selfish piece of crap like you!"

Edgar laughed. "Believe me dear, 'giving yourself' as you so comically put it, is not exactly a rare occurrence for you. I think you've 'given yourself' to half the county!"

Joyce spun on her high heels and slapped Edgar's face with such force that it rocked him back on his heels. Before he had a chance to react, she headed for the front door, her face a mask of hatred.

As she reached for the door, the wind outside the house shrieked loudly, and the light from the chandelier flickered and then went out, leaving only what was left of the rapidly disappearing daylight outside to illuminate the interior of the house.

Joyce let out a small involuntary scream and grabbed the doorknob, pulling as hard as she could. The knob wouldn't budge.

Frustrated and frightened, she twisted the knob again. Nothing.

Edgar came up behind her and pushed her out of the way. His anger at her slap was replaced by a fear that he couldn't quite understand. He grabbed at the doorknob and tried frantically to open it himself. It was as if the knob was frozen solid. It felt icy to the touch.

"Open the damn door, Edgar!" Joyce voice was pleading. Her anger had also dissipated. It had been replaced by terror.

He swung around and glared at her. "Shut up!" he croaked. "Just shut the hell up!"

As he turned back towards the door, the stairs suddenly creaked behind them. His heart leaped wildly inside his chest, as if it wanted to escape his body. It took all the will he possessed to turn around and face what he somehow knew was standing behind them. The wind outside blew louder, sounding like a warning siren. Its eerie shrieking split through his soul. He stood rooted to the spot, unable to move as Mariah glided down the stairs, the foul and musty stench of death drifting before her like some obscene perfume.

"Stop!" he croaked. He fought to find his voice again. "Stop!" he shouted, this time louder and somehow too real in the unnatural surroundings.

Joyce's face was pale, her mouth open, twisted in a silent, terrorized scream.

Mariah paused in her deadly descent, and looked directly at him. Her eyeless sockets blazed with the hell that he felt would shortly consume him unless he discovered a way to escape it. Through the disfiguring decay that had turned her features into a ghastly caricature of her former perfection, her expression was quizzical.

"Mariah!" The name pushed its way past lips that had gone numb with fear.

The apparition that had once been the epitome of love to him cocked its grotesque head as if listening, but the cavernous holes where eyes should have been told him nothing as to where her attention was actually focused.

Somewhere over the pounding of his own heart, he heard another sound. It was Joyce. She had slumped to the ground and was babbling incoherently.

The thing on the stairs began to move closer to them.

"Mariah," he said again, desperately trying to find a way to protect himself, "please go away. Go away, Mariah!" His mind fought for any words that the apparition who had once been his wife would understand. "You can't stay here. You've got to go on. This isn't a place to stay. You'll never find peace here." He could hear the hysteria in his voice. He fought to keep his tone steady so as not to frighten her into sudden and unwelcome movement.

Her bony fingers reached out slowly, searching the air blindly as if trying to find him. Even though she was still several feet away, he recoiled in horror as he felt the icy tendrils of cold air that played across his face as the ghostly hand moved through the dank, dead air of the old house. "Edgar........" she whispered. "Edgarrrrrr..........". He shuddered at the sound, shocked to hear his name uttered by the unholy thing that stood before him. Beyond his revulsion came a deep despair. The utterance was a shadowy imitation of his Mariah's once throaty and melodic voice.

"Mariah, I command you in the name of all that is holy, to leave this house! There is nothing here for you!" His words cut through the hellish atmosphere, jarring and disruptive. He was certain that the house itself shifted in response to his unwelcome behavior. He heard Joyce's low moan below him.

The specter that had been his lover shrieked. The sound made Edgar's blood turn cold in his veins. Fear threatened to overtake him. "Mariah, leave this place. I will never return. Our child will never return. There is nothing for you here!"

