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The Sorcerer in the Corridor

The clock in the hall chimed midnight and Elaine raised herself on one elbow to listen: the sound of a step in the hall, the gentle thud of a cane, and the low sound of her employer speaking. Every night, with unmatched precision, Mr. Prince made three rounds through the halls and rooms, identical in order and time. There was some strange gravitas to his ritual such that Elaine could never bring herself to inquire what his purpose was come morning. For all its incongruity, something about the sameness of each night comforted her. She reclined again, returning easily to sleep.

Midnight, #84