I started back, dropped the match and half blundered to the door. I had never seen such a disgusting, sickening sight and it seemed to draw my nerves into tight, writhing wires.
I stood gulping in the doorway, too sick even to speak. Ansell shook my arm. “What is it?” he said, his voice was high pitched. “What are you looking like that for?”
“It’s the Indian,” I said, trying to control my heaving fluttering stomach. “He’s dead. Don’t look at him. It’s the filthiest thing I’ve seen.” I looked back into the darkness, my heart pounding against my side. “Where’s Myra? There’s no one in there—just the old Indian.”
“There’s another room,” Ansell said, “Look, over to the right.”
I fumbled for another match, struck it and went into the room again. I didn’t look at the Indian. I could just see a dark opening at the far end of the room and I walked slowly towards it. Ansell followed me.
I paused at the doorway and peered in. The light from the match pierced the thick darkness for a few feet. I moved forward slowly and I stopped just by the door. The flame of the match flickered and went out.
I had a sudden feeling that this wasn’t real. It was like a nightmare of ghostly unknown things that pressed round me in the darkness. If I had been alone, I should have run away. I should have turned and stumbled into the bright sunlight and I would never have gone back into that ghastly, frightening darkness. But Ansell was behind me. I could feel his hand on my arm and somehow I felt I could stand there with him so close to me.
“Do you hear anything?” he whispered.
I listened. The silence was so complete that all I could hear was the pounding of my heart and the little hurried gasps from Ansell.
I fumbled for a match and the bright flame lit the mom for a moment, then it died down and the shadows closed in on me again.