Every so often, William Saunders snatches up a golf club and steps behind his Smyrna townhouse to whack balls down a line of neighboring lots.

He never hits another home and never hears complaints from neighbors. But that's an easy accomplishment. Most of Saunders' neighborhood is a ghost town, another fallout of metro Atlanta's housing market horrors.

Louie Favorite/AJC Staff (ENLARGE)

William Saunders gets in some golf practice on an empty field next to his Smyrna home.

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One of just two residents in what was to be a 105-home development, the 54-year-old information technology manager strolls down lonely streets past silt fences, weedy lots, nearly 20 vacant homes and a sign cheerily announcing that a pool and cabana are "Coming Soon!"

But his community lifestyle isn't without upsides. Three he mentions: Attractive housing. Lots of peace and quiet. And a female friend who has sunbathed topless on his back deck.

"Actually," he said, "it's not a bad place to live."

In communities scattered around metro Atlanta, homeowners are learning how to cope as refugees of a housing slowdown that has stalled — and sometimes killed — developments in mid-hammer swing. Resigned to the possibility that it may be years before their developments warm up again, some homeowners have taken on new roles.

Saunders acts as an unofficial sentry of Sherwood Park and its $400,000-plus homes. His patrols occasionally bring discoveries: A toilet dumped along a back street a couple months ago. A mattress. A refrigerator, which someone quickly carted away.

He shuts a back construction gate to keep things more secure, keeps an eye on the occasional joggers and the four or five drivers a week who wander into the neighborhood.

With no real estate agents manning the former model home, he takes it upon himself to pitch visitors on the virtues of moving in, pointing out a dining porch, crown moulding, comfortable backyards.

"If you've got a friend who wants to buy a house in a quiet subdivision with very few neighbors ..."

Still, Saunders said he doesn't expect a bunch of new neighbors any time soon. He moved in late last year and hasn't bothered to put up many drapes. There aren't a lot of prying eyes to worry about.

He has other concerns, though. Will real estate agents try to unload the homes around him for far less than what he paid? And, "the real issue," he said, "is who is going to finish this thing? And will it ever get done?"

David Woodbery, a part-owner of the project's developer, said: "It's definitely the goal to get it moving forward. That's not possible right now." He declined to offer predictions, nor details on why Sherwood Park came to a halt.

The steep fall in housing sales nationwide has led many potential home buyers to believe they can squeeze heavy price concessions from builders. But once shoppers become homeowners in a young and struggling development, some of the power shifts. Homeowner associations — which oversee dues and covenant enforcement — often remain in the control of developers until most of the subdivision's houses are occupied. Developers also usually retain control over when amenities are built.

It can be a long wait.

Leslie Cain and her husband moved into the Ivey Township neighborhood in Paulding County in April 2007, attracted by the promise of a neighborhood pool for their kids and the strong arm of a homeowners association to enforce covenants.

They've gotten neither, she said. About eight homeowners moved in before development sputtered. She used to take walks with neighbors, but as weeds and trash have built up along the way, they've scaled back.

"It just gets us worked up. It looks so trashy," Cain said. "We need to have somebody keep things going." She's also frustrated about having to pay $450 in annual homeowner-association dues and struggling to get responses from the developer's representatives about problems in the community.

Jim York, chief executive of developer Y.D.I. Inc., declined to speak about Ivey Township for this story.

In Gwinnett County, Ray and Carmen Lopez recently drove by a brick ranch with stone accents that they had fallen in love with last summer.

Except for 2-foot-high dandelions in the front yard, the home looks fine. But for months the subdivision in Grayson has been desolate. Cleared lots lay untended. Houses are unfinished. A front window on one is smashed and a busted TV lies in the middle of a street.

"It's a good thing we didn't buy here," Ray Lopez said, scanning the property.

He had worried about being the neighborhood's first settlers, with no guarantee that others would follow.

"They assured us it wouldn't be a problem," he said of the developer's representatives. "They said that things were going to pick up and that some of the homes were under contract. Apparently they weren't. I don't see any neighbors in here."