It was a low, protracted sound; less an expression of despair, more a moan of great release.

‘I am alone in here. I am.’

The tall shrouded object now haunted Maxine’s peripheral vision. She felt herself shudder. She had to will her head to turn and face the thing head-on.

It was a lumpy, shapeless mass whose height equalled her own. She looked to the filthy floor and discovered a pair of wooden claw-foot carvings poking out from beneath the tarp’s hem.

Entranced, titillated, she reached out and peeled back the tarp, revealing a pair of slender wooden posts. Lifting the covering further still, Maxine found herself facing a blurry reflection of herself.

What was hidden beneath the tarp was a floor-length standing mirror. The glass was tapered too sharply at one end and was too swollen at its base to be a true oval. Its shape was nearer to a teardrop. The frame and legs were of cherrywood and had been carved in a highly baroque style, with undulating C-scrolls and voluted forms. The frame seemed to seethe with energy, to pulse and throb. This illusion was aided by the wavy looking-glass, which appeared like a heaving sea that was frozen mid-wave.

But the illusion quickly became palpable. Maxine could see movement. Something was shifting in the room behind her. In the mirror she saw a great shape rising from the dust. It distended and stretched. Its bulk quickly darkened the sullied pane of the cabin’s only window. Again, there came a deep moan of release.

Enflamed with panic, Maxine flung the tarp back across the standing mirror and flung the cabin door open. She’d accidently left the key in the lock; a mistake for which she was now grateful, for it meant less time fumbling to fill the slit. Snapping the lock, she held the key in her fist and ran wildly for the great house.

Once back inside the kitchen, Maxine’s terror was slightly abated when she found the dinner just as she’d left it and heard the gamers laughing in the sitting room. She returned the key to its hook and joined her husband. A few moments later she spotted Mrs. Whitlock’s car creeping up the driveway.

*

The New Year’s Eve dinner Mrs. Whitlock had prepared was sumptuous, but Maxine’s troubled mind forbade her from enjoying it. She had to choke down her serving just to save face. When Xavier muttered to her, asking what was troubling her, Maxine drew upon her dramatic training. She mimicked the authentic revelry of her fellow diners, even joined them in a raucous countdown to midnight. Mr. Whitlock uncorked the magnum of champagne and poured the foaming liquid into the waiting flutes.