H.O.A. (Home Owner's Association)

“Halt! Who goes there? It is past curfew!”

Mischievous shadows instantaneously scattered from the front entrance of Dudleytown. Their distorted voices and white breaths dissipated as Mr. Karter, the property manager, shook his fist in disgust.

“This is private property, you lousy scoundrels! And stay off my lawn!”

For generations, this secluded neighbourhood for the prosperous elites never needed to lock the front doors. It was an oasis away from the societal grime, and these select residents led by the highest of examples. Each Victorian estate and every sophisticated detail of their mountain-backdrop town were rigorously maintained with the utmost respect to preserve the allure of such an exclusive zip code. Their distinguished reputation was whispered amongst other socialites; In previous winters, they even attracted the prestigious Skidreiverein Club from Manhattan to visit their ‘members-only’ mountain. European sophistication, -like Montblanc, but without needing to deal with any foreign vernacular. It was picture-perfect.

—Oh, how times have changed.—

Now, elusive vandals seem to always be on the loose in the vicinity; Uninvited, of course. They kept cutting the locks on the entrance gates, trespassing without a resident escort, and even dared to throw rocks through double-bow stained windows! They audaciously beheaded and painted the stone Lion sculptures by the entrance. Those were priceless and came straight from Florence, Italy!

—Imbeciles—

Whoever was responsible for these ill-mannered pranks had never been sighted. Other community members reported whispers and chuckles, but when they tried to confront the culprits, no one was there. How peculiar… Most likely, they are a bunch of hooligans coming from the more ‘unpleasant’ side of Connecticut.

—Enough is enough!—

—Absolutely no outsiders allowed!—

…But who will come to enforce these rules? The closest law enforcement available was the Cornwall Police Department, but they were never allowed access to patrol past the gate. It would be best that Dudleytown’s exclusivity doesn’t get tarnished by pesky police reports, which might attract bloodhound tabloids.

That would certainly affect the property value.

Looks like the affluent residents were on their own.

Armed with an oil lantern, the private land covenants elected amongst themselves, forming a community watch group to patrol their exclusive neighbourhood. Heaven forbid such inept miscreants would be allowed to reside alongside these prominent mainstays of high society.

On one particular evening patrol, it was Mr. Gene Enfield, his wife, and the Doctor from the big city walking in a triangular formation. Gene was not the most courageous type, but he wasn’t about to be upstaged by the Yankee charlatan, especially in front of his Missus. He did his best to show his dominance leading the patrol, but the lantern he carried convulsed from his trepidation. Being sandwiched between such awkward tension, Mrs. Enfield gazed at the community church with the slanted cross on its rooftop. She silently recited her Hail Marys for insurance.

Lagging slightly behind the Nutmeggers to relight his French Briar pipe, the Doctor glanced around his surrounding field of vision. He noticed suspicious movement in the corner of his eye. He hyper-fixated on the possible threat, then he froze in his tracks.

Something with glowing eyes peered back at him from the dark ahead.

“Shhhh!… Nobody move a muscle. There’s a large, ferocious beast right across from us. I could see its hungry, beady eyes and its massive outline.”

“O… Oh my!… H…How could you be so sure, Mr. Clark?”

-Mrs. Tanner asked apprehensively.

“…That’s Doctor. Doctor Clark… I have gone on numerous Safari expeditions with Roosevelt and Selous before.”

“That’s how I know what I saw.”

Gene frantically tried to adjust his eyes, sheepishly pointing the lantern alongside his rival’s vantage point. Despite overwhelming fear, the old resident was hoping for a schadenfreude opportunity to disprove the braggart New Yorker. Before he could mutter any verbal jabs to downplay Doctor Clark’s unyielding overreaction, he also heard the cacophonous crackle of branches on the ground and the raucous shuffling of dried leaves beyond the tree line. Whatever it was, it was right in front of them.

His stomach dropped.

“Blast it, I said quiet! …There seems to be a pack of them. Perhaps Gray wolves or Mountain Lions. They are all inching closer to our position. We need to fall back… Rendezvous with Mr. Karter…”

With the good Doctor leading, the trio began to creep backward, slowly, to find safety back in their homes behind the gates. Confirming their dread, sounds of empty whispers and quick-paced footsteps came from behind the treeline. It wasn’t long before they realized that they were being stalked.

