So, blogger's screwing up.



It's giving me like one line to write with, so I can't see a darn thing I'm writing.


While I'm fixing it, here is a ghost story for your reading pleasure.


Uninvited Guest
By Kelly Carr | Photo by Roberto Westbrook : July 15, 2003 (Tue)

Blood on the floor.
A window that won't open.
Glass shards in the soil.
Karen Gregory haunts this house.
Almost 19 years after her murder, the house on the corner of 27th Avenue South and Upton Street in Gulfport has changed from white to green. The front door is in a different spot. A six-foot fence lines the yard now. An Akita barks at strangers. People either avoid it or pursue it. They imagine the inside or refuse an invitation. For some residents it is still a crime scene; for outsiders, a tourist attraction. Gregory still lingers. But for the last nine years it has been Stephanie Bartolotta's home. "No one wanted to come in," she said. "People ask: 'Is it haunted? What have you seen?'" Ten years before Bartolotta bought the house in 1994, Gregory's body was found in the hallway. After fighting an intruder from her bedroom and reaching as far as the porch, she was stabbed repeatedly. Gregory's struggle ended outside her bedroom. Her body was surrounded by bloody footprints. Neighbors heard her scream, but no one called the police. The body of Gregory, a 36-year-old graphic artist, was found almost two days later wearing a white T-shirt and black teddy. In 1986 George Lewis, a St. Petersburg firefighter who lived catty-corner from Gregory, was arrested. Lewis was convicted of first-degree murder and sexual battery. He is serving a life sentence in Tomoka Correctional Institution in Daytona Beach. When she moved into the house, Bartolotta chose Gregory's room. Neighbors told her the bed is in the same spot as the murdered woman's. At night, Bartolotta looks through the window the killer used to escape. To get to the bathroom, she turns right outside her bedroom over unfinished hardwood flooring. The path forces her steps, each day, over the spot where Gregory died. Before she bought the house, Bartolotta knew little of the murder. She was living in Indian Rocks Beach but was planning a move to Gulfport. While driving past the property on 27th Avenue South, a real estate agent
said:
"You don't want that one."
Bartolotta moved into the house on Halloween in 1994. There was a witch's hat greeting her on the counter of her new orange kitchen. Almost immediately, as hairs rose on the back of her neck and arms, she realized where she had moved. For years to come, kids skipped her house when trick-or-treating. Neighbors would dodge her parties altogether or limit themselves to the yard. "You live in a murder house, lady," people would tell her all the time. In the first years, Bartolotta would glance out her front window at people staring back. Drivers and passengers would sit in parked cars hoping for a glimpse. Some would snap a quick picture; others brought a video camera. Inside the house the layout has stayed pretty much the same. From the living room, Bartolotta stares at an oak tree in her yard and at neighbors in theirs. Across the street the Neighborhood Crime Watch sign is still visible in the yard of George Lewis' old house. Bartolotta once saw a figure standing behind her -- Was it Gregory? -- in the mirror. "Hey I'm thinking about this," she says to Gregory. She will sort through colors and furniture placement, always consulting the lingering presence that no one can see. "I do it because I want her to know I really love this house," Bartolotta said. Today with each court appeal by Lewis, the memories of the murder are sustained in the house. For Bartolotta, this 19-year-old case is very much alive. Years ago, Gulfport police dug up her yard looking for a murder weapon. Twice, she has been asked to leave her house for business involving Lewis' appeals. And she said her animals spend hours, motionless, staring at one specific wall. In the last few years, most of the traffic to Bartolotta's house has stopped. The spectators aren't as frequent. A few neighbors have decided to finally visit. Kids take her candy, although she usually has to meet them outside. "When driving by that house I personally get a feeling of remorse, loss," said Gulfport resident Jack Anderson, who lived five blocks away from the murder. "We kinda just turn away from it. The house is in a shadow all the time." For Bartolotta, the shadow cast on her house is impossible to escape. Under her oriental rug in the living room, blood spots are still visible. Are they Gregory's? Strange odors fill the rooms; footsteps are heard by her mother. Her bedroom window broke when she tried to open it. The memories in the house haunt Gulfport. It makes neighbors, those who remember Gregory's screams, cringe. Children curious. And Bartolotta still asking questions. Unable to open the front door on her wedding day seven years ago, Bartolotta was forced to remove it from its hinges. Her marriage lasted one week. Did someone not want her to go out, she wondered? Was someone telling her the decision was wrong? Was it Gregory?