Footsteps in the Dark

Chapter 2

"And the prince leapt up and grabbed the beautiful lady, saving her from the clutches of the evil witch, and she was his love, forever," Helen finished, and snapped the book shut.

  "That was a nice story," Nell said, curling herself up in her covers.

  "Yes, it has a happy ending. I think that's nice, don't you?" Helen said, smiling at the little girl.

  As Helen started over to the light switch, the dull slam of a door made her jump.

  "That'll be Mrs Staton leaving," she said to herself quietly.

  "Do you have to turn the light off?" Nell asked suddenly.

  "I think I should. Otherwise you won't be able to get to sleep."

  Nell moaned.

  "But I'm scared with the light off!"

  "Don't worry about the storm," Helen said reassuringly. "It can't hurt you, I promise."

  "I'm not frightened of the storm. It's that man everyone keeps on talking about.

  "Which man?" Helen asked, a little puzzled.

  "The one who killed all those girls. The one Mummy was talking about to Mrs Staton about."

  Helen was unsure how to respond to this.

  "He won't come here. Anyway, I'll be right next door, and I promise you, he won't get past me."

  But who'll look after me? Helen thought desperately.

Once in her room, Helen proceeded to undress and slip into her nightgown. Then, sitting down in front of the large, polished wooden dressing table, she took her hairbrush and ran it gently through her luxurious chestnut hair, over and over again. She began to fall into a sleepy trance. Inside her head, Helen began to play the 'What if' game.

  What if I saw someone came up behind me in the mirror, and he began to reach for my throat... she thought, deliberately trying to scare herself. I would scream, I would scream–

  A sudden flash of lightning and the violent clap of thunder made her jump. On hearing frightened wails from the room next door, Helen sprang up and walked briskly across the hall.

  "What is it Nell?" she asked, after quickly switching the light on.

  "I don't like being in the dark!" wailed Nell, hugging her teddy-bear close to her.

  "Is it because of that man you overheard your mother talking about?" she asked sternly, looking into Nell's eyes.

  The little girl nodded guiltily.

  "I thought I said he wouldn't be able to get past me," Helen said, an eyebrow raised.

  Nell looked away.

  "But he might get you first, or he might climb in through one of the windows. He might already be in the house..." Nell gave a squeal as another roll of thunder rocked the house, and buried herself under her covers.

  Helen shuddered. He might get you first... He might already be in the house...

  "Nell? If I search Hill House from top to bottom and secure every window... then will you be able to get to sleep?" she said slowly, wanting to reassure herself as much as Nell.

  The little girl thought for a moment.

  "I suppose so... as long as I can have the light on while you're doing it... I don't know though... I don't want to be alone..."

  Helen was by now desperate to search the house, and resorted to desperate means.

  "Tell you what, if I let you have the gramophone player on until I get back, then will you be alright?"

  Nell nodded eagerly and bounded over to the small gramophone in the corner of the room.

  Helen, seeing the girl was quite content flipping through the large collection of records, left the room (leaving the door wide open), returned to her own room. Looking around her, she searched for some form of weapon. The best thing she could see was one of the two large, brass candlesticks that donned the mantelpiece. It was better than nothing.

  Just as she was leaving the room, the cheerful, upbeat melody of 'Button up Your Overcoat' blared out of Nell's room. Smiling, Helen started with the room next to hers, third from the end of the hall, another guest room.

  Quickly opening the door, she flung on the light and began a routine check of looking under the bed, in the wardrobe and behind the curtains. She then secured the window firmly.

  All the keys in Hill House were all kept permanently in their corresponding locks, and Helen pondered for a moment wether she should lock the door behind her. She quickly decided against it for fear of becoming paranoid. After all, the likelihood of the killer selecting this house from all the other houses to strike in was distinctly small.

  How wrong she was.