Silence, silence.
She was gripped by an irresistible urge to ask, “Is there anything I can do?” but her voice didn’t obey her when she tried. It was also a completely meaningless question, she had no idea where it had come from.
Then she heard something else. Something soft and rustling fumbled over the door. Her eyes wild with terror, Ellen saw the door move slightly as if from some kind of pressure. Something pressed itself down on the door handle.
And the door handle slowly moved.
Something blocked Ellen’s throat, so that when she tried to scream she couldn’t. She froze and remained standing in a cramped position. She was no longer conscious of herself, she just prayed that the lock and the door would hold.
Then suddenly the pressure in her chest changed, and a sense of deep resignation came over her. The creature let go of its grip on the door handle, and a dragging sound against the door indicated that it had collapsed in hopelessness. Ellen thought she sensed a faint sigh, but she wasn’t certain.
But now she was released from the paralysis that had gripped her. Wailing, she rushed about the room confusedly before she managed to collect herself sufficiently to think what she had to do. She tore the sheet from the bed, so that the mattress and blankets tumbled to the floor, opened the other creaking window and silently prayed that the ancient crossbar would hold out. She had read about escaping using a sheet and had seen it in the movies, but she would never have guessed that it would be prove so challenging to tie a sheet around a window bar. She felt that the whole thing was taking such a terribly long time, and she knew that as her clumsy fingers fumbled with the sheet, it could enter the room at any moment. Not for her dear life would she turn around.
Finally! She got the sheet to hang properly. It would be make or break!
It broke. The crumbling crossbar gave way with a long, grinding squeak, but Ellen let go of the sheet before the catastrophe became a reality. She was already halfway down, so the fall wasn’t so bad.
Somewhat bruised and battered, she got up from the heap of stones and ran. And now she was there again! The same senseless flight from an imaginary pursuer!
The summer night was light – the sun was already beginning to rise. Ellen rushed off along the country road towards the sleeping village, whimpering with fear, hunted and pursued by the deep fear she had hoped never to experience again.
It wasn’t far to the houses, but who would be awake at this hour? The doctor? Ellen didn’t know where he lived. The police? Well, she had seen a sign saying “Sheriff’s Office” in front of a small house not far from where she was now. Just around the corner ... there it was!
The office was dark and quiet, but someone lived in the house: perhaps the sheriff himself? Ellen rang the doorbell, pressing it in wild agitation.
An upstairs window opened and a tousled head popped out.
“What is it?”
“Are you ... are you the sheriff? I need ... help!”
She could barely stammer out the words. Her whole body was trembling and her lungs were exhausted, her knees were about to buckle under her, and the sense of terror cut through her whimpering voice.
“I’m coming.” The window was shut.
He was still shoving his shirt into his trousers when he opened the door. A mature, stocky man with thick, red-blond hair and stern eyes that were currently slightly drowsy-looking.
“Come in!”
Ellen stumbled into the sheriff’s office and was offered a seat because she looked as if she could use one.
“Well then?” the sheriff’s voice was wearily expectant.
She swallowed a few times and took a deep breath.
“The inn ... I am staying at the inn alone ... the locked door ... someone came out of it ... tried to get into my room ... I jumped out of the window.”
He frowned. “Now hold on a moment. I can see that you really have experienced something. I’ve never seen such pale lips before in my life. Who came out of the locked room? Yes, I know the old story. Did you see anyone?”
“No, but I heard, I think it was ... Sheriff, I assure you that I am a sensible person, I’ve always believed that ghosts are merely delusions, figments of the imagination ... but this felt so strange ... I really think ...”
“Now, calm down while I make you a cup of tea,” he said slowly. “Let’s start from the beginning again. Which room did you say you were staying in?”
And Ellen told him about everything that had happened since she had arrived at the inn. She also included the half-dream she had experienced the previous night, with the creaking doors and heavy banging. The sheriff listened to her politely without interrupting and eagerly took notes. When she had finished he rested his chin in his hands as he stared sternly at the stamp holder on his desk. Finally, after letting out a deep, snorting sigh, he said, “To be honest, I don’t believe in ghosts either. I could accompany you back ...”
“Oh no, I’m never going back there!”
“I said I could accompany you. But I won’t. I’ll do something else.”
He looked at his watch and then reached for the telephone.
“This is a job for Nataniel.”
“Nataniel?” asked Ellen, puzzled.
“Haven’t you ever heard of Nataniel? Oh no, of course you haven’t, only the police know of him. He’s a kind of expert in murky cases like this. I think he can help us here. Hello, yes Miss, I know it’s only five o’clock but may I have an official line? Person to person, to Chief Constable Rikard Brink.”
Ellen suddenly discovered that the edge of her nightgown was showing under her sweater, gleaming white and improperly thin. She pushed it in as best she could.
After a while the call went through. The sheriff’s voice became more official sounding. He introduced himself and then asked, “Do you think you could get Nataniel to come out to us immediately? You know him and know where he is. We have a case here that I think might interest him ... Yes, a girl has come into contact with our little local ghost. It’s clear she’s had a real shock; she’s sitting here with her teeth chattering against a teacup so much that I’m afraid the porcelain will break any second. Oh, you can hear the clattering? I happen to be sceptical when it comes to ghosts, and this girl is as well. That’s why I believe her story. So if Nataniel could come out and help us figure out what’s up, it would be a great help. There’s a door that no one’s been able to open for several centuries, they say. Foul rumours have been going around that anyone who’s tried it has died. It was out of that door that the ghastly spirit emerged last night ... Yes, I think it would interest him.”
There was a long pause as the chief constable spoke on the other end.
“No, I’ll see to that,” said the sheriff. “No one will know anything. We won’t deal with the case in any official way. I understand. Exactly, there are some earthly mysteries like nightly truck transportations, so that might be possible ... Yes, you would both be most welcome.”
He put down the receiver and turned to Ellen.
“Chief Constable Brink will also be coming. He’s a good friend of Nataniel – distantly related to him, I believe. Nataniel will call here first and receive a full report. But it’ll be another two or three hours before they get here, so until then I suggest that you borrow our couch upstairs and try to get some rest. I’ll be sure to tell Mrs Sinclair what’s happened, but I’ll have to put it down to hysteria on your part and nothing to be concerned about. Because we don’t want anyone knowing that we intend to inspect the old inn. Do you have a key? Good, then we’ll borrow yours for tonight.”