It was horror at its most simplistic.

I was somewhere, standing in scary silence. A bright light suddenly came on from ... I didn't know where. Fearing its harshness would cause me to go blind, I did my best to shield my face, but my arms too quickly grew tired. Slowly, I lowered them and cautiously opened my eyes. Blinking against the piercing light that still hadn't faded, I eventually saw that I was in a tiny, round, and impossibly white room, with no way of escape, where the walls, floor, and ceiling shone with the intensity of mirrors reflecting direct sunlight, burning my eyes. Doing my best to look around, I couldn't see anything to indicate that I was in danger, but I could sense an undercurrent of foreboding.

All of a sudden, the dead air was broken by faceless voices calling out to me in unison; impossible-to-understand whispers that steadily increased until they blended into a single, high-pitched sound. I covered my ears to block it out, but it was no use – and in the awful din, one thing stood out ... I was to be blamed for crimes I had never committed.

Their shrieks grew louder. I pressed my hands harder to my ears. I even screamed for them to stop, but my voice wasn't enough to drown them out.

Then, everything stilled. I was left in empty silence ... until a single voice softly interrupted the terrifying, penetrating hush. "The door is open, but you will not find your escape."

A single door stood open. Desperate to break away from that nightmarish place, I started to run ... but stopped at the brink of escape. I was looking into night.

I strained to see, or to hear, something within the deathly quiet. It was impossible. Faced with the unknown, my terror crept back.

The brilliant light quickly faded ... murkiness ... and then I was within solid darkness. At the very moment it turned black, something hard and impossibly cold touched me from behind me. I turned, but I couldn't see.

I heard a sound of something being ignited and looked back. Surprised to see a fire burning as if it had always been, its flames popping and snapping high into the air, I kept back. Though its warmth was welcoming, I didn't trust it. Instead, I chose to stay near the mysterious coldness, even though I feared it ... because I could sense that, for that moment, it wouldn't hurt me.

The cold returned and then unexpectedly, the unknown shifted again. Blindly I tried to follow, but it was gone. I was alone.

I looked back to the fire. It had extinguished, but a face, more phantom than real, was there only for a moment before it vanished from sight. Then clouds parted and revealed a full moon ...

I was at Cemetery Raven.

Next to a low fire with strange blue flames that flickered ferociously in reverse of what was expected, seemingly starting within the open air, and burning downward toward the kindling, a woman, dressed like a gypsy, was knelt, her head bowed so that her face was concealed. Gradually the flames started to die out and she began to melt into the growing darkness ... and while it was happening, my energy drained until I felt I couldn't stand anymore.

Desperate to fight the ache of exhaustion, I grasped the sturdy wrought iron fence, but it was no use. Just as I almost reached the ground, an unseen person stopped me, brought me close, and gently cradled me. Without knowing why, I felt safe again.

Then I heard my name whispered softly, tenderly ... and my face turned involuntarily to my left ...

My parents were there! At first, I didn't trust my eyes. But then, overcome with happiness that I hadn't been left behind, I tried to push away from what held me to go to them, but I couldn't. As I began a frantic struggle against the arms of the unseen stranger, a gentle murmur started in my ear – I wasn't supposed to go. I was only to say what I hadn't before. I fought harder to free myself, but despite my efforts, he wouldn't release me!

Soft words repeated ... I wouldn't be allowed, say goodbye ...

Desperate to get away, I wrestled harder ... but it was too late. I watched as my parents faded ... and then they were gone.

I wanted to scream until my throat was raw that it was unfair, but I was silenced by a soft touch to my cheek. I turned my head ...

Bright, emerald eyes peered at me through the darkness, and I suddenly didn't want to leave. In them, I saw both danger and salvation ... and a silent demand that I not look away. I obeyed because, somehow, I knew if I refused, I would be lost from them forever. And the cost?

My life.

I snapped awake. I was inside my bedroom.

Relieved the nightmare was over, I sat up. Propped against the headboard, I looked over at the clock on my nightstand. Almost midnight.

I thought about my dream. Up until the point where I'd seen the mysterious person's eyes, everything had been bad. But when I'd seen his gaze, the only feature of his I could make out in the pitch darkness – it had captured my attention and stopped madness from taking over me completely. But unless they wore contacts, no one had eyes that vibrant – except for one person. The French guy – and his hadn't looked fake. Then, realizing the absurd comparison I'd made between him and the phantom in my dream, I smiled wryly and dismissed it as him recently being so heavily on my mind.

But then, my smile faded. My parents ... they'd been there. I'd wanted to go to them ... I'd struggled ...

Immediately, I shut down where my thoughts were leading me. In the dream, they'd left me for a second time, and I wasn't ready to deal with how I felt about it – because it still hadn't left me.

