the hour of midnight

four

It was a narrow, corridor-like room, with dark shadows gathering in the corners. I spotted a tap and a sink, and I guessed it might be a washroom.

 I closed the door firmly and turned to find Cecily when, suddenly, creak, creak, creak—the washroom door was again opening and closing on its own. Bewildered, I stared at it. I had shut the door firmly, but there it was, swinging open and closed once more. Creak, creak. Frustrated, I grabbed the handle and shut it again. But soon enough, the creaking resumed. I tried over and over, but it was no use. Exasperated, I left the door to its eerie behavior and moved on to find Cecily. Fear started creeping in, and the unsettling strangeness of the place was beginning to sink into me.

The room Cecily had entered was a kitchen. She was rifling through the pantry cupboards when I left her and continued toward the door at the end of the corridor. Only the creaking washroom door and my footsteps broke the heavy silence.

I looked out through the door and immediately stepped back, feeling a wave of nausea. The door opened directly onto the slope we had seen earlier. From a distance, it hadn't seemed dangerous, but now, looking out from this height, I realized just how steep and high it really was. Steps had been carved into the red-brown clay, but they were uneven, rickety, and dangerously steep.