I went to bed at 10 and woke up screaming at 12:30. I woke up with a terrified shriek half way out of my lungs. My suite-mate, H, was standing over my bed. I told him soon after that I wasn't awake for the full scream and that my adrenalin was already running.

"There was somebody walking upstairs and opening squeaky doors," he told me in a voice much more anxious than his usual calm way. We decided to go upstairs and sweep the house. He kept my back and I his as we turned on all the lights of the expansive upstairs where the professors on sabbatical live. The house was empty of intruders, but I believe H. I am not certain who was in the house, but someone was.

And then there were the phone calls. He mentioned that someone leaves messages of a dial tone on the family phone at the same time every night. I didn't realize they called at the same time, but I was aware that they called repeatedly.

I took to heart the alcoholics motto about accepting things I cannot change. That one statement, even though I am not an alcoholic, leaves me a much more relaxed person than I would have otherwise been. H was regularly terrified when we returned to the basement. I cannot say my blood wasn't pumping. But I am not worried. We will figure it out tomorrow.