The Abandoned Room

A morbid desire to satisfy herself that her uncle’s silence meant nothing evil drove her upstairs. She stood in the square main hall at the head of the stairs, listening. Her uncle’s bedroom door lay straight ahead. To her right and left, narrow corridors led to the wings. Her room, Bobby’s, and a spare room were in the right-hand wing. The opposite corridor was seldom used, for the left-hand wing was the oldest portion of the house, and in the march of years, too many legends had gathered about it. The large bedroom was there with its private hall beyond and a narrow, enclosed staircase descending to the library. Initially, it was customary for the head of the family to use that room. Its ancient furniture still faded within stained walls. No one had slept in it for many years because it had sheltered too much suffering. After all, it had witnessed the reluctant spiritual departure of too many Blackburns.

Katherine shrank a little from the black entrance of the corridor, but her anxiety centred on the door ahead. She was about to call when a stirring beyond it momentarily reassured her.

The door opened, and her uncle stepped out. He wore an untidy dressing gown, and his hair was disordered. His face appeared greyer and more worn than it had downstairs. A lighted candle shook in his right hand.