Ethan Rivers took his job as president of the Meadowbrook Villas HOA very seriously. So, when he was driving his Toyota Prius through the neighborhood, he abruptly stopped in front of Delia Owen’s house and stared at the swing hanging from the branch of the oak tree in her front yard. He stared at it for a long minute, as if it were some sort of a mirage.

He pulled his hybrid to the curb and got out, stalking determinedly to the front door and wrapped his knuckles on the front door and then repeatedly pressed the doorbell.

“I’m coming, I’m coming! Hold your horses,” Delia’s muffled voice came from inside. She opened the door, her face fell. “Mr. Rivers,” she said flatly, “To what do I owe your visit today?”

“Ms. Owens, I see you put a swing up in your tree. That is a violation of the statute on external modifications. If you check your handbook, you can see delineated the appropriate external modifications you can do without explicit HOA approval,” he turned a disgusted look to the tree swing, “That most certainly was not approved.”

“Mr. Rivers,” she started, “The swing is for the little girl I see out in the front yard. She told me she wanted a swing.”

“Little girl? Whose little girl? There are strict guidelines on when children are allowed outside to play and never unattended by parents…”

“She’s not a living girl, Mr. Rivers. She’s a ghost.”

Ethan Rivers sighed. “There’s no such thing as ghosts, Ms. Owens. And there is an explicit ban on discussing the possibility of any homes in the Association being ‘haunted’” he made air quotes, “lest the rumors lower resale value.”

“Mr. Rivers,” Delia said patiently, “you can believe or not believe in ghosts, but there’s a little girl that visits the front of my yard every morning. She spoke to me and said she wanted a tree swing.” She gestured to the swing, “I put up the swing.”

“Well,” Mr. Rivers said, “it must come down. Immediately.”

“Mr. Rivers, I don’t cross ghosts. She told me she wanted a swing, so I put up the swing. If you want it down, you take it down.”

Ethan stared at her incredulously. “Fine,” he said. I’ll have it removed and you will be cited and charged for the removal.”

“Do what you’ve got to do,” Delia said. “Good day, Mr. Rivers,” and she closed the door.

Ethan stared at the closed door for a long moment, then turned on his heels, marched back to his Prius and called the head of maintenance.

“This is Joe,” the man answered.

“Mr. Taylor, this is—”

“Mr. Davis,” Joe said tiredly. “What is it now?”

“I need you to remove the tree swing from the front yard of 836 Sycamore immediately.”

“Mr. Davis, you know it’s Saturday, right?”

“Yes, of course,” Ethan said. “But she’s in direct violation of the guidelines on exterior modification and she said she wouldn’t take it down. I need it removed now.”

“Mr. Davis, I’m on call on the weekend for emergencies – sprinkler heads blown, windows broken, fences blown down – that kind of thing. Removing a tree swing is not an emergency. I’ll get to it on Monday.”

“Fine, I’ll do it myself!”

“Have a good weekend, Mr. Davis,” Joe said and clicked off.

Incensed, he drove home, parked his Prius precisely in the garage, pulled his own ladder down from the wall of the garage and carried it the two blocks to Delia’s house. He set up the ladder and carefully climbed up and started to untie the knots holding the two ropes to the oak tree branch. As he did so he heard the distinct sound of children’s laughter ring out. He stopped and looked around but couldn’t find the source. Unnerved, but still determined, he untied one side and then the other and let the swing drop to the grass (which, he noted, might be half an inch taller than regulation). He climbed down, folded up the ladder and carried the ladder and the swing back to his house. He placed the ladder back up on the wall of the garage and dropped the swing in the trash.

The next morning, Ethan Davis drove his Prius down Sycamore and pulled to an abrupt stop.

The swing swung gently from the branch of the oak tree in the still morning air.

Ethan knocked on the door and rang the doorbell repeatedly again. When the door opened he started, “Ms. Owens, what is the meaning of this?”

