I'm Liz Sauer and this is Ghosts in the Burbs, a podcast of ghost stories from Wellesley

Message Usits.

A warning, adults who use adult language told me these frightening tales, these ghost

stories aren't for kids.

A huge thank you to Sarah Ryan who donated so generously to support the podcast on Patreon.

We'll use Sarah's name in place of this week's haunted neighbor.

I don't believe I've told you about all the jobs I tried at college.

I've been an insurance adjuster, a failed hairdresser, an administrative assistant a few

times, an appraisal associate, a real estate agent, an editorial assistant, a high school

librarian, and finally a children's librarian.

Each job had a list of qualities that I dislike, but it was those jobs performed in cubicles

that left me crying on my way home from work each day.

Chris was always supportive of my jumping ship as soon as a job became to this or to that.

Our haunted neighbor doesn't have the same support system.

In fact, she made me to rethink more than her current work environment.

A cubicle might be just the answer.

Round to ghost story number 22, the home office.

There is a house on Lyndon Street that is no longer a home.

Its fenced backyard is bordered by a large commuter parking lot, beyond which sits the

Wellesley Square train station.

Next door is a dated office building whose lawn boasts a large blow up snowman every winter.

Across Lyndon Street, of apartment buildings and the usual suspects of suburban retail, the

...