The Lady of Lyon House Read Online Free PDF

Cats frequently prowled among the cans and boxes, and they sometimes knocked off a lid or pushed over a box. Then I heard a slow, creaking sound, as though someone was opening the back gate cautiously. I paid no particular attention to the sound.
    There was a long silence, almost as though the house was holding its breath, then the noises began again. They were soft, muted, not at all loud, steady. There was something wrong. I sat up, all my senses alerted. Something did not fit. I could not identify the noise that was out of place, but I knew instinctively that something did not belong. I strained my ears. There was a loud creak, a pause, a shuffle, another creak. It sounded like someone coming up the backstairs. It was not the wind. It was not the shutters.
    The noise was not repeated. It ceased altogether. I sat on the edge of the bed, alarmed. Several minutes passed. I could hear nothing unusual, and I was beginning to think I had imagined it all, yet I was unnerved, and I sensed something wrong. I knew this house thoroughly. I was attune to it. I knew its moods, its atmosphere, all its smells and sounds. It was a living thing to me, like an old friend, and now there was something that did not fit into the pattern. It was in the air. It was almost tangible.
    I heard a floorboard creak in the hall outside. There was a soft sliding sound, as though someone were moving along the wall. I felt my wrists grow limp, and my throat was dry. I tried to remain calm, but I couldn’t. I was paralyzed with fear. I wanted to scream, but no sound would come. I listened, straining every nerve. There was silence; the silence was more frightening than the noise had been. I felt something hovering outside, something dark and sinister.
    The starlight danced on the wall opposite my bed, making spots of moving silver on the old blue wallpaper, but the rest of the room was in shadow. The furniture made dark forms. The window was open a little and the curtains rustled, blowing inwards. I could see the door to my room and the tarnished old brass doorknob. It was not locked.
    The doorknob turned slowly. I watched with horrified fascination as it revolved, so slowly, so cautiously. It stopped. The door began to open. It opened several inches, and I could see the dark of the hall. My heart was pounding so loudly that I was sure someone must hear it. I watched as the door opened almost halfway, making a soft, swishing noise that was barely audible. I could see a tall, shadowy form standing just inside the doorway, a darker shape against the darkness. I shook my head, trying to tell myself that this wasn’t happening. It was like a nightmare, not real at all. The only thing real was my pounding heart and my hands gripping the edge of the bed.
    â€œJulia—little Julia—”
    It was no more than a whisper, hoarse, the words shaped softly and thrown into the darkness.
    I had the presence of mind to light the lamp. My hands flew to the matches on my bedside table, the fingers trembling as I struck one of them. The sudden flare of yellow-orange blinded me, and I groped for the oil lamp, almost dropping it. I held the flame to the wick, and in a moment a bright glow began to spread into the room, driving away shadows and restoring everything to proper dimensions. The wallpaper was faded blue, unadorned with starlight. The furniture was oak, painted white. The curtains were white, with green braid borders. The door was closed, a flat wooden surface, painted green, the tarnished brass doorknob still and innocent.
    The fear was gone. It had fled with the coming of light. So had the feeling of disharmony. The room was as it had always been, and it was incredible to believe that but moments ago something dark and sinister had been standing in the doorway, threatening the sanctity of it. I was alarmed at myself, trembling now with irritation, not fear. The nightmare had been so vivid, so real. I had been wide awake, or so I thought. I supposed