The Haunting by Rodman Philbrick

something give way, and jumped back just as a section of the wall fell forward.
    On the other side of the wall was a narrow winding stairway, glowing with faint, cold light. Stairs to nowhere.
    As much as I wanted to escape this room, I was never going to climb those stairs. No way. There was something terrible waiting for me up there, I just knew it.
    A cold wind sprang up behind me, pushing me toward the stairs. I dug in my heels but the wind was strong and relentless. It pushed me inch by inch toward the opening.
    I twisted to get away but the force of the wind turned me back. I was shivering with cold and terror. I braced my hands against the wall on either side of the opening and held on.
    The wind was strong, but not strong enough to blow me up the stairs.
    I’d beaten it.
    Then I heard a faint cry, carried on the wind. “Jason!”
    It was Sally. With a sinking sensation, I realized the cry was coming from the top of the stairway.
    â€œJason, help me, I’m scared,” wailed Sally. “Jason, please.”
    I had to go. I was her only chance.

28
    As I stepped over the threshold my feet felt like they weighed a thousand pounds. It was as if I was wading through an ocean of my own fear.
    â€œJason.”
    Sally’s voice was very faint, getting smaller. I had to hurry. The stairs felt funny under my feet—sort of slippery and spongy. It was hard to get traction.
    There was nothing to hold on to but the walls on either side. And the stairs were so steep and narrow.
    My foot slipped. I started to go down and caught myself on the stairs with my hands.
    I jerked back as if I’d been burned. The surface of the steps felt soft and cold and clammy—like dead human skin!
    The stairway was alive .
    I forced myself up the last few stairs, gasping for breath. The small door at the top was open. The door was so low I had to stoop to get inside.
    I was in the attic. But not a part I’d ever seen before.
    Something told me this room didn’t really exist. Not anymore. It was as the attic had been years before. It was as if I’d stepped back in time.
    It was the room of a small child. There was a painted wooden rocking horse, a small iron bed, and a rocking chair. The room smelled stale, as if the air was a hundred years old. A cold creepiness tickled up my spine.
    Then the rocking chair began to rock. It was facing the other way and I couldn’t see who—or what—was in the chair.
    It rocked to and fro, to and fro.
    â€œ Come to me ,” said a faint unrecognizable voice from the shadowy depths of the chair. “ Come to me, Jason. Come to me or die !”

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    More than anything I wanted to run out of that strange little room and never look back. I didn’t want to know what was in that rocking chair. I didn’t care, all I wanted to do was get out of there.
    But I couldn’t leave Sally.
    The house kept trying to trick me, trying to scare me. It didn’t want me to find my little sister. It wanted her all to itself.
    Something told me that if I ran down the stairs the house would let me back into my own room. I could sleep safe in my own bed. But I’d have to leave my sister behind.
    I couldn’t do that.
    I opened my eyes. The little chair was still rocking there in the dark, in the shadows.
    I had to know. Dread seeped into my veins as I crept toward the chair.
    It kept rocking, creeeek, creeeek, creeeeeek .
    I stretched out my hand, hestitated, then spun the chair around.
    â€œSally!”
    It was my little sister. She was slumped in the chair, her blond curls covering her face.
    I knelt on the floor and touched her shoulder. “Sally!”
    She stirred, raised her head. I held my breath. Was she all right?
    Sally opened her eyes, yawned, and smiled at me. I hugged her.
    â€œSally, how did you get here?”
    She snuggled in my arms. “I don’t know,” she said, puzzlement in her voice. “I went to sleep and when I woked