When they have explored the upper level, they return to the grand central corridor, the skylight and descending stairs. They have turned off the flashlight again and are walking in the ambient light; the moon has risen higher, and the whole space is bathed in milk.
Below they can see the outlines of a large entry hall at the end of the long curved stair. Vague outlines of doorways and rooms beyond are visible, as if they are being invited. They descend without discussion. Nathan follows Roy, claiming that place for himself. He knots Roy's tee shirt in his hand, as if for luck or protection. They step carefully down the speaking stairs where the darkness absorbs them gradually. Soon Nathan can see the outlines of the room, larger than any he has ever entered, larger even than the sanctuary at church or the auditorium at school. A layer of dirt and leaves carpets the floor, which slants toward the pool of water. Water drips into the pool from above, a periodic sound that echoes. "That floor is about gone," Roy says.
But to the left rises a tall, broad archway, the pale beams of the arch outlined in moonlight. The room beyond is dark, but engulfs sound like a large space. It is the sound of their footfalls, their breathing and coughing, that it swallows, along with the dripping water. These sounds multiply as if a voice is coursing through Nathan's head, a tiny singing, sometimes clear and sometimes too soft to distinguish. They walk into the room.
Nathan's immediate impression is that he knows the place, even though the shutters are closed, even though the moonlight flickers feebly. The outlines of the room are clear to him. The ceilings are high, a room of generous proportions. Four windows open on one wall and three on another. A fireplace at one end has lost a good deal of tile and brick, bits of which litter the floor beneath, along with animal turds and dry leaves. There are branches, bits of china, fabric of an indeterminate type, piled in one corner. Rags of draperies hang from a window, singed as if burned; but there are no other signs of fire. The remains of wallpaper peel away from the walls, and the wainscoting warps in a place where the windowpane is missing; even the shutters cannot keep out a heavy rain. Some of this he sees in splashes of the flashlight, but the rest is simply there. In what he knows, without asking why.
Beyond this room is another, not as large, and lined with bookshelves. The shelves are bare save for a city of spiders that has settled on the shelving. Ivy has burst through a window and creeps along the walls.
"What's that smell?" Randy asks Roy.
"Sulfur."
"How do you know?" Burke demands.
"I know what sulfur smells like."
"The Devil is supposed to smell like sulfur," Nathan
says.
"Oh that's really funny" Randy sounds more nervous than ever.
Scowling, Burke tips his bottle one last time, almost hidden in the darkness; and this time when he finishes, none is left.
"Where do we go now?"
"Randy, do you have to talk so much?"
"I ain't talking to you, I'm talking to Roy. I just want to know"
But in some way they all share Burke's feeling, that no one should speak. Light from the broken window where ivy grows laces the floor. The ivy leaves are dark like blood on the walk, a deeper shadow. The boys stand there. The room echoes.
They move forward uneasily. Through another archway they step into a room so dark they cannot see the vaguest outline. Either there are no windows or the shutters are airtight. The air is motionless. Roy picks a path carefully, and Nathan follows. Burke is behind him, breathing onto the back of his neck. Randy is last and noisiest, breathing heavily.
They are all increasingly aware of a want for quiet. As if something in the room, or in the rooms beyond, is listening.
A prickle up Nathan's spine. The distant singing has ceased.
It is hard to say which is more complete, the silence or the darkness. They remain motionless somewhere in space, in a room no contour of which is visible.
"Why don't you use the flashlight?" Randy asks.
"Because I don't want to," Roy whispers, "keep quiet."
Somewhere in the heart of the house. They are close enough to one another that they share warmth and the feeling of safety in numbers. The intuition that someone is listening becomes palpable, and Nathan finally senses a direction, a particular place in the darkness. Nathan touches Roy's arm and points.
They can barely see each other. But Roy reads the touch as a message and they head where Nathan points.
They sense the approach of the wall and then, arms out, Roy touches the jamb of a wide doorway.
Nathan can feel the door frame, the space beyond, as black as the one they are leaving.
Randy lets out a deep breath, as good as a plea for the flashlight, but he dares not ask.