As Mariah moved closer to them, Edgar felt Joyce struggling to her feet. "We've got to get out of here!" she mumbled. "Please, Edgar. Get me out of here!" Joyce grabbed his arm. He felt her fingernails digging into his flesh. Moments before Mariah moved close enough to touch them, Edgar's legs finally found strength. With Joyce hanging on to him, Edgar backed away from the front door, as he watched the thing whose hollow eye sockets followed their movements. He pushed Joyce through the living room and into the kitchen. Grabbing the back door knob, he desperately clawed at it. It wouldn't open!

Edgar suddenly remembered that there was an outside stairway that connected to the balcony from the upstairs master bedroom. The French doors that led to the stairs were glass. If they were locked, he could break out the glass and make it down the stairs. Mariah stood between them and the door. "Stay here until I tell you to run," he whispered to Joyce. His concern was not for Joyce but for himself. If they split up, maybe Mariah would go for Joyce and he could make his getaway.

"Where the hell do I run?" Joyce's voice was tremulous and weak. She was teetering on the edge of shock.

Edgar didn't answer. He didn't care where she ran as long as Mariah's attention was diverted away from him.

As Edgar began slowly moving to Mariah's right, Joyce also remembered the upstairs balcony. She'd certainly been in that bedroom many times when Edgar's wife had been visiting her mother out of town. Her thoughts were running parallel to her ex-lover's, and her concern was also for her own safety. If Edgar could just get Mariah away from the doorway, she'd get upstairs and get out of there as fast as she could. Let Edgar stay here and deal with his beloved ex-wife!

"Mariah!" Edgar shouted. "Why do you haunt this place, Mariah? Why do you wait here? It's been five years! I couldn't believe the stories! What do you want? Why are you here?"

The revolting vision opened what substituted for a mouth. The foul odor of death escaped, choking him.

"I wait for you........," it croaked.

Edgar felt the words run through him, cutting his mind into shreds. "Why, Mariah? Why?"

"I wait for you........" she said again as if repeating it would make the words understandable. "Come home........" she said. " Come home.........Edgarrrrrrrr."

He was unable to answer. His broken mind couldn't respond to something so ludicrous, so impossible. He stood contemplating the disgusting thing that floated just a few feet away from him. Mariah's bony arms reached towards him as she moved farther away from the kitchen doorway. Edgar backed up, forcing her to follow him a little further into the room.

"All right, Mariah. I'll come home. Anything you want......" Edgar moved deeper into the kitchen. "I love you, Mariah! I want to be with you."

The ghoul moved closer. Edgar looked over to where Joyce cowered against the wall. "Go!" he yelled.

Joyce pushed herself away from the wall and ran into the living room towards the stairway. Mariah turned her rotting head towards the sound of Joyce's heels tapping on the wooden floor. As soon as she looked away, Edgar ran across the kitchen floor and up the stairs after Joyce. He heard an unearthly shrieking behind him and knew that Mariah realized that he had lied to her. The sound of it frightened him even more that the terrible vision she had become. Her scream was now edged with fury.

Fear caused his legs to buckle and as he neared the top of the stairs, he felt himself trip. He grabbed frantically at the handrail, trying to regain his balance. Joyce stood at the top of the stairs. Fear was etched deeply into her features, but as Edgar held out his other hand for her to grab, her hate overcame her panic. Without stopping to think, she reached out to Edgar Ambrose - not to pull him away from the corrupted cadaver that stood below, reaching out her bony appendages to embrace her husband, but instead to send him right into her moldering arms. She pushed him hard.

"God, no!" he screamed. He tried once more to grab the handrails, but his desperately clutching fingers couldn't stop him from falling down the stairs, right towards the wretched creature that waited below for him. As he tumbled down the wooden steps, the pain of the fall was nothing compared to the dread that held him in its grip.

Joyce stood at the top of the stairs, watching him. As he lay on the landing below, waiting for what was left of his once lovely Mariah, he felt the fingers of death reaching out to grab his heart. He could feel each beat slowing in response to the pull of the grave that came from the woman who had once laid claim to it.

"Edgarrrrrrrrr..........Edgarrrrrrrrr........I wait for you!"

