在寂静的深夜，躲在被窝里读一本惊悚小说，可谓一件赏心乐事;但如果就在你深深陷入故事情节当中之时，从房间的黑暗角落里突然发出吱吱怪响……
Welivedinatwo-storywoodenhouseinapartofBerkeley[1] wherethetallshadetreeswereasoldastheUniversityofCaliforniaitself.
Iwasabookworm, thekindwhowouldreadwithaflashlight[2] underthecoversafterhewassupposedtobeasleep. Occasionally, Iwouldbeleftaloneatnight, andIwouldlieonmystomachwithmybookproppedonmypillow, immersedinfantasyasonlyanimaginativeboycanbeimmersedinthecreationsofwriterslikeRobertLouisStevenson, H. RiderHaggard, SirArthurConanDoyle, and, ofcourse, EdgarAllanPoe.[3]
Mybedlamphookedovertheheadboardwastheonlylightonintheentirehouse, andmybedwaslikeRobinsonCrusoe’sisland.[4]
WheneverIwashomealonelikethat, IwouldhopeIcouldenjoymysnugsolitudeuntilIheardourcaroutside, thefrontdooropeningdownstairs, andhadmyeveningofpleasurecappedwithaglassofmilkandapeanut-butter-and-marmaladesandwich.[5] ButsometimesIwasdisturbedbynoisesIwouldtrymybesttoignore.[6]
Oneofthenoiseswasaneeriecreaking—aprolongedee-ee-ahh-ahh—which, tryasImight, Icouldn’thelpimaginingwasthesoundofasecretdoorbeingopenedbyahoodedfigurewhosharedthehousewithusandonlycameoutwhenheknewIwasalone.