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1.AHauntedHouse
Whateverhouryouwoketherewasadoorshunting.
Fromroomtoroomtheywent,handinhand,lifting
here,openingthere,makingsure–aghostlycouple.
“Hereweleftit,”shesaid.Andheadded,“Oh,but
heretoo!”“It’supstairs,”shemurmured.“Andinthe
garden,”hewhispered“Quietly,”theysaid,“or
weshallwakethem.”
Butitwasn’tthatyouwokeus.Oh,no.“They’re
lookingforit;they’redrawingthecurtain,”onemight
say,andsoreadonapageortwo.“Nowthey’vefound
it,”onewouldbecertain,stoppingthepencilonthe
margin.Andthen,tiredofreading,onemightriseand
seeforoneself,thehouseallempty,thedoorsstanding
open,onlythewoodpigeonsbubblingwithcontentand
thehumofthethreshingmachinesoundingfromthe
farm.“WhatdidIcomeinherefor?WhatdidIwant
tofind?”Myhandswereempty.“Perhapsit’supstairs
then?”Theappleswereintheloft.Andsodownagain,
thegardenstillasever,onlythebookhadslippedinto
thegrass.
Buttheyhadfounditinthedrawingroom.Notthat
onecouldeverseethem.Thewindowpanesreflected
apples,reflectedroses;alltheleavesweregreeninthe
glass.Iftheymovedinthedrawingroom,theapple
onlyturneditsyellowside.Yet,themomentafter,ifthe
doorwasopened,spreadaboutthefloor,hungupon
thewalls,pendantfromtheceiling–what?Myhands
wereempty.Theshadowofathrushcrossedthe
carpet;fromthedeepestwellsofsilencethewood
pigeondrewitsbubbleofsound.“Safe,safe,safe,”the
pulseofthehousebeatsoftly.“Thetreasureburied;
theroom...”thepulsestoppedshort.Oh,wasthatthe
buriedtreasure?
Amomentlaterthelighthadfaded.Outinthe
gardenthen?Butthetreesspundarknessfor
awanderingbeamofsun.Sofine,sorare,coollysunk
beneaththesurfacethebeamIsoughtalwaysburnt
