The early morning mist rolled across the smooth surface of the water towards the shore. The dawn had just risen and the sun was strong enough to cast the first of its rays through the shroud of white over the surrounding hills. Clarissa raised her camera to capture the moment and rolled off another reel of film. The main focus of her attention was a large island in the middle of Goldwater Lake. The place had fascinated her since she was a child. Upon it sat an old haunted Victorian mansion, the focus of many ghost stories after the murder of a young Victorian family. The house was mysteriously hidden amidst the trees lining the shore and it was hard to capture even a glimpse of it, especially in the summer when the trees were in full leaf, though it never stopped Clarissa trying. Something caught her attention. Zooming into the boathouse on the island, she was surprised to see a tall man in a suit standing on the wooden jetty. He was looking straight at her. Clarissa zoomed in furthe

A loud scream echoed helplessly from her lips. But this time, it was in unison with a hurt male cry. The ghost turned his head in the direction of the voice and the memory dimmed. Clarissa found herself back in the shower. The ghost towered over her small, crumpled, bleeding form as she desperately tried to plug the wound with shaking hands. His brown eyes narrowed and the cruel smile of satisfaction made her want to vomit. He was watching her die just as he had done in the memory. Her mind was cloudy. She couldn't think straight. Panic had overcome all of her senses. It was so hard to breathe. Every breath entailed a mammoth effort and involved the heaving of her injured body. But all of a sudden, a persistent ringing noise broke through the fog to reach her. It was the doorbell. As in the memory, the ghost turned his head in the direction of the noise and cursed. She cried with relief when his image suddenly vanished. Clarissa knelt whimpering on the floor of the shower, knowing,