The Red Mist. Randall Parrish

the whole house, and have done with the business, I mounted the back stairway, a strip of rag carpet rendering my steps silent, and, with head above the landing, flashed my light cautiously along the upper hall. There were doors on either side, the most of them open, but the third to the left was closed. There was no transom over it, but the door ​was far enough away from the radius of my lamp so as to reveal a faint glow of light at the floor line. I sat the lamp down on the landing, and crept noiselessly forward to assure myself; it was true, a light was burning within the closed room.