The Mystery of the Whispering Witch

trapped! And, like Sarah Sligo, we’re going to be burned alive!”

The Odd Odd-Job Man ● 6

    GASPING FOR AIR, Trixie and her friends huddled together in horror on Fay’s bed. They clutched each other for comfort as the choking smoke billowed toward them.
    Suddenly, outside the door, someone screamed. Then there was silence.
    It seemed that that terrible scream still hung in the air as Trixie strained her ears to listen. She expected still to hear the muffled roar of an angry mob. She wouldn’t have been surprised to hear muffled footsteps moving haltingly back along that dark passage.
    But she heard nothing.
    Puzzled, Trixie turned her head toward the room’s only exit. She expected to see long orange tongues of flame reaching under it to consume her, the way they had reached out to consume the witch, Sarah Sligo.
    But again, she saw nothing.
    Even the smoke had stopped belching. As she watched, the choking fog seemed to lift, slowly at first, and then faster. It was as if someone had opened an outside door to let in the blessed fresh air.
    Trixie reached out and shook Honey and Fay, who were still clutching each other convulsively. “It’s the weirdest thing,” she said slowly, “but I think we’re saved.”
    Honey moaned. “You’re just saying that to make us feel better, Trix.”
    Fay’s eyes were closed and she was gasping for air. “You’re wrong, Trixie,” she whispered. “You must be. How can we be saved when we’re about to be burned to death?”
    “See for yourself,” Trixie told them as she moved stiffly away. She clambered off the bed and stood still, looking about her.
    There was no question about it now. The haze of smoke still hung in the air, but it was less— much less. Around her, the house was quiet, as if it were exhausted.
    Trixie moved to the door and stretched out a trembling hand toward it. The knob twisted easily under her grasp.
    She hesitated, afraid to look into the passage outside. What terrible sight would meet her eyes? Would she see the still body of a figure dressed in a black hat and a flowing cloak? Would the dreadful specter be burned beyond all recognition?
    Trixie gasped at the very thought and snatched her hand away from the door.
    Honey had been watching. “What is it, Trix?” she asked, her voice shaking. “Is—is the door still locked? Will we have to stay here forever?” Trixie’s mouth felt dry. Her throat burned painfully. “I was thinking—that is—what do you think we’re going to find once we open that door? Oh, and by the way, it isn’t locked now.”
    “Then open it,” Fay whispered.
    Slowly, cautiously, Trixie’s hand moved toward the knob once more. At that moment, she thought she heard the faint click of a spring lock moving quietly into place.
    Trixie flung open the bedroom door and stared straight ahead of her. She saw only the dim outlines of the passage outside. Gathering all her courage, she stepped across the threshold and glanced quickly at the back door. She had the feeling that it was this lock she’d heard closing.
    She was afraid to turn her head and look the other way, toward the front of the house. How far had the fire reached? Was it even now creeping toward her defenseless back? If so, why didn’t she feel the fire’s heat? Why hadn’t the doorknob felt hot under her fingers? Why was it so icy-cold here in the passage?
    Above all , where would she find the body?
    At last, she turned and looked. She rubbed her eyes and looked again.
    There was nothing.
    No fire licked its way along the passage toward her. No inert body lay like a bag of old laundry on the floor.
    A haze of lingering smoke hovered outside Fay’s bedroom door. But it was the only sign that anything at all had happened that night.
    “Come quickly!” Trixie told her two friends and beckoned to them to follow her.
    Moments later, they stood in the entrance hall and stared about them in disbelief. The front doors, still locked and bolted, stood unmarked. No axes had marred their surface. No hinges hung drunkenly to testify to a shouting mob’s rage.
    Over her friends’ strong objections, Trixie insisted on searching, first the downstairs, then the upstairs, for any sign of the source of the fire. She didn’t find any.
    “I simply don’t understand it!” she exclaimed to Honey some ten minutes later. “It’s just as if nothing happened—nothing at all. Pinch me and tell me if I’ve been dreaming all this time.”
    “I don’t have to