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and Kiera had discovered up there.
The bodies of all those poor children, murdered by Sparky and…
    Still unable to
even think of his name, let alone say it, I came to the first door
set into the wall on my right. The patterned wallpaper hung in torn
strips and it smelt weird. The wall peered out from behind the
paper, which looked scarred with black mildew and damp. Then I
remembered how my father had insisted that the walls be coated with
queets, the stuff that killed vampires.
    The manor was
very much how I had remembered it to be. I pushed against the door
which swung open and then I changed my mind.
    “Where has that
statue come from?” I whispered. I couldn’t ever remember there
being any statues in the manor - not in the grounds and definitely
not inside. But then again, I couldn’t actually recall ever being
in this room, so perhaps it had been here all the while. With the
flame flickering before me, I cupped my hand around it, fearing
that it might go out and leave me in total darkness. I could just
make out that the windows had been boarded over with planks of wood
so no one could see in and no one could see out. But that’s what
made the statue so odd. It was kneeling down. At first I thought
that it had been made to look as if it was in prayer, but as I
stepped through the darkness, I could see that the figure had been
shaped to look as if it were peering through a gap in the boards
that covered the window. It looked as if the statue were trying to
see outside.
    I held the
candle to the figure and could see that whoever had made it had
failed to give the statue, eyes, ears, nose, and a mouth. Even so,
I could tell that the figure was a young man. It had short hair and
its body was carved with muscle. Not like one of those freaky
bodybuilders you see on T.V., but just nice, like a well-toned guy.
His upper body was naked and his lower half had been sculpted to
look as if he was wearing a set of baggy jeans. As I peered through
the orange glow of my light, I was mesmerised by the web of cracks
and breaks that covered it. There were so many, I feared that
should I touch it, it would fall apart before me in a pile of grey
ash.
    Apart from the
statue, the room was empty. There wasn’t a bed, wardrobe, not one
stitch of furniture, just the statue, which looked as if it were
secretly trying to look out of the window. Then from behind me, the
door suddenly slammed shut, snuffing out my light. The room went
black and I screamed. With my free hand, I fumbled in my pockets
for the book of matches I had found in the kitchen drawers. Placing
the candle on the ground, I struck one of the matches, and a
brilliant glow of orange light flared up before me and I screamed
again. In my panic, I dropped the match and it went out. But in
that split second of light, I had seen that statue again. He had no
longer been looking out of the boarded-up window, but had now been
standing before me, its blank, featureless face just inches from
mine.
    I stumbled back
into the darkness, desperately trying to free another match from
the book. But my hands were trembling so much, that it seemed
impossible. Drawing a deep breath and backing away towards the
closed door, I managed to free a match and strike it. At once there
was a flare of orange light. With the flame jerking to and fro
between my shaking fingers, I could see the statue knelt before the
window.
    “Get a grip,
Kayla Hunt,” I spoke aloud, and even though it was my own voice in
the darkness it gave me some comfort. I picked up the candle from
the rough wooden floor and lit it. Snuffing out the match before it
burnt my fingers, I reached out behind me and fumbled for the door
handle. Unable to take my eyes from the statue, I could see that it
was in exactly the same place and position it had been before the
door had slammed shut and blown out my candle.
    The statue
hadn’t moved – it couldn’t have. I would have heard it, right?
Feeling kinda dumb for spooking myself, I