"Darn stuff is so thick I can't tell them apart," Merlin was muttering.
"Hurry!" Arthur called. "The cock crows midnight!"
"I'm doing my best," Merlin said. He was breathing hard as he bent over Wilbur. There was a quick pressure against Wilbur's eye socket and Merlin grunted triumphantly.
"There!" the old man said. "I've kept my promise. Now I'm going to send you back where I found you, and good riddance. You've been nothing but trouble."
Again something hot was poured down Wilbur's throat. It had a familiar taste, a sort of smoky flavor. Liquid fire coursed through his veins, he felt his body grow light and buoyant, he was floating. Then he was being sucked down into a black vortex and through a Stygian passage. The passage seemed endless but it was not, and at the end was a tiny hole of light which grew steadily larger.
Wilbur found himself on a sagging porch, before a door that leaned on sprung hinges. His head ached, and raising his hand he ran it along his scalp until he found a large bump. He rolled his eyes upward as though to see where he had been hurt. All he saw was a jagged hole in the porch roof. At his feet was a chunk of plaster.
It took a minute for the realization to filter through that he was standing on the porch of 136 W. Erie Street. Wilbur recalled walking up the stairs. After that everything was a blur. He scrutinized the door. There was no card bearing the name of A. J. Merlin. In fact, there was no card at all!
"Hey, mister," a boy's voice called. Wilbur turned around and saw a tattered urchin regarding him gravely. "Ain't nobody lived in that house for years," the boy said. "It's haunted."
Wilbur shuddered and at the same instant became aware of a peculiar phenomenon. He seemed to be seeing the boy through only one eye. The other was strangely blurred. Wilbur pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his right eye. His vision improved but as he moved toward the head of the stairs he swayed slightly.