heard something: the normal noises of an old house creaking and settling. There they were again, soft, rustling sounds as though someone were moving something in the storage room across the hall.
I knew I should go back to sleep, and I knew I couldnât.
I remembered moving the trunks into the room across the hall yesterday and the feeling of apprehension I had had as the cold fetid air stirred the dust and made the cobwebs billow like fragile sails. I remembered the dark shadows cascading over the walls like silent black waterfalls. Colleen was afraid of the place, Maggie had told me. She heard things in the room and wouldnât go into it for a million. Maggie had laughed at the maidâs fears, yet she, too, had been sensitive to the atmosphere and eager to close the door and lock it.
I had to see for myself that the door was still locked. I couldnât go back to sleep until I was absolutely certain.
I moved silently across the room and found a box of matches. Striking one, I held the flame over the wick of the oil lamp and a golden blossom of light began to spread, casting reflections on the wall, intensifying the darkness. I wasnât really nervous, yet the oil lamp shook in my hands. I heard another noise, a loud creak as though a door were being opened, then the sound of cautious footsteps moving down the hall.
I hadnât imagined the noises. Not this time.
I gripped the oil lamp tightly, summoning a calm I didnât really possess, and, leaving the bedroom, moved silently across the small sitting room that joined my room with Maggieâs. Her door was open, and she was in bed, fast asleep, a white lace nightcap pulled over her red ringlets. I frowned and stepped into the hall, the worn carpet soft against my bare feet. Someone had left the front window open. Cold night air scurried down the hall. The skirt of my petticoat fluttered against my legs.
The hall seemed longer, sinister in the darkness. The front curtains flapped loudly, and the night air was laden with whispering voices. Go back, they said, go back. Nonsense. I moved toward the door of the storage room, shadows leaping like black demons as the flame wavered under the glass globe.
The door to the storage room was closed. I gave a sigh of relief. Maggie had locked it yesterday. No one could have gotten in without a key, and I knew there was only one set of keys. Maggie kept them in her apron pocket. There had been noises, yes. Mice, or wind blowing through cracks, or a bird nesting under the eaves. Noises magnified themselves in the night, making strange reverberations as they echoed in the stillness. I could go back to sleep now, satisfied.
There was a tiny click. The door swung open.
I almost dropped the lamp. I closed my eyes tightly, waiting for the hands to seize me, but there was nothing but a rush of clammy air and the horrible sour odor of mildew and dust. I stepped back, staring. The door moved slowly outward, hinges screeching hoarsely, then stepped. It hadnât been closed securely and had swung open of its own volition. But Maggie had locked it! I had watched her do it.
Someone had been in the room. Perhaps they were still inside, hiding behind the stacks of boxes, waiting for me to step a bit closer.⦠The room was filled with evil, and there was a presence, an impression in the air, overwhelmingly real.
I slammed the door shut, my shoulders trembling.
The floorboards groaned. I whirled around, my heart leaping madly. I saw the man approaching. He was outside the radius of light, a dark form moving toward me through nests of shadows. I backed against the wall, my blood icy cold. There had been someone in the courtyard. I had heard footsteps. Someone had slipped into the house, and now ⦠I tried to scream but no sound would come.
âWhat in Godâs name are you doing out of bed?â he asked sharply.
âIâitâs youââ
âWhom were you expecting?â he snapped,
I knew I should go back to sleep, and I knew I couldnât.
I remembered moving the trunks into the room across the hall yesterday and the feeling of apprehension I had had as the cold fetid air stirred the dust and made the cobwebs billow like fragile sails. I remembered the dark shadows cascading over the walls like silent black waterfalls. Colleen was afraid of the place, Maggie had told me. She heard things in the room and wouldnât go into it for a million. Maggie had laughed at the maidâs fears, yet she, too, had been sensitive to the atmosphere and eager to close the door and lock it.
I had to see for myself that the door was still locked. I couldnât go back to sleep until I was absolutely certain.
I moved silently across the room and found a box of matches. Striking one, I held the flame over the wick of the oil lamp and a golden blossom of light began to spread, casting reflections on the wall, intensifying the darkness. I wasnât really nervous, yet the oil lamp shook in my hands. I heard another noise, a loud creak as though a door were being opened, then the sound of cautious footsteps moving down the hall.
I hadnât imagined the noises. Not this time.
I gripped the oil lamp tightly, summoning a calm I didnât really possess, and, leaving the bedroom, moved silently across the small sitting room that joined my room with Maggieâs. Her door was open, and she was in bed, fast asleep, a white lace nightcap pulled over her red ringlets. I frowned and stepped into the hall, the worn carpet soft against my bare feet. Someone had left the front window open. Cold night air scurried down the hall. The skirt of my petticoat fluttered against my legs.
The hall seemed longer, sinister in the darkness. The front curtains flapped loudly, and the night air was laden with whispering voices. Go back, they said, go back. Nonsense. I moved toward the door of the storage room, shadows leaping like black demons as the flame wavered under the glass globe.
The door to the storage room was closed. I gave a sigh of relief. Maggie had locked it yesterday. No one could have gotten in without a key, and I knew there was only one set of keys. Maggie kept them in her apron pocket. There had been noises, yes. Mice, or wind blowing through cracks, or a bird nesting under the eaves. Noises magnified themselves in the night, making strange reverberations as they echoed in the stillness. I could go back to sleep now, satisfied.
There was a tiny click. The door swung open.
I almost dropped the lamp. I closed my eyes tightly, waiting for the hands to seize me, but there was nothing but a rush of clammy air and the horrible sour odor of mildew and dust. I stepped back, staring. The door moved slowly outward, hinges screeching hoarsely, then stepped. It hadnât been closed securely and had swung open of its own volition. But Maggie had locked it! I had watched her do it.
Someone had been in the room. Perhaps they were still inside, hiding behind the stacks of boxes, waiting for me to step a bit closer.⦠The room was filled with evil, and there was a presence, an impression in the air, overwhelmingly real.
I slammed the door shut, my shoulders trembling.
The floorboards groaned. I whirled around, my heart leaping madly. I saw the man approaching. He was outside the radius of light, a dark form moving toward me through nests of shadows. I backed against the wall, my blood icy cold. There had been someone in the courtyard. I had heard footsteps. Someone had slipped into the house, and now ⦠I tried to scream but no sound would come.
âWhat in Godâs name are you doing out of bed?â he asked sharply.
âIâitâs youââ
âWhom were you expecting?â he snapped,
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