‘Quick!’ said Anne. ‘Let’s run for that house down the road there. We can take shelter in the stable or something. We’ll be drenched if we’re caught in the open in a rain like this.’
So off they ran. And the rain seemed to run behind them, growing and growing. Presently, when they reached the house, the shower had become so heavy that they did not hesitate or bother about whose place it was. They ran straight up to the door and leapt through it into the hall.
They were so breathless from running that it was a moment or two before they began to look around them. In the doorway through which they had come the door hung on one hinge, half leaning against the wall. The walls were bare and had their plaster broken in many places. The floor, too, had holes in it and was littered with dust and dirt. It was a deserted house.
‘Giles,’ whispered Anne, ‘do you know where we’ve come to?’
Her brother nodded his head.
‘Yes,’ he said slowly. ‘It’s the Haunted Inn.’
For another moment they were silent again while both, with some fear and hesitation, gazed backwards into the shadows at the end of the hall. The rain outside poured down into the yard and road with a steady hissing noise.
This house was one the children had often wished to visit, but had never quite had the courage to. It was a hostelry known in days gone by as the Golden Mitre. In those times it had been famous for its wines and cooking and for the good comfort travellers enjoyed there. But for years now it had lain empty and abandoned. No one knew why, but many said the place was haunted. Today Giles and Anne had blundered into it unknowingly, in their helter-skelter hurry to get shelter from the rain.
‘Let’s go, Giles,’ said Anne, clutching his hand and turning again to the door. But the curtain of falling water that barred the way out was almost as terrible as the house itself.
‘Well,’ laughed Giles, ‘we can’t very well leave now, anyhow. Here we are, both of us, after all our daring one another to come in.’