“The eye!” he whispered, and again, “the eye!”
For a space of many seconds, like a bird charmed by a snake, he stood staring at that eye.
And then cold terror seized him. In the corner of the place he had detected some movement. It was off to his right. Whirling about, he found himself staring at—of all the terrible things in that eerie light—a skeleton.
And even as he stared, ready to sink to the floor in sheer terror, the skeleton appeared to move, to tremble, to open and close its fleshless hands.
He watched the thing for ten terrible seconds. Then a thought struck him with the force of a blow.
“That—” he whispered as if afraid the thing might hear, “that is me! That is my own skeleton!”
Of this there could be no doubt. For, as he lifted his right hand, the skeleton did the same. As he bobbed his head, the thing before him bobbed. And if further evidence were lacking, the thing had a crooked third finger, and so had he.
Then, as if ashamed of being discovered, the terrifying image vanished and the eye in the wall blinked out. Instantly the door at the inner end of the hall opened. There, standing in a flood of mellow light, was a girl of about his own age. She was smiling at him and shaking her mass of golden hair.
“Come in,” she welcomed. “But—but you seem so frightened!” She stared at him for a second.
“Oh!” There was consternation in her tone. “Felix left that terrible thing on! How can you ever forgive us?