“I am sensing… Something… Over there!”

“Whoa! Yes!! Motion sensors 4, 7, 13… A… All the way to 18 are triggered. Possible entities up ahead!”

“Roger that…W…Yeah, my EMF meter is also going off the charts! Could this be… Multiple spirits?”

"Dang, this place really is living up to its reputation as the most haunted place in New England!"

“Ah! Orbs!!… Quick! There! Point the Thermal imaging and Night vision cameras towards the church wall!”

“Stunning! They almost look like candlelight. The yellow one in the front shakes a bit, too!”

“Alright, look alive, people! This is not a rehearsal…”

“We are streaming live in 3…2…1…”

On the other side of the church, from the tree line. The paranormal investigators and film crew, led by a self-proclaimed clairvoyant, shadowed the flickering orbs towards the center of Dudleytown. Wearing his trusty night-vision goggles, the spiritualist spearheaded the chase. He repeatedly demanded the trio of restless residents' identities to determine whether they were vengeful ghosts or demons. The more he did, the faster the pastel-coloured orbs floated out of reach.

The film crew sprinted alongside the lead investigator when their recording equipment suddenly filled with white static and an ear-piercing screech. Clairvoyant’s goggles also filled with blinding radiance, and he felt an ice-cold palm firmly pressing against his chestplate.

The entire pursuit stopped dead in its tracks.

The brighter, larger life force manifested with a crimson gleam, visible even to the naked eye, and floated aggressively in front of the mortal intruders. The paranormal group was cocooned in a bone-chilling invisible wall that prevented them from going any further. They all shivered, disoriented, eyes on high alert, frantically searching for a way out.

The spirit man has some level of sixth sense, but has never been tested with a haunting of this magnitude. This night by far has been the most vivid and terrifying experience of his life. Out of panic, the only useful tactic he could think of in his desperate state was to reenact a bastardized impression of Father Merrin from the Exorcist.

“B…B...Be gone, demon! The power of Chr…”

“Shhhhhh! Hey, we keep our voices down during curfew hours, porch climber! And absolutely no running or skipping within Dudleytown! This is a gated private property! You must have an invitation to be allowed in here. And what buffoonery are you wearing? We have a rigorous dress code for everyone while roaming our community. You are all breaking every town code there is…”

Spiritualist was dumbfounded that he could hear the disgruntled elderly spirit’s voice so clearly. More than a fierce demon that spoke in Latin backwards, this ghost sounded more like an overbearing principal… Or was it more accurate to assume that this deceased spirit was the micromanaging HOA covenant of this deserted town? A bit classist. Definitely out of touch. A pretentious, territorial asshole, even.

Still frightened, the clairvoyant nervously inquired about the spirit’s identity…

“Keep pressing your luck, alley rat. I am the property manager here, and I’ll be the one asking questions! Take you hoister pals and the rest of your greasy coat thieves out of our community! You continue to overdo your stay, you bet I will make a citizen’s arrest and have the Cornwall Sheriffs drag you out to the big house.”

The threats didn’t seem life-threatening, yet it did not feel prudent to upset this spirit that clearly didn’t know that he had died a century ago. Perhaps more than focusing on viral ratings, it would be an act of spiritual integrity to gently communicate with the deceased to assist him in coming to terms with his fate.

“Gah! Don’t get ahead of yourself, Wisenheimer! I have always been here. I never left, nor will I ever! Dudleytown is my home, and I have a civic duty to uphold here…"

"So GET OUT!”

No amount of persuading Mr. Karter to cross over to rest in peace worked. He was also adamant about not allowing any more trespass into the abandoned town. The property manager even threatened to summon the other community watch group members if the intruders did not leave immediately.

If the night escalated to that point, perhaps a stern talking-to and a write-up summons won't be the only thing to worry about…

For safety reasons, the leader of the paranormal investigation reluctantly motioned for the entire crew to retreat behind the tree line. Whether with the gift of sixth sense or not, every ghost hunter that was forced to about-face felt piercing, judgmental eyes on them. One camerawoman even saw the same yellow, jittery orb from the church fly around her menacingly.

As they were about to leave Dudleytown, they all heard one final commanding grumble next to their ear from Mr. Karter… 

“Now stay off my lawn!”