I got up and went to the window facing Rhys' house. The night sky was partially cloudy and almost totally free of stars. It was too beautiful not to be outside. I went to the foot of my bed where I'd left my shoes and slipped them on. I walked to the bedroom door, grabbed my sweatshirt to put on, and quietly left my bedroom. As silently as I could, I stole over to my aunt's closed bedroom door. No lights. No sounds. She was asleep.

I headed downstairs.

I was almost to the front door when I heard Aunt Karen's bedroom door open. Praying she wouldn't peek into my bedroom and see I wasn't there, because she'd go into four-bell alarm and scrub the house looking for me, I hurried over to the sofa and squatted down behind it, hoping to blend with its shadowy shape.

She hadn't looked, but she was on her way downstairs!

She reached the bottom and walked past me to the kitchen. The light snapped on. I could hear as she opened up a couple of the cabinets and then as one of the wooden chairs was moved across the linoleum floor. But my legs were starting to cramp. She was taking too long. Just as I was about to pop up and admit my guilt, I heard her pull a glass from the strainer, turn on the faucet, and then shut it off.

I listened as she left the kitchen and entered the living room. As she passed me on her way to the stairwell, I pressed myself closer to the sofa, and very slowly started to move toward the far end of it, hoping she wouldn't glance sideways and see me there – and then noticed she hadn't shut off the kitchen light!

She continued up the stairs and the door to her bedroom closed.

I sprang up and went to the front door – but it was bolted. I started to turn the lock ...

The door to her bedroom opened again and she started back down the stairwell!

Cursing under my breath, I scurried on tip-toe to the kitchen. As quietly as possible, I opened the back door, slipped out, and then shut it again. I dashed down to the end of the street and stopped. Looking back in the direction of her house, I puffed out breathlessly, "And I thought hunting ghosts would be tricky." I started across the street – and stopped. "Damn it! I forgot the flashlight, recorder – and the house key!"

With no immediate way to fix the problem without going back and forfeiting my exploration, I continued over to the dirt path in front of Cemetery Raven.

Blocking out the irony that I was re-enacting part of my hellish dream, I lightly brushed my fingertips across its roughened wrought-iron fence as I walked along beside it and gazed in. The scene was characteristic of most of the older southern burial sites; tombs and shorter headstones surrounded by tall, dead weeds, and a few gnarled oak trees with Spanish moss draped heavily over their branches, decorated the grounds. Buried within were the town's first inhabitants and those who fought, and died, during the Civil War. Added to that was Mannix's other history – pirates, the notorious sailors of the high seas.

But I wasn't there for the history as much as I was for what most living people disregarded – dead people's spiritual remains. So far, in my limited experience with ghosts, I'd learned that, like their living counterparts, spectres had distinct personalities. The two inside Cortland Bridge hadn't been scary, while Mr. Kennerly had been friendly, and the girl captured in the photo of my bedroom ... was either shy or weird.

I stopped at the entrance. Someone had been there and had closed the gate.

I took it in a tight grasp and pulled. There was only a slight hesitation before it opened with a high-pitched creak. With no particular direction to go, I entered. I wandered aimlessly until I came to stand in front of one of Cemetery Raven's biggest, and most magnificent, mausoleums. Even surrounded by weeds and with its walls covered by spider webs, it appeared well-cared for, unlike some of the headstones. While most were still intact, there were many that hadn't fared as well, as if their importance had dimmed over time and became just lonely, shadowy memories of forgotten lives.

I thought about my parents' headstone. Eventually, it would share the same fate.

I stopped myself. While thinking about them dampened uneasy feelings of being in the cemetery alone at night, especially after my disjointed and disturbing nightmare, it also depressed me. I needed to switch my thoughts from my tragedy and loss to those of others, the occupants of Cemetery Raven, who'd suffered theirs long ago. In that, as unconventional as it was, I might find my own healing.

I continued further in to look at the more legible headstones. Many of the names were foreign – Spanish, Irish or Scottish, and ... French! I moved on, briefly wondering if the French guy's ancestors were buried in there, too.

Eventually, I stopped to take it all in. Cemetery Raven was as bewitching as it was breathtaking. It was as if the magic of the night, with its shadowy corners mixed with the loneliness of the place, and the sky the way it was, cloudless, but with a full moon above, created a feeling of tranquility. I closed my eyes, and imagined that the graveyard would sense my sincerity and allow its ghosts to rise and come out to speak to me ... but only on one condition – I prove myself worthy. Until then, with each daybreak, its mysteries would retreat to fool non-believers into thinking it was truly dead.

I opened my eyes and murmured, "If anyone here wants to say something, I will listen. I just buried my parents. I wish I could've talked to them, but ..." I couldn't bring myself to finish what I'd started to say – they didn't because they hadn't wanted to.

I walked to the exit and, grasping the roughened bars of the gate, I pulled it with me as I backed out. It closed with a soft clang. I lingered to gaze inside and then turned to go home and quietly break in ...

Crying out in surprise, I fell back against the hard wrought-iron.

"I see you have an affinity for old things."