The Fall by Bethany Griffin Page A

to guess how far in this gloom. A fit of trembling overtakes me. My breath comes short and pained, as if this damage to the house is my own injury.
    Cassandra whines, and I look at her. She ambles toward me, and something about her is different. Her eyes have changed. They are no longer puppy eyes, but instead golden and wolflike.
    I step back. I don’t know how I know, but Cassandra is part of this place. Then she puts her nose into my hand and makes a snuffling sound. It’s something she has always done, and I kneel so that I can put my arms around her. Still, I don’t look directly into her eyes, because I’m afraid of what I might see.
    We walk into the kitchen. The housekeeper is back at work. The lantern, still lit, sits on the table.
    â€œShould’ve gotten yourself a cat,” she says. “Not an oversized devil dog.”

50
M ADELINE I S S IXTEEN
    I pace the portrait hallway, tired of waiting for Dr. Winston to join me.
    â€œMadeline!” He bounds down the stairs. “I thought you could take me on a tour of the house.”
    I return his smile. The house is oddly silent, no creaking or groaning. I can’t tell what it thinks of this idea.
    â€œIt’s all so fascinating isn’t it?” He gestures to the portraits lining the hall. “It must be amazing to be part of such an old family, so much history. . . .”
    Some silly part of me wishes that he would look at me with the same attention he is giving to these Ushers, long dead and gone.
    â€œI’ve heard the servants speak of the vault,” he says. “Do you think we could go there?”
    â€œI don’t have the keys,” I say, which is not a lie. The keys are in Roderick’s room. I’m not supposed to use them. And the vault is only for family. I still shudder remembering how Roderick closed himself into the coffin and Father had to let him out. I would prefer to take Dr. Winston to the library or one of the formal parlors.
    From off in my bedroom, Cassandra howls. She’s probably scratching at the door, frightening the servants.
    â€œI should go get her before she breaks something,” I say.
    Dr. Winston falls into step beside me. “Such a large dog,” he says. “And an unusual breed. Wherever did you find her?”
    I smile to myself and say nothing. He wouldn’t believe me, even if I told him.

51
M ADELINE I S T HIRTEEN
    T oday is Christmas Day, and I am utterly and completely alone. Mother and Father are gone. Roderick is visiting the home of his school friend. He writes that he will come home before the new year, and we can celebrate together. The servants hung mistletoe in the main hall. It withered and died before morning. They replaced it a few times and then gave up. It is an unusually cold winter.
    My eyes are dry; there is no point in pitying myself. I am alive; there is hope.
    Dr. Paul came to my room to take some blood before he and Dr. Peridue left for the city, where they will visit pubs and make merry.
    Even though it makes me feel more alone, I am glad that they are gone.
    I sit in the study where my father used to try to write letters. Stirring the last embers of the fire, I hear something through the wall. A muffled snuffling.
    I go still, trying to contain all of my own sounds, even my breath. What could it be? I slip to the door. Should I summon a servant? I know the sounds of the house, even the terribly strange ones, but this is unfamiliar. Cowering in the doorway, I prepare to run.
    Laughter floats up from downstairs. The servants are drinking wine from the wine cellar. There is no one to stop them. No deterrent except their own fear. Last year one of them went down for a cask of something and was locked in. No one realized he was gone for nearly a week. Since then, they’ve been terrified of the cellars. As they should be. Though not enough to keep them from their holiday merriment, it seems.
    A low cry raises the hairs at