The next morning, at ten o'clock sharp, the three accomplices were gathered in front of an old decrepit house. It was wedged tightly between two other dwellings of the same size which seemed to want to smother it and crush it with their severe mass, compressing it like two Cerberus would do, or even two old maids having the guard of a damsel whom they seeked to preserve for marriage. The district was hardly very welcoming, without being repulsive either, a rather hideous and bare in-between, displaying a chain of leprous houses which had sprouted, their faces still white and pale, awaiting a sumptuous make-up which had never come. On the roof, several tiles were missing. The others were dirty and blackened, forming a mosaic of brown and green, the same color as the hardened skin of an undulating snake. They had swapped their slate color for a dubious brown. The paint on the facade was peeling, revealing behind a white that seemed cream now, large red bricks. The windows of the house, although one could see that they were old and had passed through the ages, nevertheless remained clean, like strange pieces of lakes that had been cut out to reflect the sky. Some of them, however, were cracked, even broken and patched with pieces of fabric that the wind shook mercilessly. The small garden at the front of the house was not maintained and looked more like a small jungle than the front of a house. The groves no longer had the slightest flower, reduced to showing with shame and modesty their terrible nudity and bending over themselves their network of intertwined branches. The trees were thin and bent, stunted. The grass had regained its rights and grew without the slightest limit, in long barbaric blades which seemed like a tawny fleece moving under the murmurs of the wind. The front steps were covered with dead leaves that crunched underfoot, like a red mane that had been left there.

Alistair signaled their presence by knocking on the door with the door knocker, a golden lion that had seen better days and yet still bared its gleaming fangs at visitors, trying in the last vestiges of its ardor to retain some of the poise that had been his. Alistair gave several blows which made the doors creak dangerously. He grimaced. With every knock on the door, it was as if the lion let out a low roar from its hoarse throat. Several moments passed without any response. Then, heavy footsteps were heard inside. Someone was running down a staircase. The noise continued as the person provoked complaints from the wooden floor. A sudden stop. The lock began to click as the stranger worked to unlock it. From the series of complex sounds that reverberated, it almost sounded like the person on the other side was struggling in an all-out battle with the system of locksmith and was not winning.

The door swung open, revealing a dressed old dowager. She wore a mauve woolen shawl with fringed edges that looked like it had been handmade. She had on a faded, pearl white blouse with ivory buttons and frills around it. A cream scarf was tied around her neck. A simple black skirt, very long, came down to her feet. Over her strewn silver hair was tied a black lace kerchief.

The woman was thin like a dry smile. Her face was covered with hollows and bumps, traces left by the treacherous years that had slipped by without being seen, each taking a subtle ransom on the features of the face. Her skin hung over her bones, tired to hold it after all this time. Her eyes were sunken in the middle of this disbanding of flesh and one could barely see them. They were covered by a gray veil that hid her gaze. But her hands, although wrinkled, stained with old age, furrowed with veins, retained the softness and delicacy of their youth. The woman gave off a faint scent of violet, a perfume that seemed to recall distant escapades in the moonlight, under loving eyes. She kept the vigorous silhouette of her youth and the tenacity of her twenty years.

She looked suspicious, as if she was wary of those who might appear in the street. She seemed to fear an attack, an invasion, and watched for the slightest suspicious move, leaning her turtle-like neck forward, to better make out what was outside. She was mumbling lightly, grumbling in inaudible sounds.

Suddenly, she seemed to notice Lucy, Alistair and Maude. Her eyes widened and her mouth twitched into a strange pout.

 - You are here! she exclaimed.

She seemed to have seen a ghostly apparition. She was watching them intently, seemingly waiting for them to float several inches above the air.

 - Yes ! Nice to meet you ! We are the detectives you called upon! The one and only: Lucy Moon, Alistair de Saule and Miss Maude! Lucy announced.

She opened her arms wide to point at them all in their splendid grandeur. But, at this gesture, the old woman recoiled, frightened. She seemed to think these people were going to attack her any minute.

 - Yes yes. Of course...detectives, since you prefer to be called that.

 - Yes, that's it, answered Lucy, rather perplexed by the reaction of the bourgeoise.

The old woman leaned towards them, her hand cupped, as if to confide in them deeply.

 - You can tell that kind of lie to others, but it doesn't work with me. I see clearly through you! Clearly ! You can't fool me! That's why I called you. I've always had an eye for that sort of thing. I have this habit of seeing hidden phenomena!

She left with a small sneer, while giving them a knowing look. She began to turn her index finger in circles next to her skull, to show the deductions there, while nodding slowly.

Alistair seemed more tired than ever, on the verge of strangling her and finishing her off before her time. With an exasperated air, he massaged the bridge of his nose to push back the murderous urges that insisted on taking possession of him.

Maude wore a faint smile of convenience that seemed to cost her as she glanced left and right, hoping to find an escape.

And Lucy, meanwhile, was nodding her head as well, in order to make herself look good to the grandmother.

