Tony Walker

Get my rap, she said brutally.

Amelia got up slowly and went through the door leading to the stairs.

As she started to climb them, she crossed herself and stretched and curved her fingers.

A fearful twitch convulsed her face.

Miss Pendleham went to the front door, opened it and left it ajar, and went back to the drawing room.

Then, as the minutes passed, she cocked her head as though listening.

There came that high, torture wail, and she straightened her head abruptly.

The clock ticked, the windows throbbed and hammered in the gale.

Presently she got up and went to the foot of the stairs,

Amelia, she called, her voice cracking oddly.

There was no reply.

She smiled and ran her thick tongue along her lips.

She went up a few stairs and called again, then fetched the lighted candle from the drawing room and ascended to the first landing.

Amelia, she called.

A sudden fierce gust of wind spurted down the passage and blew out the candle, leaving her in pitch darkness.

She began to grope her way down the corridor, her fingers sliding along the wall.

They came to a gap and she turned in to the left, moving forward till her thighs met a bed.

Amelia, she called, and the echo was hurled hard back at her.

She moved across the room, her hands groping out before her till they found another gap, the powder closet.

This was crammed with her ancient and discarded clothes and stank of stale scent, sweat and decay.