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| Charles Walker |
The pacing in the upstairs bedroom continued for as long as I rented the house. More than once, I went upstairs to see what or who I could find. There was never anyone present - but I had such a feeling of depression, or intense sadness, every time I went into that bedroom.
When I had endured the phantom footsteps as long as possible, I went to see Emma Walker, the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Walker. She was a student at Dobbs Institute, and I knew she frequented Pat's Pizzeria, which was a popular hangout for Dobbs' student body. I treated her to pizza when she was on her lunch break. I had pizza and spaghetti. She had one slice of vegetarian pizza and a huge salad.
A pained look came over Emma's face when I told her the reason for my wanting to speak with her. I began telling her about the footsteps. She didn't say anything at first but simply began to nod her head in the affirmative.
"I'm sorry you guys are having to go through this," she said. "I really thought it was over."
I asked her what that meant.
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