We traversed the short distance from the drawing room to the colonnade that leads to the west wing foyer. At the end of the colonnade we found a small table had been overturned, and the three candles that had been set atop it were rolling on the floor. It was dark but for my lamp. I peered down the length of the colonnade behind us. The glare of the outside fires shining through the windows would have provided enough light to see the intruder, but there was no sign of him.
“He must have gone deeper into the west wing,” I said. “He may have entered any number of classrooms, including the laboratory. He could be anywhere.”
“We could lock him in the west wing,” Beatrice suggested.
“We have no key, remember? Our killer probably has that,” I said.
“We can barricade it,” she said.
I looked at Stromany, who seemed undecided. “It is three against one.”
“True,” I said, “but we don’t even know what we’re dealing with. We are assuming it to be a man, but it could be anything. We have seen many different kinds of beasts since all this began.”
We stood silently in the lobby. All candles in the west wing were extinguished—evidence of foul play—and only the subtle glow of mists seeping from Hargraven’s abandoned experiments in the laboratory provided any illumination. The lamp would help, but it was not enough to assuage the fear that we could be assaulted from one of the many dark corners if we chose to move deeper into the west wing.
Beatrice peered into the dark and took a step toward it. “Lucy? Is that you?”
I regarded Beatrice, concerned. “Let’s go back to the drawing room. I feel that we are being lured.”
Another loud crash startled us, but this time it was farther away and behind us, coming from the colonnade. I whirled around to see what it was. An arched window at the far end had been smashed by one of the beasts. Its gnarled head stretched through the opening, and I stared in horror as it writhed and squirmed to force the rest of its impossible torso through. Glass splintered and showered the flagstone floor as it thrust harder to gain entry, and then one skeletal arm reached in, clawing at the floor, wreathed in ribbons of fog and coppery fluids. Beatrice screamed and I felt her grasp my arm, pinching my bicep so hard I thought she would puncture my skin through my shirt. Stromany faced the other direction, stretching his lamp out, perhaps considering retreat into the darkness of the west wing, but it was the open door of the drawing room that tempted me.
I grasped Stromany’s arm. “No, George! Wait for the howl. The creature will leave. It must!”
Stromany turned, panicking, and the three of us watched in terror as the beast forced another arm through the window, trying to lever the lower half of its twisted body into the colonnade, and still there was no howl to turn it away. Seconds remained before it would be inside, and I knew we could not remain where we were. We had two choices: retreat into the darkness of the west wing and shut the door behind us, or make a dash for the drawing room. Assuming the beast would not charge the door to reach us, the first option would seal us in with the killer, but the second would leave us without any other exit once inside; the drawing room led nowhere else.
I do not know what power of reason drove me to my decision—perhaps the fear of our murderer held greater trepidation for me, or perhaps it was the fact that the Moon Box was still in the drawing room and held a faint hope for salvation; it may even have been the simple instinct of familiarity with that room and the light within—but I ran toward the drawing room, screaming for Stromany and Beatrice to follow. My head and heart hammered in complaint as I strained forward. I did not know if the others had followed—my attention was solely on the creature as its full bulk slid heavily to the floor. It floundered for a moment before rising to full height, setting its sights on me. As I reached the drawing room door, I dared to turn my head back to the west wing, desperately hoping that Stromany and Beatrice were with me, but only Stromany was there.
“Beatrice!” I cried. I heard the stamping claws of the beast rushing along the colonnade, but all I could see was Beatrice wandering deeper into the west wing. Even if she could be roused from whatever strange motivation possessed her, she would not reach us in time. I cried out again, but as Stromany’s strong arms pulled me inside the drawing room, I caught the echo of her tear-filled voice wailing for her daughter.
Stromany slammed the door closed, and at precisely the same moment that I roared out my grief at our separation from Beatrice, the howl shuddered the walls. The creature in the colonnade must have been turned away. I heard the fading sound of its claws confirm retreat, and I presumed that it had forced its way back through the window and into the grounds. But the damage had already been done, and I feared greatly for Beatrice.