The Mystery of the Whispering Witch

worth a lot of money. Most of the furniture has been here for such a long time that the pieces have become antiques. But I guess that picture is about the only thing in the house I really like. You’ll see what I mean in a minute.”
    It wasn’t long before Trixie and Honey did indeed see what Fay meant. Their new friend led them through downstairs rooms filled with heavy, old-fashioned furniture. Even though Fay flipped on light switches, nothing could dispel the everpresent gloom of the place.
    Some of the furniture was covered with dust sheets. Whatever wasn’t, Trixie thought, should have been. She couldn’t help comparing the contents of this house with the contents of the Beldens’ cozy farmhouse. She didn’t have to think twice about which she preferred!
    By the time most of the downstairs rooms had been thoroughly explored, Honey seemed, if not completely relaxed, then at least less nervous than she had been when they’d first arrived.
    They were standing in the middle of the large living room when she told Trixie in a low voice, “We’ve been in old houses before, and this one doesn’t seem so very different to me. I know you don’t like the furniture—” she glanced toward an ornately carved coffee table that stood in front of the big, empty fireplace—“but it is very valuable; take my word for it. I wonder if it’s insured.”
    When she was asked, Fay nodded her dark head. “Yes, it’s all insured,” she answered. “Once old Mr. Lisgard found out how much his furniture was worth, he made sure that if anything ever happened to it, someone would have to pay him to replace it.”
    “And that someone was the insurance company?” Trixie asked.
    “Yes.”
    Fay turned and began to lead the way toward the front hall again, but Trixie put out a hand to stop her.
    “Isn’t that another room over there?” she asked, nodding toward a door that was almost hidden by a tall bookcase.
    Fay hesitated for a moment. “It’s only old Mr. Lisgard’s study,” she replied at last. “It—it hasn’t been used since he died. You can see it, if you really want to.”
    Ignoring the odd note in Fay’s voice, Trixie moved toward the room at once and, in another second, was standing inside it.
    She could sense immediately that there was something about it that was different from the rest. It was small, and as dark and as gloomy as all the others. It held the usual conglomeration of period furniture, none of it matching. She noticed the antique desk that stood against the room’s only window and assumed that this was where Caleb Lisgard had done his work.
    But it was neither the gloom nor the furniture that made this room strangely forbidding. It was something in the very air of the place—something cold, unwelcoming, and oddly hostile.
    Trixie shivered. “I don’t know how any Lisgard, man or woman, could like this room,” she remarked. She turned her head and noticed that only Honey had followed her through the door. Fay still stood where they had left her, in the living room.
    Fay moved closer to her friends, but Trixie noticed that she still did not step across the threshold. “I know you’ll think I’m being silly,” Fay said, “but I don’t like going into that room.”
    Suddenly Trixie understood. “Wasn’t this the one where the witch—her name was Sarah Sligo, by the way—was burned to death?”
    Fay moved restlessly. “Yes—at least, that’s what I’ve heard. The original room, of course, was burned down, along with the rest of the house. But someone else, a wealthy merchant, I think, rebuilt the mansion exactly the way it had been. And he rebuilt that room along with it.”
    “I’m sure I don’t blame you for not liking it,” Honey remarked loyally. “The study is enough to give anyone the creeps. This old desk is nice, though. It’s a Governor Winthrop, I think.” She touched it lightly with a reverent fingertip.
    A half an hour later, the three girls were back in Fay’s bedroom, the tour complete. There had been no new surprises—no more rooms to frighten anyone. Trixie had seen enough old furniture to last her a lifetime, while Honey repeated, though not in Fay’s hearing, that she couldn’t understand how anyone could live in such a mausoleum. More important, Trixie had made sure that all doors and windows to the outside were securely locked. She also still had no clue to the source of the mysterious voice she had heard.
    It wasn’t long before Fay had made