“Wait, Stephanie. You’ll have to tell me more. What’s in this house that’s affecting Duff?”

She hesitated. “Evil things,” she said finally.

“What are they?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Why would they have an effect only on Duff’s actions? Why not on Franny’s too, or on mine or my husband’s?”

“Maybe they will.”

“But people have lived in this house for years. Has anything like this ever happened before?”

She hesitated again. “I don’t know.”

“I’m sure it hasn’t. My husband’s aunt lived here all her life—a good deal of the time under the care of your grandmother—and Aunt Hannah was certainly never affected by the house or whatever you say is in it.”

“No, I guess she wasn’t.”

“Why are you so sure that Duff will be affected then?”

“He’s already been affected, hasn’t he?”

“But that was the result of perfectly natural causes—his age, your presence . . .” I was trying not to think of the episode with Franny. But even that, I told myself, could have happened to a lot of sixteen-­year-­old boys with younger sisters.

“All right, Mrs. Caine.”

“Stephanie, I think you’re sincere in what you’re saying, but I also think you’re wrong. We do intend to leave here very soon, but we won’t be driven away by such nonsense.”

“I’m glad you’re going, whatever your reasons.”

“On the other hand, you’ve stimulated my curiosity. I’d like to find out more about these evil things. Could your grandmother tell me any more about them?”

“No, I’m sure she couldn’t.” Her voice was shrill now.

“But she lived here for a long time.”

“Please don’t go to my grandmother, Mrs. Caine. She’ll know I told you.”

“Why shouldn’t she know?”

“Well, she wants you to stay here. She and my mother want this house occupied. They’d be angry if I frightened you away.”

“But I told you we’re not going to be frightened away. And you’re a big girl, Stephanie, why should you be afraid of them? Of course, I can appreciate your not wanting trouble at home.”

“That’s it. I don’t want trouble.”

She waited another moment, as though she wanted to say more, then turned and went out. I stayed in the kitchen for a while, wondering if she was slightly unbalanced. Then I heard the sound of Duff’s flute. He was playing a Haydn sonata.

I went upstairs. The door to the bedroom I shared with Franny was partly open and she was in bed.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” she said smiling. “Duff’s playing.”

“Yes,” I said, “it’s very nice.”