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Kathryn shut her eyes for a second, then opened them. Only another million rooms to go.
She bit back a choked laugh and set off down the hall.
Ten minutes later, she had finished checking the rooms on the second floor. Her knees wore badges of dirt from getting down and peering under all the high, old-fashioned beds and she'd had a shrieking run-in with an equally terrified mouse that had bolted for freedom when she'd opened one of the closets, but she was certain that nobody and nothing was hiding up here.
Reasonably certain, you mean.
Completely certain. There was nobody in the bedrooms and baths.
Nobody you can see, anyway.
Oh, for pity's sake!
What kind of nonsense was this? It was ridiculous to think that the intruder had been anything but a flesh and blood weirdo all gussied up for a late Halloween.
Sure. And he just happens to do a bit of hocus pocus on the side, as in escapes a la Houdini. Of course, Kathryn. That's perfectly reasonable.
Well, it was. Compared with thinking she'd been visited by a ghost, it was not just reasonable, it was right on the money.
All she had to do now was check the attic.
The thought made her shudder, which was silly. She'd been up there before. And it wasn't half as spooky as she'd imagined it would be...
Kathryn paused at the foot of the narrow attic staircase. She looked up.
Had the pitch of the steps always been this steep? Had the stairs and the landing beyond them been so terribly dark?
And the chill that poured down these steps... it made her skin crawl. She felt as if hundreds of tiny things were creeping over her flesh.
All you have to do is turn around and go downstairs, Kathryn.
Without knowing if anything... if anybody was hiding in the attic? No way.
Okay, then. Just go up there and lock the door. Don't open it. Don't even think about opening it.
And spend the rest of the night wondering if she'd locked somebody in the house with her? Uh uh.
She climbed the steps quickly. They really did seem steeper than before. It was just an illusion, of course. She knew that, just as she knew how stupid it was to let her imagination run away with her.
But she was trembling, and her breathing was shallow when she finally reached the landing.
She reached out for the doorknob. Once. Twice...
"Dammit, Kathryn," she said, and she switched on her flashlight, turned the knob, flung open the door.
Everything was exactly as she had left it. The lid of the old trunk was open, the rocking chair was tilted slightly towards the window, and Matthew's journal lay face down on the seat.
The shutters and the window were open, though. Had she left them that way? She couldn't really remember.
All in all, the scene was about as threatening as a photo layout in Better Homes and Gardens.
The breath spilled from her lungs in a long whoosh. She stepped into the center of the room a
nd shined the flashlight beam into all the corners.
Except for some industrial-strength dust balls, they were empty.
Kathryn let out a relieved breath. Okay. She could chalk this room off the list, lock the door after her and leave.
