There were three people sitting near a stone fireplace, the only source of light in the dim room. A boy of about fifteen sat in an uncomfortable wooden chair, his chin in his hands, his mouth set in a grim line. A younger girl was seated on the floor, trembling and looking absolutely horrified, at the feet of a woman with salt-and-pepper hair. Of all their appearances, the woman's was the worst. She clutched a handkerchief very close to her face, as though she could conceal the fact that she was weeping into it quietly.

She flinched suddenly, for a sound had come from the door on the far side of the room. It had been an awful sound, a low moan that had turned high on its ending note. It sent shivers up her spine to know that the other two members of her family were in the room beyond that door.

Minutes passed. Less time elapsed between the horrid sounds, and the sounds themselves grew louder, more awful. At last, when the three people around the fireplace though that they could stand it no longer, the noises ceased.

After a few moments, the door opened, and harsh breaths drifted out from the room beyond the door. Footsteps began then, hard, heavy footsteps, toward the door. Someone in the room cried out.

"No!" a voice protested. It sounded as if someone was struggling weakly to sit up in a bed. "No! Give me... Give me!" The words rang out over and over, breathless and harsh and jagged with sobs.

The woman, the Smithton mother, shoved her face harder against the handkerchief. She could not look at her husband, the large, strong man known as Doctor Smithton, as he walked crossed the floor with his heavy footsteps and exited through the back door. She could not watch as he carried the blood-covered thing out into the night.

Meanwhile, the wretched cries continued from within the room. The father--the doctor--had left that door ajar. The boy in the chair began to breathe very roughly.

"Give me!" shrieked the voice. "Give meeeee!"

The chair tumbled to the floor with a clatter as the boy hurled himself from it. He had closed the door with a slam before his mother could so much as flinch, and with his eyes shut tightly, he sank to the floor, his hand still clutching the knob.