An extract from, The Collected Tales of Nathaniel Darcy...

By this time, the candle, which had burnt down to a pitiful stub, was struggling to illuminate the dusty displays of miserable looking stuffed animals along the route and yet still managed to make their shadows dance on the ceiling. He turned the corner almost afraid to look. The shock, even though he secretly half expected it, almost took his breath away. For the first time ever, the door to the forbidden room was wide open.

“Oh my God,” he said aloud. A shivering wave then coursed through him, racking him in spasms. With great determination, he tried to turn around but it was as though he had become a puppet with somebody else pulling his strings - towards the open doorway.

He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to look inside the dark room for fear of what he might see, and yet, at the same time he felt compelled to. As his eyes adjusted, he could just about make out the outline of a four poster bed. Everything, sheets, pillows, drapes, were covered in thick grey dust. The smell alone nearly choked him.

Then his worst fear - the stub of candle blinked out. Suddenly, his back felt terribly exposed in the yawning blackness and he peered over his shoulder along the gloomy landing. To his terror he could once more hear the sound of swishing crinoline and the jingling of the chatelaine, and it was getting closer.

He had no choice - there was nowhere else to go.