The tall redhead nudged him back into the hallway with the flashlight. “I doubt it. But what else are we going to do, watch TV? You can take first watch.”

On the way back down the creaking old stairs, Del paused. He took the Mag-Lite from his brother’s hand and shined it back under the stairway. “There’s someplace we haven’t checked,” he said, sending a beam of light into the darkened service corridor where the shadows overcame it.

Bart shrugged. “Nobody’s back there.”

“I want to be sure.”

Another shrug. “Go for it then. I’m going to bed.”

Del started to give in but thought better of it and decided to call his bluff. “Fine. But I’m taking the flashlight.” He descended the stairs and crept toward the narrow hallway, and was almost through the arch before his brother fell in behind him. “Make it quick,” Bart warned.

The hall was not very long. It led to three rooms, side by side, each not much bigger than the cloakroom they were calling home, and a slim passage across from the rooms led to the kitchen, which they hadn’t noticed earlier. The rooms must have been servants’ quarters, Bart guessed from the size of the cots, and the lack of windows.

There was one other door, at the end of the hallway. It was heavy and old and sported a closed bolt latch instead of a true knob. It was not locked; Bart gave it a solid yank and swung it open, hinges creaking just as every other part of Danner House creaked. They found themselves staring into complete darkness, and Del felt his heart skip a beat. The smell was dank and old, like a grave, and before his mind had time to conjure any more colorful analogies he swung up the Mag and sprayed light into the cellar. Steep wooden stairs, irregularly cut and not so sturdy looking, led down into the inky blackness of the cellar where the beam couldn’t reach.

Del swallowed. “I’m not too hot on going down there.”

Bart gulped as well. “Well, if you don’t want to go, Cap, we won’t do it. We can—” He furrowed his brow, shielded his eyes against the glare of the Mag-Lite, and peered deeper into the cellar. “Shut that off,” he whispered.

“What? Are you—”

“Shut the light off!” he hissed, grabbing it and flicking the switch himself. The darkness, like peat-stained water, flooded back immediately, and for a moment Del feared he would drown. He clung to Bart’s jacket sleeve like a dying man and kept telling himself. There’s nothing wrong, nothing wrong, your eyes will adjust . . .

“There!” his brother whispered. “Do you see it? Dammit, Del, look!” He put his hands on the boy’s head and forced him to look into the cellar.