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The grounds of the Historic Powhatan Resort nearly Williamsburg, Virginia were soaked in blood. Hundreds died along the edge of the woods to the north during the Civil War, it is said, and even more died over its long centuries as a working farm. They said a lone woman, a war widow, still wandered the woods looking for her beloved. A ghostly mourning party often stood below an ancient gallus-tree. We were haunting the resort while on vacation and found that this scarred land now featured many fine amenities including two pools, a gym, and evening activities for the kids. We partook of many of them, including a showing of Boss Baby complete with free popcorn, but on one hot August night in 2017 we decided to catch some ghosts. As a former Taoist and current atheist, I have a tenuous relationship with the spirit world. On one hand I once believed that we were all part of the Tao and I expressed this belief through Tai Chi and offering massages to my college friends. On the other hand I’m content in accepting that there is either a winking out of life at our end – a TV hissing down into a final dot – or something else. What that something else is I assure you I do not know. That said, I do believe in ghosts because ghosts once partied at my house. Rewind a few years. It’s Christmas Eve I was alone in our 1930s brownstone in Brooklyn. Water was pouring into the basement and I was angry. When we first went to look at the house a woman who had taken care of its previous resident heard my wife was from Europe and told us, in Polish, that “No one had ever died in the house.” We thought nothing of it. After all, there are plenty of houses where no one died and even if they did, what harm could it do?