Sashi woke me.

There is a presence in the room, my love.

Against the darkness of my closed eyelids her beautiful face floated. It wore an expression of concern.

What kind of presence? I thought to her without opening my eyes.

I don't know, but it isn't human.

Parting my eyelids cautiously, I saw a faint greenish glow in the air of my bedroom. I turned my head on my bolster to peer past the foot of the bed, The spectre of a naked woman regarded me impassively. For a time she simply stood there, her long hair floating around her head as if borne up upon some otherworldly breeze. She was young and very beautiful. I shivered. The air was unnaturally cold. Beside me on the bed, Martala lay sleeping. I heard her soft snores.

The spectre beckoned me with her hand, then turned and seemed to glide rather than walk to the open doorway of the bedroom, where she paused and turned to look back at me. Her expression had changed. Now it was anguished and imploring. She passed silently into the hall.

I rolled onto my back and stared at darkness on the ceiling, wondering how the spirit had managed to penetrate the occult wards around my house. They were designed to keep such beings outside the walls. It was obvious the spectre wanted me to follow her. I debated whether to wake the girl, then decided to let her sleep. With care so as not to disturb her, I slipped from under the single white cotton sheet that covered my naked body and went on bare feet from the room. 

The lambent luminosity of the woman led me along the corridor and down the main staircase to the entrance hall. As I descended the steps I caught a glimpse of her gliding toward the kitchen at the back of the house. Following across the chill marble tiles in the entrance and along the hallway, I came to the door that led to the cellar. It stood open, even though I always keep it closed. My work is down there, and at times my work can be dangerous.

In the kitchen I found a candle stub by touch on the shelf where I knew they were kept, and ignited it on an ember that still smouldered in the ashes of the cookstove. I cupped my hand around its fluttering flame and descended the steep stone steps. My cellar is a network of Roman arches supported by stone pillars. Between the pillars brick walls were erected to divide the space into separate but connected rooms.