The House That Jack Built by Graham Masterton Page B

I thinking for myself or is somebody else thinking for me?
         Don't call him up here.
         Why? Because he won't believe me? Because he'll make fun of me?
         Because you'll regret it.
        Effie cautiously made her way back along the corridor. She felt like turning around, just to make sure that she wasn't being followed, but she kept telling herself, it's empty, the bedroom's empty, there's nobody in it, just the wind.
        She climbed over the tiles and the broken rafters, and she was almost back at the staircase when a man in a dark suit appeared from the corridor that led off to her right, crossed the landing, and started to hurry downstairs.
        Effie called, 'Pardon me!' and ran to the head of the stairs.
        The man paused at the turn in the stairs and looked up at her. The stained-glass window gave his face a sallow look, as if he were Italian or Greek. His glossy hair was brushed straight back from his forehead. His eyes were very dark and deepset, and oddly blurry. In fact, Effie found it quite difficult to focus on his face at all, as if she were shortsighted.
        'Pardon me, sir, do you think you could help me?' she said. 'You see, I thought I heard a sound like a woman crying in one of the bedrooms here, and-'
        The man stared at her for one moment longer, and then continued down the stairs at the same brisk pace. She heard him cross the second-storey landing and carry on down to the first floor below.
        Effie was stupefied. Hadn't he heard her? He must have heard her. Why hadn't he said anything, or even acknowledged her?
        Slowly, she descended the stairs. As she did so, she heard Craig and Norman noisily climbing up from the first floor, talking about heating-pumps.
        'Effie!' said Craig. 'We were wondering where you'd wandered off to!'
        'You have to be pretty careful in a property like this,' Norman cautioned her, tossing the hair from out of his eyes. 'Some of the flooring joists are rotten, especially where the rain's been coming in. You could drop right through from the attic to the cellar. There's been some termite infestation, too. One or two of these beams look like solid oak, like, but you could punch a hole in them with your finger.'
        Effie said, 'Who was that man?'
        'Who was what man, sweetheart?'
        'That man who just came down the stairs.'
        Craig looked baffled. 'We haven't seen anybody coming down the stairs, have we, Norman?'
        'You must have done! He must have passed you on the way! A man in a dark suit.'
        Craig shook his head. 'We haven't seen anybody. Really.'
        'Maybe it was just a trick of the light,' Norman suggested, trying to be helpful. 'These stained-glass windows, you know, they throw all kinds of weird shadows and all.'
        'He wasn't a trick of the light. He was as solid as you are.'
        'Maybe he went off down one of these corridors.'
        'He didn't. I'm sure he didn't. I heard him go right down to the first floor. I heard his footsteps!'
        'Then he must have walked right through us.'
        'What did I tell you?' grinned Norman. 'The place is haunted.'
        Craig put his arm around Effie's waist and gave her a squeeze. 'Come on… it was probably some bum who's been squatting here. You remember the old Regency Hotel on Lexington Avenue? They found winos and derelicts in practically every room when they demolished that. It had more people in it when it was closed than when it was open.'
        'Craig…' Effie protested, 'this wasn't a derelict. He had a smart suit, and his hair was brushed, and... well, he just didn't look like a derelict. Besides, derelict or not, where did he go?'
        Norman said, 'Don't worry, if there is anybody squatting here, our less-than-friendly local police chief can soon clear them out.'
        'You shouldn't have come up here anyhow,' Craig told her.
        She was right on the tip of