Lyra stood at the bottom of the steps, staring at the upstairs window.
The curtain had stopped moving.
For a few seconds, she didn't move either.
Maybe it had been the wind.
That was the sensible explanation. It was an old house, surrounded by trees, and the weather had been strange all day. A draft could have slipped through a cracked window.
Except she knew she hadn't left any windows open.
And she was almost certain she'd seen something move behind the curtain.
Lyra tightened her grip on the bag in her hand and climbed the stairs.
Each step creaked beneath her weight. The sound seemed ridiculously loud in the empty house.
"Probably nothing," she muttered.
She reached the upstairs hallway and stopped.
Her room was at the far end.
The door was still closed.
Lyra walked toward it slowly, her eyes fixed on the window. She half expected to see someone standing there when she entered.
There was no one.
The room was exactly as she'd left it.
Her suitcase sat beside the bed. Her coat was draped over the chair. The curtains hung perfectly still.
Lyra let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
"See? Nothing."
She almost laughed.
Then she noticed the window.
It was locked.
She walked over and touched the latch. Cold metal pressed against her fingertips.
"So what moved you?"
There was no answer, obviously.
She pulled the curtain aside and looked down at the grounds. From up here, the garden looked smaller than it had earlier. Beyond it, the trees stretched into a dark wall of branches.
Something about them made her uneasy.
She let the curtain fall.
She needed to stop imagining things.
The house had been abandoned for years. Strange noises were bound to happen.
That was what she told herself as she unpacked the rest of her things.
By the time she finished, the light outside had faded completely.
She decided to find the kitchen.
Getting lost in a house she supposedly owned wasn't exactly how she'd imagined her first week here.
Lyra stepped into the hallway and followed it downstairs. She passed several doors along the way, most of them closed. She wondered how many rooms the house had.
Probably too many.
At the bottom of the staircase, she heard movement.
She turned.
A woman stood near the dining room, holding a stack of folded sheets.
The woman looked just as surprised to see her.
"Oh." She quickly adjusted the sheets in her arms. "You must be Miss Lyra."
"Yes."
The woman gave a small nod.
"I'm Mrs. Harrow. I look after the house."
There was something about the way she said it that made Lyra wonder whether "look after" meant more than cleaning and cooking.
"Nice to meet you."
Mrs. Harrow's expression softened slightly.
"The kitchen is through there. Dinner will be ready shortly."
"Thank you."
Lyra started to walk away, then stopped.
"Mrs. Harrow?"
"Yes?"
"Was there anyone upstairs just now?"
The woman's face changed.
Only for a second.
Then it was gone.
"No."
Lyra frowned. "I saw the curtain move."
"Old windows."
"It was locked."
Mrs. Harrow looked at her for a long moment.
"You're tired, Miss Lyra. You've had a long journey."
It wasn't an answer.
Before Lyra could question her again, Mrs. Harrow walked away.
That night, Lyra barely touched her dinner.
The house felt different now that she knew someone else had noticed her questions.
After eating, she wandered through the ground floor. She wasn't looking for anything in particular. She just didn't want to go upstairs yet.
She found a small room at the back of the house filled with books.
The library.
Lyra pushed the door open.
Dust covered almost everything.
She moved between the shelves, running her fingers over old book spines. Some were written in languages she didn't recognize. Others were so faded she could barely read their titles.
Then she noticed a book lying open on a table.
A journal.
She picked it up carefully.
The name written inside caught her attention.
Edmund Hollow.
Her uncle's name.
Lyra turned the first page.
Most of the writing was faded, but she could make out a few words.
She came back last night.
Lyra frowned.
Who?
She turned the page.
Several pages had been ripped out.
"Seriously?"
She flipped through the rest of the journal.
More missing pages.
Then she noticed something.
A narrow door stood between two bookshelves.
She hadn't seen it when she'd entered.
Lyra walked toward it.
The handle was old brass, almost black with age.
She tried it.
Locked.
She pressed her ear against the wood.
Nothing.
She was about to step away when she heard something.
A faint sound.
Not a voice.
Not quite.
It was more like someone whispering from very far away.
Lyra froze.
She listened harder.
There it was again.
A soft murmur behind the wall.
Her heart began to beat faster.
She stepped back.
"Hello?"
The whisper stopped.
Silence filled the library.
Lyra stared at the door.
She didn't know what had been making the sound.
She only knew one thing.
Whatever was inside that room had been there before she arrived.
And somehow, she had a feeling it knew she was here now.