Chapter Eight

At the top of the stairs a central corridor was framed on either side by pretty bedrooms, each still holding elaborately carved beds, the curtains and bedding covered in a layer of dust, but otherwise untouched by time, protected from the elements by the window glass and solid roof. The chest at the end of the bed still held clothing, no more than two decades out of fashion and of rich appointment. The dressing table held hair pins, hairbrush, jewellery, and cosmetics.

“What happened to these people?” I wondered.

Aien shook his head.

The third bedroom was a nursery, and from the scattering of wooden toys on the ground, and the half open drawers, the rumpled blanket in the cot, was evidence that the room had been in use when the house had been abandoned.

“Oh,” I said softly. “That is…”

Aien closed the door to the room. “They left,” he told me firmly. “The family here left the house together. Perhaps they left due to the monsters?”

“There was…” I swallowed hard. “Well, a lot of things h