She took a few more faltering steps; and then a sharp reverberant knock sounded from somewhere close at hand. Carla’s cosmetic bag dropped from her nerveless fingers and she turned in the direction from which the sound had come. Her head was spinning and her knees had gone wobbly, but her senses were operating with abnormal acuteness. She heard the snap of dying embers in the fireplace, tasted mint-flavored toothpaste—and saw something impossible. On the wall beside her, moved from its original position, was the portrait, in its heavy carved frame. But the face was no longer dim and impassive. The eyes were wide and its mouth was open in a silent scream of terror; and despite the distortion of fear, the features were, unmistakably, her own.