UMBRA

Barbara

The Aldridge Manor was dustier than the Atacama desert on a chilly, windy Friday night. The skeleton of the manor was acting like a giant cacophonous flute as the wind whistled nefariously. The entire manor was lit up by blue light from the full moon, which entered through the holes in the fallen roof. Above my head was a mighty chandelier (probably imported), which was the size of my room back in New Hampshire. Glitzy chandeliers have always been a way of showing off man's wealth. But now they were pretty much nothing but a home to a number of spiders and their eggs.

"I thought this burned down," said Jace.

"And here it is," I said.

As we took a tour of our asylum, we found a grand antique piano (does every haunted house have a piano or what?—But I have to accept the fact that ghosts do have a good sense of music). If I wasn't running around for my life, I might have even thought of earning some money by selling this stuff. Could have got me ten thousand bucks trouble-free (easy money).

A wide staircase ran in front of us, which had even dustier cobwebs in between the balustrade. I could see about ten heavy mahogany doors, which the stairs led to. Jace was scuttling from room to room like an escaped lab rat.

"Guys, you've got to check this place out," said Jace. "I think you should really see this."

"Are you kidding me?" said I. "Get your ass back here before I kill you myself."

He didn't listen to me, of course. He continued to 'explore' the mansion and went into another room.

He didn't come out this time.

His feet fell silent.

Olly and I looked at each other, Oh, no.

We went into the room which Jace had gone into.

The room had no furniture, but its walls were teeming with family photos of the Aldridge family. I guessed this was the gallery. The photographs were all bleached and muted like the mansion. Yet somehow I could imagine their appearance in their heyday, bright and alluring every set of eyes which fell on them. Two of them were oil paintings of Barbara alone. Her hair was prettier than mine (yes, I'm jealous). Her eyes sparkled, thankfully not in a creepy way. Maybe she wasn't so bad, after all. The dress she wore in the first picture was dark lavender. The second dress was of rich shades of golden forming a perfect gossamer over the bright red gown.

On the opposite wall, the entire family tree was painted on a wallpaper, falling out of place with holes. Aah, the ideal position of a secret door. I slowly pushed my hand through the wallpaper, just the way I had forced my hand in Mr. Briggs' dead body. There was definitely a secret corridor. I tore the paper apart to enter the passage. And then there was a glowing light at the end of it. Looks like we were heading in the right direction.

"It is a trap," Olly whispered.

"Ya think?" said I.

This was neither our game nor our rules.

We moved towards the light like a fly towards a single bulb. The hollow tunnel was layered with spider webs and I swatted my hands at them as if swatting a fly. I wouldn't be surprised to find a family of spiders (I just hope it's not a tarantula or something) living on my head (or in my hair). But the light in front of us . . . It was closer, then farther.

Closer, then farther . . .

"Are we going in a circle?" asked Olly.

"Great things come out of patience, little boy."