“Mr. Davis? The meaning of what?” she said in her bathrobe.

“This!” he said, pointing accusingly at the tree swing.

“Oh! It looks like the little girl wanted her swing.”

“Are you saying you didn’t put the swing back up?”

Delia shook her head slowly, “No, I did not. I put it up the first time. And I watched you take it down. This one?” she gestured to the swing. “Not my doing.”

Ethan opened and closed his mouth several times without any words coming out. Abruptly, he turned and marched back to his car. Delia shrugged and went back inside. She made her coffee and stood by the front window and watched Ethan set up his ladder, awkwardly climb up and start to untie the swing. He stopped and stared around looking for something, then continued until the swing fell to the ground. Delia turned and went back to her kitchen.

Ethan carried his ladder and the swing back to his garage. He opened the trash to drop in the swing and was surprised to see the swing he had taken down still there. He dropped the second swing in and went about his day.

That evening, Ethan was driving back from Whole Foods and again stopped abruptly on Sycamore – the swing was swinging gently from the tree. This time he didn’t bother knocking on the door, he went home, got his ladder and returned to take it down. While he was untying it, again he heard the child’s laughter and couldn’t see where it came from. Back home, he opened the trash to drop the swing in and noticed only the first swing was in there.

That night he dreamt about the tree swing. There was a barefoot little girl with pigtails and a blue and white Gunne Sax dress swinging on it in the dream. Ethan walked up to her in the dream and told her the swing wasn’t allowed and he would have to take it down. She smiled up at him and laughed – that same laugh he heard when he was taking it down!

“You’re silly!” she smiled.

“I’m not silly,” he said. “I’m in charge of enforcing the rules of the HOA.”

“That’s silly.”

“It’s not—” he started and stopped, flustered. “It doesn’t matter, the swing has to come down.”

The girl kicked her feet and swung back and forth, “Okay, mister. But I’ll just put it back up.”

“Then I’ll keep taking it down!”

“I’ll be here in your dreams!”

Ethan woke up exhausted and in a sweat.

The next morning, Ethan was driving out of the neighborhood early. He deliberately didn’t go down Sycamore. He did see Joe Taylor’s work truck coming towards him. Joe flashed his lights and pulled along side him and rolled down his window.

“Good morning, Mr. Davis,” Joe said. “I saw the tree swing was still up at Delia Owen’s place. I thought you said you were going to take it down…”

“Well, I…” Ethan stammered.

“I was on my way over there to take it down,” Joe explained.

“Umm, no, let’s not. Leave it up there,” Ethan said.

“Uh, okay,” Joe replied. “You’re the HOA president…” Joe drove off.

Ethan could hear a little girl’s laughter.

“Good evening, Ambrose! I’ve got this great idea to try out for haunting tonight. Hear me out: remember how last month we made the walls bleed? This is similar to that, but instead of blood we use–”

“They’re gone, Orville,” Ambrose stood in the lightless study staring out the window into the night.

Ambrose looked around and quickly realized all the furniture was gone. “What… when did this happen? How did this happen?”

“Today,” Orville sighed and turned around. “I guess we pushed them too far with our antics last night.”

“That’s what drove them out? I mean, animating the army of stuffed animals was kind of creepy, but wasn’t shaking and levitating the beds worse? Or that week we just screamed at top volume? Those were certainly worse…”

“I agree,” Ambrose said, folding his hands in front of him. “Maybe it was the proverbial last straw – the cumulative effect of it all. Whatever it was, as soon as dawn broke they left and came back with a big truck and loaded everything.”

“I’m sorry I slept and missed the activity – I was pretty worn out by that last bit where I threw the kitchen knives at the mom as she ran through the kitchen.” His brow creased in thought, “Okay, yeah, saying it out loud maybe we pushed it a little too far.”

