He only shook his head. "Come, eat some food. Then I can help you with your plan."
It was no use talking to the old man; he was senile.
I got off the cot. Except for the dizziness and a feeling that my knees were made of papier-mache, I was all right. I picked up the hand-formed candle, stumbled into the hall.
It was a jumble of rubbish. I climbed through, pushed open the door to my study. There was my desk, the tall bookcase with the glass doors, the gray rug, the easy chair. Aside from a layer of dust and some peeling wall paper, it looked normal. I flipped the switch. Nothing happened.
"What is that charm?" the old man said behind me. He pointed to the light switch.
"The power's off," I said. "Just habit."
He reached out and flipped the switch up, then down again. "It makes a pleasing sound."
"Yeah." I picked up a book from the desk; it fell apart in my hands.
I went back into the hall, tried the bedroom door, looked in at heaped leaves, the remains of broken furniture, an empty window frame. I went on to the end of the hall and opened the door to the bedroom.