to rooms where danger could hide, but no place for them to hide, either, should danger strike. Turning the corner, they saw the corridor continue, with no doors, to another bend.
After ten minutes of creeping in silence, they had turned several corners, and the corridor still continued on.
“Maybe we’ve gone in circles,” said Peter.
“No,” said Rosemary. “I’ve been counting. Right turn, then left, then right, then left. If the hallway is straight, it can’t have turned back on itself.”
They crept forward. The gaslights hissed. The floorboards creaked.
Rosemary stopped as she passed another turn. “This could go on forever.”
“Maybe we should go back,” said Peter.
“Hello!” Puck bellowed. Peter jumped out of his skin.
“Puck!” Rosemary clutched her chest. “What are you doing?!”
But Puck was undaunted. “Hello!” he shouted, cupping his hands to his mouth. “Whoever is here to challenge us, we await you!”
Peter pulled at his arm. “Are you sure about this?”
“Which would you rather face? The challenge, or this wretched wandering?”
Peter shook his head. “I don’t know anymore!”
Then the lights dimmed. A breeze plucked at their clothes and whistled in the hollow spaces.
“Wandering!” said Peter. “Definitely going to go for the wandering!”
Rosemary grabbed his hand. “Come on!” They marched along the corridor. Turning the next corner, they stopped dead.
A spectre floated before them.
It was a translucent skeleton, clothed in wretched rags and dangling chains. It let out a moan that echoed through the corridor. It turned and floated towards them.
“Let’s get out of here!” Peter gasped.
Rosemary tightened her grip on his hand. “No!”
He tried to pull free. “Rosemary, please, for the love of —”
She grabbed his arm with her other hand. “No, Peter. Think about it! Where would we run to?”
Puck placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Courage, Peter.”
The spectre moaned as it gathered speed along the long hallway. Peter closed his eyes. Rosemary pulled him closer. The moan rose to a wail as the creature approached. Cold washed over them.
Then it was gone. The lights brightened. The corridor was silent. They were alone in the hallway.
“How did you know?” Peter croaked.
Rosemary still held tight to his arm and her voice shook, but she said, “I read these two books with haunted houses in them. I finished one, and I think this is it. Thank God it wasn’t the other one.” She shivered. “I’m pretty sure I know this story.”
“Pretty sure?” Peter echoed.
“It was, like, four years ago!” She let go and stepped along the corridor to the next bend. “Hey!” she said, brightening. “Stairs!”
Peter and Puck stepped forward and looked. This corridor ended in a flight of stairs, leading up.
Rosemary narrowed her eyes. “Let’s get to the bottom of this!”
“Or the top, as it were,” Puck muttered. They strode up the stairs.
They came out into a ballroom. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling and mirrors lined the walls. The gaslight bounced and bounced again, and Peter and Rosemary had to stand still and blink. Puck seemed to have the eyes of a cat and was already making faces in the mirrors. Suits of armour stood in the corners, holding tall axes.
The floor beneath them began to shake. The gaslights on the chandelier flickered. The floorboards creaked. Around them, a spectral moan rose out of nowhere and tickled their spines.
“Stop it!” Rosemary shouted. “I’ve had enough of this!”
The shaking floor intensified into a rumble. The chandelier swung and tinkled like a wind chime. “This is a trick!” she yelled. “The house is mechanical!”
“The controls must be around somewhere!” shouted Peter.
“Let’s find them!” Rosemary stumbled towards the fireplace. She jumped back as the flames leapt out at her. “Here! It’s around here!” A portrait hung above the mantel. In the painting, the eyes of a stern whitehaired man glared at her. Rosemary shifted her position, and the eyes followed her.
Darting to the mantel, Rosemary climbed the stonework and perched precariously. She raised her hand, two fingers sticking out, and poked the portrait hard in the eyes.
There was a scream from within.
Rosemary punched and her fist crashed through the canvas. Grabbing an edge, she began to tear the painting away.
The floor stopped shaking and the noises were silenced abruptly. Behind the portrait, somebody yelled, “Hey! Stop! That’s valuable, that is!”
Peter rushed over and helped to pull the canvas away. Behind it they found an alcove filled with mechanical equipment. A short man sat on a stool by the controls, clutching his eyes.
Peter jumped into the alcove and grabbed the man’s swivel chair. “Who are you?”
The man swung around. He was wearing a snarling, gap-toothed witch doctor mask. “Yah!” He lunged at Peter.
Peter stumbled out of the alcove, fell off the mantel, and landed on the floor.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MIRROR, MIRROR
“She will.”
— Marjorie Campbell
The man leapt off the mantelpiece and pulled off his mask. He pointed at Peter and cackled. “Got you!” He was a small man with a round, red face like a cherub, but his eyes were as dark as holes.
Keeping her eye on the little man, Rosemary climbed down while Puck helped Peter to his feet. “You run this place?” Rosemary asked.
The man tapped his fingers together and gave her a little bow. “Actually, Miss Watson, I am filling in for the proprietor. You remember old Professor Herman?”
The light dawned. “Yes! Professor Herman!”
“Huh?” said Peter.
“This old guy who rigged the house to move around and make noises to scare everybody away,” said Rosemary. “But two kids weren’t scared off; they made friends with him and got him back into the real