“I mean, I’m not about to tell you to dial it back, Orville. You’re an artist at causing fear and panic. I’d sooner tell Michelangelo to dial back the whole Sistine Chapel ceiling.”

“You’re too kind, my friend,” Orville blushed. “But to be fair, no one is as good at the long scare like you – remember that one family that you kept whispering different things to different family members over the course of months? They were positive they were all going crazy. Well, then they did go crazy… I’ll tell you, I didn’t expect them to kill each other.”

“There was so much blood – even for us!” Ambrose nodded solemnly. “I guess we’re lucky their ghosts didn’t stick around, right?”

“Dodged a bullet there, old chap. That’s the last thing we need – roommates, am I right?”

Both ghosts were quiet for a long time. Finally, Orville broke the silence, “So, we wait for another family to move in? The rental market’s still pretty hot… shouldn’t take too long… wait a minute, Ambrose, you’ve got that look in your eyes…”

A wicked grin spread on Ambrose’s face. “Well, you see, in their hurry to get their things out of the house they also took the grandfather clock.”

“Oh,” Orville said sadly, “I liked that old thing. It was such a nice touch to do something dramatic as it chimed three am…”

“You’re missing my point, dear Orville.”

“Oh?”

“They took the grandfather clock with them….”

Realization flashed across Orville’s face, “Oh, you devil! They’re still connected to the house! We can go haunt their new place now!”

“Two houses to haunt are better than one!”

“Shall we terrify them in their new place?”

“Absolutely. But let’s hold off on the blood for a little bit.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Orville said. “I’m feeling partial to throwing things anyway.” And he disappeared.

“I love this job,” Ambrose said and disappeared with his friend.

I walked into the rental agency, past the receptionist, and marched directly into Hans Edgar’s office. He saw me coming towards the door and said to the person on the phone, “I’m going to have to call you back..” and abruptly hung up.

“Ms. Tanner, everything okay?” he asked, knowing from my demeanor and the look on my face that everything was not alright.

A thousand things flashed through my mind to say. Finally I just said, “You were right,” and dropped the keys on his desk.

I was already walking out of the office with nowhere to live when I heard him sigh and say to my retreating figure, “I’ll refund your deposit and first and last month’s rent…”

A week ago he paused before handing me the keys on the stoop of 346 Sycamore St. I was elated to get this place. Walking distance to downtown, it was a gorgeous little bungalow that should have been renting for twice what Hans Edgar was asking – for good reason.

“Now, Ms. Tanner, I know I’ve already warned you that this place is haunted—”

“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” I said dryly for about the fiftieth time.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply and then continued, “I know I’ve already warned you that this place is haunted. Before I hand you the keys I want to tell you that if you want out of this lease because,” he held up a hand to forestall me saying again there’s no such thing as ghosts. “If you want out of this lease for any reason, you have two weeks and I will refund your deposit and first and last month’s rent, no questions asked – this is the only property I do this for.”

“Thank you, Hans, but I’ll be just fine.”

He gave me a dubious nod, dropped the keys in my open hand and said, “Have a good night, Ms. Tanner.”

That first night the footsteps started. I put in earplugs and slept like a baby in my new place.

The second night the lights in the bedroom came on intermittently as I tried to sleep. I was grateful I had my sleep mask on the nightstand.

After that, cabinets opened and slammed when I was in the kitchen. In the fogged-up mirror when I was getting out of the shower “LEAVE” was scrawled by an unseen hand.

By that point I was out of logical explanations. My pat “There’s no such thing as ghosts” felt more than a little like fading bravado as whatever it was played on my nerves one by one.

And then the morning of the seventh day I woke up to my alarm as usual, but I was surprised to see my phone screen unlocked and open to the camera app. I flipped to the pictures to see dozens of pictures of a dark room… this dark room. With my sleeping figure in the bed. The pictures kept getting closer, and closer until the camera was right up in my face. The last picture was my blurry face, eyes wide in terror.

And I don’t remember a thing.