“You mustn’t!” protested Ruth panic-stricken. What appalling consequences were to be apprehended from so rash an act, she herself could not have told. But she was certain that if Amy sneezed, her own self-control would give way, and she would scream. “Smother it,” she commanded fiercely.
Amy grasped the sheet in a heroic effort to obey, but she was too late. She sneezed, and to poor Ruth’s unstrung nerves, the sound was only to be compared in volume to a peal of thunder. The mysterious rustling ceased, and just outside the door a board creaked.
“Girls!” The tentative whisper stole softly through the half-open door. “Girls, are you awake?”
“Oh, Peggy!” There was untold relief in that brief welcome. Peggy’s presence brought a sense of reinforcement, even against supernatural terrors. Noiselessly Peggy crept into the room, and perched on the edge of the bed. Considering the lateness of the hour, her air was peculiarly alert.
“I knew by Amy’s sneeze that she was awake, too, and I thought I’d come in. I never had such a wakeful night in my life.”
“Have you been hearing things, too?” demanded Amy, with an immediate accession of respect for her own fears if Peggy shared them.
Peggy hesitated. “Well, it hasn’t seemed as quiet as most of the nights,” she replied, evasively.
“Rustling in all the corners, and the screen twanging, that’s what we’ve had,” exclaimed Ruth in an excited whisper.
Peggy’s silence indicated that such phenomena did not surprise her. “I suppose,” she remarked at length, in her most judicial manner, “that we all got nervous over those uncanny stories, and so we’re ready to imagine–Oh!”
Something had swooped by her, almost brushing her cheek, and stirring her hair with the breeze made by its passing. Peggy’s muffled shriek had two echoes.