“No; I’ll see the show through. You can look after the ladies, Tracy.”
So the others crowded round Stebbins, as he prepared to unlock the door of the fatal room.
“’Tain’t no great sight,” he said, almost apologetically. “But it’s the ha’nted room.”
Slowly he turned the key and they all filed in.
The room was dark, save for what light came in from the hall. All blinds were closed, and over the windows hung heavy curtains of rep that had once been red but was now a dull, nondescript colour. There were more of these heavy, long curtains, evidently concealing alcoves or cupboards, and over each curtain was a “lambrequin” edged with thick twisted woolen fringe, and at intervals, tassels,—enormous, weighty tassels, such as were once used in church pulpits and other old-fashioned upholstery. Such quantities of these there were, that it is small wonder the room received its name.
And the tassels had a sinister air. Motionless they hung, dingy, faded, but still of an individuality that seemed to say, “we have seen unholy deed,—we cry out mutely for vengeance!”
“It was them tassels that scared me most,” Stebbins said, in an awed tone. “I mean before—she come. They sort of swayed,—when they wasn’t no draught nor anything.”
“I don’t wonder!” said Braye, “they’re the ghostliest things I ever saw! But the whole room is awful! It—oh I say! put up a window!”
“I can’t,” said Stebbins simply. “These here windows ain’t been up for years and years. The springs is all rusted and won’t work.”
“There’s something in the room!” cried Eve, hysterically, “I mean—something—besides us—something alive!”