"Mrs. Ploat had taken an old-fashioned house in Queen Anne Street, large
enough for a family of twenty persons. Now, as my household consisted of
only my wife, her unmarried sister, and myself, I could not understand
what was wanted with such capacious quarters. But I had no say in the
matter. My wife fancied the house, it seemed to me, on account of its
colonial air, wide halls, huge high-ceilinged rooms, and general lack of
modern improvements.
"I never liked the house in Queen Anne Street, though this aversion was
apparently unreasonable, for we were cosy enough after the throes of
moving in and settling down were over. But it struck me from the start
that there was something decidedly uncanny about the place, and a vague
feeling of uneasiness became very keenly defined in me whenever I heard
the creaking of the stairs.
"The stairs throughout the house had an infernal habit of creaking--one
after another--as if somebody was coming up or down. At first I thought
it was the rats that infested the old mansion in legions; but I
abandoned this idea after a few experiments which proved conclusively
that the creaking sounds could only be made by a person or thing quite
as heavy, if not heavier, than myself--then tipping the beam at one
hundred and eighty pounds.
"In the course of time I became personally acquainted with each stair in
the Queen Anne Street house, and especially with those in the main
flight.
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