"What's with the long face?" asked a voice. A woman stood before me, wearing an old black shawl and veil over her head; she had been sitting on my bedside sofa — but I never dreamed that anyone was there. She was holding something in both hands: it looked like a book of some sort. It must have been very dark for me to not see her until just then; yet when I did see her she made no motion or sign of recognition. Perhaps if I could have seen her face I would not now be so much surprised at what followed. In fact, instead of being startled, I should probably have been flattered — for the young lady wore a red rose upon her bonnet.

The sound of my own voice seemed to bring all things back again into their proper place, and it was as though my mind found some new strength, and came suddenly up to where it ought. The first thing I thought of was why I should be talking to myself in such a manner — and as soon as this idea struck me I took notice that my voice had been raised almost to an outcry. Then I heard the door open softly behind me, and I turned quickly, expecting to find the stranger — but saw nobody. Instead, however, I felt the air vibrate with the step of another person approaching. I laid hold of the rail of the bed, and tried to make out who it might be — but the figure only grew steadily larger. My nerves were in a state of excitement which made me tremble, and I could not get enough breath to speak. I knew vaguely that the room was full of light — I saw the white glimmer of the window behind the curtain — but darkness clung about me still, like the shadowy robe of some great spirit. At last, the shadow seemed to come nearer, and I could catch a glimpse of the tall form, with its broad-brimmed hat and light cloak. I stared at it in astonishment, and then with horror, for the figure was that of a man. He stepped down from the foot of the bed and stood looking at me for a moment. I suppose he was about five feet high, and round as a ball, with a tiny waist, and limbs like those of a child. His head was big and bright, with a little fringe of light hair which curled over his forehead. There were two small eyes under his wide nose and a mouth that was large and smiling. I remember that he looked rather like the pictures of Santa Claus that I used to see in the shops at Christmas. But I was too much scared to think about anything except how I could escape. The suddenness of my discovery left no time for reflection, and I started to scramble off the bed as quickly as possible. Before I had quite gotten free from it, the apparition picked me up and set me down beside him. Somehow his grip was not painful and even seemed friendly. The next instant we were both walking across the floor together, and I heard a sharp metallic noise as of some heavy key turning in a lock.

The room I had been dreaming in was evidently a hotel chamber, dimly lit by several candles. The furniture was quaint and old-fashioned, and the walls hung with tapestries and framed paintings. Strangely enough, I found myself wondering whether my dream had really happened, or if I was merely going mad. I felt as though I hardly knew myself anymore.

My guide led me along the corridor and opened a door, saying nothing more than "This way." We went through some dark passages till we reached a stairway. This staircase was also dimly lighted, and at every landing, there was a strange door with a brass knob. Down these stairs, we walked, and I began to wonder exactly where we were, and what was coming next. I had a feeling that I was somehow in a bad way, and that danger lay ahead. The steps seemed to grow deeper and narrower, and finally, we came to a door that was shut tight and locked. The man knocked and said something indistinctly, but it sounded like English; he spoke very fast. When our knock failed to wake him, I realized he was waiting for someone inside. Suddenly the door was unlocked, swung open, and we stepped into a large chamber. A lamp burned low on a table against one wall. It was the most beautiful bedroom I ever saw. Everything in it was rich and ancient, and everything sparkled like silver; but the bed was bare of sheets, and the pillows were piled high on top. I sat on the end of the bed as far from the sheets as I could, trying to make sense of my surroundings; but the man remained standing near the door, watching me curiously. Finally, he went towards the bed and laid a hand lightly on the sheets. For a moment I expected him to turn around — for I could feel a dreadful dread of being caught doing anything wrong. But he only gazed intently at me. I felt as though I ought to say something, but I could not speak for fear of waking someone else. Then he said, "Come," and motioned toward the door with one arm. As I got up to follow him, I noticed that his arm was thin as a stick, like that of an old crone. I hesitated.

"Come!" he repeated gently, and without further hesitation I obeyed. As I passed him, however, I looked at him for a moment, to assure myself that I was indeed awake; but the figure did not look familiar.

Once outside of the room I began to breathe easier. The night seemed much calmer. Still, I hesitated, for although I felt safe outside, I felt more secure when inside.

"Are you afraid?" asked the man in a queer, whispering voice.

"Yes, but I want to know where I am," I whispered back.

He laughed, a harsh chuckle — like that of a crow — and said, "You're safe here! You needn't worry about anything, do you understand? Come with me, will you?" He led me along a short passage, and through a second door, which I recognized as a servant's entrance. I remembered having once seen a housemaid leave through it; but the servant turned aside into a dark, narrow corridor on the other side, and led us past a number of rooms. They had a peculiar smell as if they had not been aired properly for many days. Then he stopped before an iron gate. With his thin, bony arms, the man lifted the bar and threw back the gate — and we went out into the street.

"Do you know where we are?" he whispered.

"No — not precisely."

His smile became broader as he shook his head. "You can never know exactly. Now listen carefully, because you might not live to hear this part of your story. You're in a secret city somewhere—very different from home. I don't know what lies ahead — but this is the way to escape to safety from there. Do you understand?"

I nodded. And then the man began to sing in an odd, high pitched voice, a song with a tune I didn't recognize. The words of the song had the same rhythm as the notes of music, and when the stranger finished singing I understood them. He sang something about death, freedom from life itself, and freedom from sin.

It was all rather confusing, and I could hardly believe that I was actually following this strange man down these dark streets. There seemed to be no moon in the sky, and it appeared quite black out there, but he seemed to glide between the shadows without effort as though they did not exist. Once or twice a few men whom we saw crossing the road drew themselves up and stared at us, but they neither hurried nor spoke. All the while he was humming and singing, the man seemed as though he scarcely felt cold or hungry — yet at times I thought I detected an occasional shudder running through his frame. The sound of his footsteps was sometimes like a peal of distant thunder. At last we came to a halt before a building whose facade was covered entirely with green ivy. In front of the building the pavement ended abruptly, leaving a deep hollow. There was nothing below the deep hole but the black depths of the chasm. The man paused, and pointed downwards with a long crooked finger.

"There," he said slowly. "That is your only chance to escape. Go straight down. Follow the path at the bottom until you reach the bottom. You'll soon arrive at your destination."

"What is it you want me to do?" I asked.

Again the man smiled with a queer, sly kind of cunning that made me shiver. "We don't want anything of yours, my boy," he said slowly. "We just want you."

I stared at him again and was about to ask some questions when he suddenly took me by the wrist as if to force me forward.

"Listen well, please," he said sternly. "Remember, there is no one to help you now, and whatever happens you must obey my orders implicitly. If you don't do so, we shall have no peace for ourselves."

He pulled sharply at my wrist, and I stumbled after him, falling down in the deep darkness beneath the earth. Then he dragged me forward until the ground seemed to rise up from underneath my feet, and I fell on my face.

"Don't struggle, my boy, it won't hurt you," he said quietly. "Only keep your arms outstretched. Now, follow the path, it will bring you to your goal."

As I rose to my feet the light faded from his features. I couldn't see his face anymore, but I had a strange feeling that I had lost him forever. I tried to shout, but I couldn't seem to call out. Then the darkness closed over my head and I was alone with my thoughts.