"Help me, Joyce! Help me please!" His words were panicked hisses, escaping his clenched teeth. Joyce looked down at his pleading face and then at the decomposed lover that was already reaching out to embrace him. "I'd tell you to go to hell again, Edgar," she said, a twisted smile playing on her lips, "but I know you're already on your way!" She looked towards Mariah, "He hates you, Mariah. He drove you mad with his infidelity and his cruelty. That's why you did it! That's why you killed yourself and Mary! It was all his fault! Remember, Mariah! Remember!"

With those words, Joyce turned and ran to the master bedroom as the howls of the tortured creature who now stood only inches from her former husband filled the air so fully, that the house seemed to breathe with her pain. The door to the balcony opened easily. Mariah had what she wanted. Joyce ran down the stairs and out to her car. Within a few minutes, she was far enough away so that she could no longer see the cursed house in her rear view mirror or hear Edgar's screams mixed with Mariah's in a duet of agony and terror.

The next morning, the caretaker, Alfred Simmons found the body of Edgar Ambrose lying at the bottom of the stairs in the lovely old house where he'd once lived with his wife and child. The coroner's report said that Edgar had experienced a heart attack and had subsequently fallen down the stairs.

The real estate agent who had met him at the house the evening of his death wasn't certain why he'd remained there after she'd left - probably reliving old memories, she'd said.

Alfred was certain that he knew what had happened to Edgar Ambrose. Why Mariah killed him, he told everyone. The town's people talked about the incident for several months, and then just like all the other gossip in Charity, the subject eventually died.

The house by the sea sat empty for several years after Edgar Ambrose's death. Eventually it was rented out again. Finally, Edgar's parents, who had inherited it when he died, contacted the local real estate office in Charity and asked them to sell the house. Joyce's boss insisted that she represent it because she knew it better than anyone else.

One lovely, crisp March morning, Joyce found herself standing once again in front of the old house. She hadn't been brave enough to come back until that day. She'd decided to come only because the house had been quiet ever since the day that Mariah had rejoined her husband. Two different families had lived there and no one had reported anything the least bit unusual. Once she saw the house, she realized that she wasn't frightened anymore. "Actually, you're one of the best friends I ever had," she spoke softly to the house. "You helped me to get rid of Edgar!"

Joyce had stopped looking for the perfect man after Edgar's death. She’d eventually met someone. They'd been together for two years, and although he didn't produce the same excitement that she'd found with Edgar, Joyce was finally content.

She unlocked the front door and went inside. Everything looked the same. Alfred had kept it in fairly good repair, and sunlight streamed into the room, driving away the shadows and the past.

This house will be easy to sell, Joyce thought to herself. Maine property was prime, especially beach front property.

This house is so different now. Joyce smiled. Maybe I should buy it.

That was the last sane thought that Joyce Gasper ever had.

The door slammed shut behind her and the room suddenly turned cold. The darkness that filled the house was so great that it blocked the sunlight that sought to get inside, almost as if someone has pulled down thick, black window shades.

He floated near the bottom of the stairs where he'd fallen years before. Shriveled flesh hung from a putrefying mouth that opened in a wide, cavernous grin.

Before her heart stopped beating, Joyce heard the words that sent her body to its grave and her soul to hell."I wait for you.............." Edgar said, "I wait for you............."

About the author, Nancy Mehl:

Nancy Mehl tells us, "I began writing when I was seven years old. I wrote poetry and stories for my younger brother. In high school I laspsed into the morose world of "teenage angst". I filled journals with emotional poetry and "deep" observations. A few years ago I went back to my first interest, and have found a lot of fulfillment and frustration. (The two seem to go hand in hand for writers!) I am beginning my fourth novel. Two of my other three novels are being represented by my agent in the U.K. I run an editing service and a private writer's forum. In my "spare" time, I am the coordinator of a program for the homebound at The Salvation Army. "I Wait For You......" is the first and only horror story I've done. I hope everyone likes it. I would love to hear from other writers. They may e-mail me at nancymehl@hotmail.com