The luminous dial of my watch showed six-fifty-four. We'd finished with our customary sweep. The kitchen, as it turned out, was the warmest room in the house; all the other rooms were down by a couple of degrees. Whether that was at all significant, none of us were quite sure. But we were sure of the significance of a little room in the basement, in which I could see my breath plume; and that of the ground floor parlor directly above that room, in which we'd found a cold spot.
Lockwood, of course, had called dibs on the corner room. I'd snagged the parlor. That left George to watch the stairs. He hadn't been too bothered about that, by the look of him.
Through the parlor window, the sun could barely be seen over the horizon; only the last vestiges of day still clung stubbornly to life. I was ready, sitting in the center of the double circle of iron chains that I'd rigged up in the corridor just outside the parlor. I'd sprinkled salt and sprigs of lavender within the boundary of the chains for extra protection. I wasn't taking any chances tonight; none of us would be. It had taken some convincing, but Lockwood had agreed: tonight would be strictly for observation. Once we'd judged the danger, we'd come back the next night to finish the case.
At least, that was the plan.
I waited. Night was falling fast. Darkness seeped slowly in from the thick blue-blackness of the night outside, pooling in the corners and choking the hard lines of the walls in its murky ambiguity. I pulled the ghost jar from my backpack, set it carefully by the edge of the chains. The green glow of the spirit within cast a pale, watery light over my surroundings. The skull was still and silent, but the light meant that it was present and watchful. That was fine by me. I wasn't much in the mood for its vile talk.
My stomach growled. I hadn't eaten breakfast or lunch; I'd gone to the stores first thing in the morning to restock on supplies. All these cases were good for money and publicity, but they were fast depleting our energy along with our stores of salt and magnesium.
Where was it? I could've sworn I'd shoved a packet of crisps into my backpack. Ah, there it was. I tore it open and began to crunch.
Was it just me, or were my movements unnecessarily loud?
Seven-fifteen glowed on my watch dial. Not much time had passed. Still…I paused in my crunching, scanned the darkness. All was still. All was silent.
Even so, my skin prickled.
I opened my eyes wide.
Nothing.
I stopped crunching and listened…
And immediately shot to my feet, breathing hard.
A maddened cackle resounded repeatedly in my ear—so close it seemed that someone stood right next to me, within the double loop of iron…
I spun within the coil of the chains, rapier in hand, staring wildly into the dark—
Oooh, Lucy, did I startle you? Sorry, was just trying to brush up on my acting skills…I must say, I rather surprised myself. That was quite a good impression of you, wasn't it?
I lowered my rapier, exhaled. "You! You idiot, what was that for?"
The face in the jar gave an exaggerated frown. You didn't like it. I see…I suppose I didn't sound quite mad enough.
I rolled my eyes. "If you haven't got anything useful to report, you can just shut up."
Alright, alright. You're no fun at all. It's no wonder you're talking to me; there's no way you'll make friends with that kind of attitude.
I scowled at it. "Have you got anything to tell me or not?"
The face in the jar winked obnoxiously. Oh, I've got loads more to say…Your hair, for example. What on earth have you been doing to it?
"I meant about this house!"
Oh, right. That. Well, it's old. Very old. And bad. Very, very bad. You people certainly have a knack for getting into dreadful situations…personally, I bet you won't survive the night, especially considering how incompetent you all are…but that's a tad optimistic of me, I suppose.
"So you know what we're dealing with, then?"
Did I say that I did? No. But it's bad, it's old, it's strong, it's hungry…and more importantly, it's smart, and the night's still young…as are you. It grinned, eager and sharp. So full of life…it's probably rubbing its hands together as we speak. Plus…
"What is it? What else?"
No…it would be too cruel. In your last moments…no, I couldn't say. You're better off not knowing.
"What is it? Tell me, or I swear I'll—I'll brick you up in here and let you rot alone forever!"
Well, when you put it like that…alright, I'll tell you. It eyed me, sighing tragically. It's just—That hair! And those clothes! You seem to be suicidal in general, but surely you don't want to die looking like that. I wouldn't blame you if you ran for it now…in fact, I'd recommend it. C'mon, now's your chance. If you don't, some poor old chap will have a heart attack when he finds you in the morning…Honestly…quite irresponsible of you…
It was supremely difficult not to kick the ghost-jar across the room, but I knew that, as most things went with the skull, the best thing to do was to ignore it. So I took a deep breath, sat back down, and did just that. It continued its blabbering for some time before subsiding, resorting to staring out at me from the silver-glass jar and pulling disgusting faces whenever I glanced around at it.
I pulled out my sketchbook and attempted to assume an air of nonchalance. Not easy to do when your nerves are on edge, as mine still were. The skull's words had unsettled me…not to mention, I hadn't been wrong earlier. Something other than the skull had been at work. Whatever I'd sensed earlier—and I had sensed something—may have faded back into the shadows, but I wasn't fooled; it would be back. It was simply biding its time.
It was so quiet now. I could hear my watch ticking just as clearly as if I'd held it up to my ear. It was also very dark—the faint light of the ghost-jar just barely provided enough illumination for me to see my sketchbook. I drew my pencil across the page, heard it scritch-scratch-scritch across the smooth, blank paper—
Thump...thump…thump...thump…
I bolted upright. What was that?
Thump…thump...thump…thump…
It sounded like—
Thump…thump…thump…thump…
Yes. Footsteps. Headed straight towards me.