The next problem was to find the candle for the "ghost" to carry up to
the gloomy heights of tower number three. Ada Slope, little minx that
she was, had chosen this particular one of the three towers for which
the Hall was named, because of a legend among the girls, starting from
goodness knows where, that this tower was haunted.
Now Billie was not by any means a coward, and she had proved by her
behavior in the spooky old mansion at Cherry Corners that she was not
inclined to belief in or fear of ghosts.
Yet when Ada Slope ran hastily up to her room and returned bearing a
tiny Christmas candle, which was all that Billie was to have to
accompany her on her perilous journey, it must be admitted that her
heart began to beat a little faster and she was guilty for a moment of
wishing that Ada Slope had picked on any other girl but herself.
However, she acted so perfectly that there was not one of her chums but
who thought that she was delighted at the chance to explore the gloomy
old tower--with one little candle for company!
"Suppose--" she thought to herself as Laura lighted the candle for
her--or at least she thought it was Laura; they all looked pretty much
alike in their ghostly robes--"suppose it should go out when I reach the
top of the tower and I should have to find my way back in the dark!"
"Courage," Rose Belser cried, as she pushed Billie toward the door, the
candle flickering in her hand. "There are those who say that tower
number three is haunted. But let me remind you, friend, that a ghost is
never afraid of a ghost. Farewell!"
This was not a very encouraging speech, though Billie could not help
giggling about it as she climbed the back stairs to the first floor.
The house was as still as death, for it was after ten o'clock now, and
everybody, even Miss Walters, seemed to be in bed.
Billie almost ran up the second and third flights, stumbling over her
white robe and shielding the flickering candle with her hand for fear it
would go out.
When she reached the fourth floor, which was really the attic, she went
more slowly, for the place was dark and "spooky"--so she said--and the
noise of her footsteps frightened her. The tiny light of her candle
seemed to make the shadowy corners of the place all the more startlingly
black.
Once she thought she heard a noise and stopped short, her heart beating
suffocatingly in her throat. But it was only the wind sighing drearily
around the place, and she went on again, more slowly now, starting at
every real or imaginary sound.
The stairway that led to the third tower was at the very end of the long
attic, and as she came near to it Billie's courage almost failed her. It
seemed to her that something sinister and terrible was closing in around
her, and she pressed her hand against her mouth to keep from screaming.
She could see the dim outline of the stairway right before her, but she
was afraid to go forward--and she dared not go back.
What would the girls say if she went back to them and confessed that she
had been too cowardly to stand the test? She would be disgraced forever
in the eyes of her chums, her reputation for daring and bravery would be
gone, she might even be asked to resign from the Ghost Club.
For a long minute she stood there, fighting the desire to rush back to
friends and human companionship. Then, with a sharp intake of breath,
she forced herself to approach the stairs.
With every step she stopped and listened, glancing about her fearfully.
But nothing save the sound of her own rapid breathing broke the musty,
heavy silence of the place.
"I must go on, I must go on!" she kept telling herself over and over
again. "To the very top of the tower--to the top of the tower----"
What was that?
A rattling, a scurrying, a scratching of tiny feet across the floor.
Billie screamed, but stifled the sound half way by stuffing a
handkerchief into her mouth. Her eyes were wide with terror, her hair
began to stand on end, and with a little moan she made a rush for the
stairs up which she had come a minute before.
She had almost reached them when by the light of her candle she saw
something running across the floor. It was a mouse. Weakly she leaned
against the wall, trying to summon what remained of her courage.
"They're only mice, silly--they can't hurt you," she told herself, while
her hand shook so that she could scarcely hold the candle. Then a sudden
thought made her start back for the tower stairs almost on a run. The
candle was burning low. She must hurry or she would be left in the dark.
Just a quick dive up the stairs to the tower room and the deed would be
done. She could go back then, to friends and lights and adulation. For
she would be able to tell them proudly that she had done what no other
girl had dared to do--climbed to the top of tower three.
With such thoughts she bolstered up her courage and ran swiftly up the
stairs. But the "swish" of her garments in that silent place frightened
her and she stopped before she had quite reached the top. She listened
intently.
Was it imagination, or had she really heard that eerie whisper in her
ear, felt the soft brushing of a dress against hers? Of course it was
only imagination. She mustn't think such things or she could never climb
to the top of those hateful stairs. She must go on and on--to the
top--the very top--Again that scurrying and squealing as she disturbed
another nest of mice. She grasped the banister frantically to steady
herself.
She must go up--up----Finally she had reached the top of the stairs, and
for one joyful minute she thought that she had climbed to the top of the
tower. She could go back again to the girls--she had turned toward the
stairs when her eye fell on an object that made her breath catch in her
throat.
Revealed by the uncertain flare of the candle was a ladder, leading
apparently to some room above. Of course, that must be the tower room.
Then she still had some climbing to do before her task was finished.
Billie's heart sank as she approached the ladder, stumbling over bits of
junk and rubbish that littered the floor. She must hurry, too, for the
candle was burning down and she must not be left in the dark in that
place. She would go crazy--or something.
Outside the wind was rising, and it wailed around the corners of the old
building with an unspeakably weird and mournful sound that filled Billie
with a dreadful premonition of evil.
She really felt, as she hesitated at the foot of the ladder, that she
must get back to the girls or she would go mad. Her knees were trembling
so that she was afraid she could never climb the ladder to the top.
But she must do it or go back to the girls disgraced.
One hand grasped the rung above her head while the other held aloft the
flickering candle and she began the difficult climb, hampered by the
long white robe that clung like something alive about her ankles and by
the necessity of holding the candle.
Four rungs, five rungs, six rungs--was the ladder a mile long? she
wondered, while the wind wailed still more dismally about the house.
Then at last she reached the top. Her candle showed a small door not
more than four feet high--the door to the tower room.
Her hand felt for the knob. She grasped it. The door was locked. To make
sure, Billie gave the door a vigorous shake, and as it did so something
white and soft fluttered to her feet and fell on the top rung of the
ladder.
For a minute Billie felt faint and dizzy, and she had to cling to the
ladder desperately to keep from falling.
The next moment she saw that what had frightened her was only a
handkerchief, and she stooped to pick it up. It was old and stained.
What was that stain upon it?
She brought the little square of linen closer to her eyes and then with
a stifled scream she flung it from her while the candle fell from her
nerveless fingers and went out, leaving her in the dark.
The stain on the handkerchief was _blood_!
Billie never remembers to this day how she got out of that awful place.
Someway she half fell, half scrambled down the ladder, stumbled and fell
and stumbled again in her mad rush across the pitch-black attic to the
head of the stairs.
Then down, down, down, a countless number of stairs that came up and hit
her in the face--down, down to the gymnasium where thousands of ghostly
figures rushed at her----
"Oh, what could have happened to have frightened her so?" she heard a
voice saying from a long, long distance, and she opened her eyes to find
Laura's white face bending anxiously over her while other white-faced
girls stared at her pityingly.
She struggled to her feet, but her knees wavered so that she sat down
again quite suddenly.
"What's the matter with you all?" she asked, then as the memory of what
had happened came back to her in a flood she shuddered and instinctively
she looked down at her hands to see if they still held that piece of
linen with the stains upon it.
"Oh, I remember," she murmured, as though talking to herself. The girls
were watching her anxiously. "I threw it away."
"What, honey?" asked Laura gently.
"The blood-stained handkerchief!"