The light of the oil lamp cast flickering patterns on the walls, creating a sense of life where there was none. The air was musty and the floor under the two men's feet was strewn with trash and fine shards of glass. A spider web wafted in the wind like a gray curtain, and eerie rattling noises came up from the bowels of the building. They were the sounds of heavy, labored breathing; at least that's how Tremayn's over-wrought imagination heard them.

He stood still. The lamp in his hand was trembling, and he had to try with all his might to fight the growing urge to turn and run as fast and as far away as he could from this cursed, sinister house. It seemed more like a giant, damp grave with each passing moment ...