“Not courage was involved, but desperation. I heard—indeed, all of us heard, peculiar noises in the night, shufflings, flickering of candlelight or even torches and the faint whiff of exotic incense—in short, something was happening all the time, and the house had been changed. Aunt Norris, ascended the stairs one evening and was gone for quite a long time. The moon was full that night, and I had hidden myself near a flight leading to the upper corridor, and suddenly, a strange shadow came, a wolf-like thing sped by, howling—howling right as it passed, so that my heart nearly burst with unholy terror, and I prayed silently—and in the praying I knew that thing for what it was, none other than my dear Aunt Norris, transformed into a—monster! Another shriek and howl, and she leapt through an open window on the flight of stairs, and raced off into the night, to hunt. Yes, Fanny, she was a creature no longer human, an unholy wolf.”

Fanny listened to her cousin, unblinking, her gentle mien with its unwavering expression frozen in a mixture of wonder and disbelief. “I believe, cousin Edmund,” she said at last in a barely audible voice, “you are trying to frighten me, and being cruel, playing some manner of mean jest—”

“Oh Heaven knows, not I, Fanny!” exclaimed Edmund, his eyes more serious and earnest than anyone she knew. And he took her by the hand, pulling her, so that Fanny could not help but follow him, and they indeed walked outside, as Edmund originally intended.

“Now then, I am not done,” he spoke. “You must allow me to finish and do not interrupt until I am done, and then you may ask me any questions you wish—for I know you will have many questions, my gentle cousin—”

She nodded. Her hand was still clutched in his, and she did not for a moment recall it, nor that they were outside and it was a sunlit time of day and a time for lighthearted banter, not dark recollections.