 - And...what exactly do you mean by phenomena? asked Maude, more and more anxious.

 - Unexplained events of course! The fact that we always lose a stocking without being able to find it; when objects disappear without explanation; when the milk suddenly sours; when you see everything in black; when stepping in dog feces; when the floor creaks strangely at night... So many things you can't understand, you think. Well no ! It's wrong ! I'm not fooled ! They all thought they could deceive me, but nay! I see, I know! The spirits are behind it all! It is obvious. The stocking that disappears is Uncle Charles who had always been chilly when he was alive. The noises on the stairs, it's Grandma Jane trying to steal the last piece of cake. I understand all that, I see things deeply. That's why I called you. My intuition ! I know ! I feel that you are special, you see beyond, just like me! In addition, you are also the ones whose services are the most affordable, which is a significant plus...

She punctuated her statement with a light snap of the finger that was meant to be impressive and dynamic. The three companions looked at each other, disconcerted, while the old lady smiled smugly after her long speech demonstrating all her foresight in the face of unexplained facts.

 - Is there no way to say that we are actually not available? muttered Maude. I really don't want to go in there.

Lucy bursted into a nervous laugh as she tried to quietly back up.

 - Just think of that poor soul. It would hurt her so much if we refuse to do what she asks of us after coming to see her at her home. And above all, think about our rent, which we may not be able to pay because we do not have a stable income, Alistair encouraged.

Suddenly, his two companions showed themselves to be a little more receptive, seduced by the encouragement he had given them and deeply touched in their generous and interested kindness by this old woman and her misfortunes.

The old woman stared at them with her bewildered look, waiting for their response.

 - Alright, we accept to...

 - Perfect ! I knew you were going to say yes! interrupted the woman, without waiting for the end of the answer.

She who understood so many things must have known in advance that a refusal had never been possible or perhaps she simply did not care about the choices of others and decided for them. Without wasting any more time, she turned around and went back to her house, waving her hand to invite them inside, not glancing behind her to see if they were following her.

Quite perplexed, they went inside with her. They arrived in the corridor of a bourgeois house, everything was most normal, modest, without coquetry. One could see that the place was quite shabby. It was a thin, silent poverty that had slowly taken hold of the building, without really daring to enter it, waiting with the politeness of an impromptu guest on the steps. On the floor, there was a burgundy carpet that gave off no dust and that no stain had come to defile. Green wallpaper decorated with faded golden flowers hung on the wall, falling a little in places but clinging with all its remaining vigor to the walls. Mural lamps dispensed a sufficient glow, lighted with economy. A black iron coat stand supported a few dustless jackets that were still old and frayed, white at the elbows and patched many times over.

No great extravagance, no morbid things or presage of misfortune, it was almost surprising. Lucy had expected an interior worthy of a voodoo store, with stuffed heads, dead animals, toad eyes, nimble fingers and other occult trinkets... A place filled with smoke, with the smell of strange plants. A somewhat mystical and fantastic place.

Instead, it was just an ordinary house, a bit old and tired, but ordinary. Surprising, given the kind of personality the dowager seemed to possess.

The old woman looked at them with an air of complicity, as if she was showing them her secret lair. The three felt compelled to nod and look impressed so as not to offend her, surveying a crack in the wall with warped interest.

But suddenly, at the end of the corridor, a hasty step sounded. It felt like the race of a beast about to pounce on its prey, so fast there was no way out, no escape. A noise similar to percussion reverberated in the corridor as if it himself had become the body of resonance of a huge instrument. The sound that approached ominously had the same magnitude as a funeral march, as a parade of a thousand hearses. It was hundreds of earthquakes put together, as if the earth itself had begun to groan under the menace who walked within it. No one was to be able to escape while whiffs of pure terror were spreading through the corridor.

Maude seemed to be looking for a place to hide, while Lucy was shaking slightly. Alistair, on the other hand, was gazing at the old woman, seeming to wonder if the beast would spare them if they fed the grandmother to him.

The bourgeois kept her satisfied and calm air, without feeling the slightest fear of the imminent threat which approached them. The door at the end of the corridor swung open, while a vaguely human figure appeared. It was covered with a veil of shadow, it could not be discerned in this darkness, as if the light had not dared to put its delicate arm on this thing coming from the depths of the howling abysses. It looked like its eyes were glowing red in the dark, dull and dormant, like a storm about to strike. Red as the blood she would soon shed. She seemed to grunt and was about to bite and pounce on the guests. It was the furious bestiality of the creature that was unleashed in these animal noises, the hatred for the stranger who dares to enter its lair and for who it is about time to pay the price. May they suffer for the outrages they had inflicted on her!

Without further warning, the beast pounced on the defenseless detectives, ready to make a lint out of them.

Lucy began to turn the door handle in vain, hoping to get out of this house of misfortune, while Maude prepared to scream and Alistair to throw the old woman in the direction of the creature.