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that I had to walk down it by myself. Even though the sunshine was dazzling outside, the hall was undeniably gloomy, misty gray shadows thronging along the walls. I proceeded down it at a brisk pace, curbing a foolish impulse to whistle. I loathed that type of nervous female always eager to grow faint or go into hysterics at the first opportunity. Though perhaps not made of steel, my own nerves were reasonably healthy. I smiled wryly, amused at my earlier apprehension, and turned the corner.
    I had gone several paces before the cold, clammy air engulfed me. The walls on either side were dark, and I was moving down a long black passage swathed in dense shadows. I stopped, startled, and the fetid air swirled around me, stroking my bare arms like ghostly fingers. There was a horrible sour odor, an odor of mildew and dust and decay, and I realized that I had turned into the east wing. My heart began to beat rapidly, and my throat went dry, just after I had been complimenting myself on my strong set of nerves. My first impulse was to turn and run, but something held me there. Perhaps it was my own chilling fear.
    I had the undeniable impression that I was not alone in this dark corridor. I could feel someone watching me, and the feeling was as strong and unnerving as it would have been had someone reached out to touch me. A pair of eyes stared at me from somewhere down the hall. The sensation was too strong, too real to be my imagination. I peered into the gloom, trying to adjust my eyes to the darkness, but there was nothing but shadow, rippling black shadow that seemed to stir in the air, caressing the walls with sable darkness. At the very end of the hall, far away, heavy draperies were drawn over windows, and they billowed, making a raspy, rustling sound like the sound of hoarse whispers. As my eyes grew accustomed to the dark, I could see the recessed doorways on either side, and then I saw the dark form in one of the doorways halfway down the corridor, an immobile black shape outlined by the lighter darkness around it.
    â€œWho’s there?” I called.
    There was no reply, just the heavy silence emphasized by the rustle of the drapes. Minutes passed, each second punctuated by the beating of my heart, and I was paralyzed, unable to move away from the evil that I felt like a living substance around me. I stared at the dark form hovering there in the doorway, my eyes straining to see distinct details, and then everything blurred together and I heard a loud click followed by a soft creaking sound that echoed along the walls. The dark form had vanished. It was no longer in the doorway. Shadows blurred and blended and there was only the fetid air, the sharp, sour odor. I was alone in the deserted corridor, left with only my own fear.
    That, too, vanished, and I felt incredibly foolish as reason returned and I realized how preposterous the fear had been in the first place. I had reacted in precisely the same way the heroine of one of my books would have reacted. Had someone glided down the hall, pausing at the door of my room and then turning into the east wing, and then waited there in the doorway? I doubted it now. The dark form had been merely a mass of shadows, and the click, the creaking had been perfectly normal noises. I tried to convince myself that someone hadn’t opened the door and gone into one of the rooms. There was one sure way of finding out. I could march down the hall, open the door and look inside. I wasn’t about to. Not that I was afraid , I told myself. The idea simply didn’t appeal to me.
    Leaving the east wing, I returned to the other hall and hurried down it, turning left and going down the wide main hall, relieved to see sunlight spilling through the west windows and dappling the garnet carpet with flecks of gold. I paused at the head of the stairs, smoothing the skirt of my green linen dress and brushing a curl away from my temple. Aunt Agatha would be waiting for me, and I wanted to be