As they went, occasionally her free hand would lift from her transparent body, pointing to some door or turn of the passageway. Her lips moved, but he heard nothing. He knew she was telling him secrets and mysteries and legends of this place, but he heard nothing, only saw into their depths by the fire in her eyes.

She turned and they entered a dead-end corridor. Ahead only a few steps more, he could see a stone wall blocking their way. She stopped. There was a door on their right. Without his willing them to do so, his feet stopped too, a step or two behind her.

She turned, and now for the first time she looked straight into his eyes, speaking rapidly. No sound met his ears. But he knew they had arrived at the hidden dungeon, and that she was telling him everything they would find inside. The glow in her eyes burned even more brightly with visions of the past.

She turned again toward the door, lifted her hand, and began to knock.

Why was she knocking? Why didn’t they just go in? Was she waiting for someone to open the door?

Who could be inside? he thought in heightened dread. Who but another ghost!

She continued to knock… tap… tap… tap, her knuckles rapped against the door. It was of stone, yet the sound was as one made by wood.

Tap… tap… tap…

Suddenly Matthew bolted awake and shot upright in his bed, breathing heavily, heart pounding, wet with sweat.

How long he had been asleep he had no idea.

The tapping on the wall of his room had returned. It was clearly coming from the corner where he had heard it that same morning, louder now.

He sat staring, not tempted this time to rise in exploration. The vision of the ancient lady’s ghost still fluttered around the edges of his consciousness, and he would remain in the bed right where he was. He did not want to encounter her again, somewhere in the middle of his room!

Slowly he lay back down, pulling the large featherbed covering up over his head.

The tapping continued for about five minutes, then suddenly stopped. Matthew drifted back into an uneasy sleep, but was haunted all night with the sense of aimless wandering down long, dark, subterranean corridors of earth and stone.

When he awoke the morning was well advanced. There were no windows in the room, but he knew he had slept longer than usual. He turned on the light. A quick look at his watch revealed that he was right. It was eight-fifteen.

What day was it? Oh yes, Friday, he said to himself. His father would be here later.

He rose and dressed by himself, thankful that no mysterious noises in the wall had awakened him this time. He opened the door and began making his way down toward the dining room, trying to shake off the effects of the night.