Imagery:
I am sorry, therefore, as I have said, that I ever paid any attention to the footsteps.
They began about a quarter past one o’clock in the morning, a rhythmic, quick-cadenced walking around the dining-room table.
The steps kept going round and round the table; at regular intervals a board creaked, when it was trod upon.
Flashlights shot streaks of gleam up and down the walls, across the yard, down the walk between our house and Bodwell’s.
The Night the Ghost Got In