Few lamp knows that the famous English writer Agata Christie, in addition to magnificent detectives, also wrote mystical stories.

 We publish on the site of her story "Lamp": no doubt, it was an old house. And from the whole area, where it is located, has imagined the atmosphere of majestic old age, which is so inherent in cities with his cathedral. And the house at number 19 performed the impression of the Patriarch surrounded by his neighbors: his cold gray romance was towering over the rest. Strict and intense, with a print imprint, characteristic of houses, in which no one has long lived, he reigned over other housing. In any other city, he would have been called enchanted long ago, but in Weymnaster, the ghosts were not listed and exclusions were exclusted only for graphic families. So the house 19 has never been included in the register of enchanted houses, and nevertheless, after year, the plate hung on it: "I rent or sold". Mrs. Lancaster with approval looked around the house when he drove up to him with a speaking agent for real estate, which in a cheerful mood anticipated that she would finally get rid of No. 19 in his list. He put the key into the castle, without ceasing to exalt the advantage of the goods. - How long is the house empty? - Pretty unceremonious interrupted the eloquence of Mrs. Lancaster. Mr. Raddish (from Raddish and Foplou) somewhat confused. "Oh ... and ... for a while," he murmured embarrassed. "I thought," Mrs. Lancaster went dryly. Dull illuminated Hall met their sinister cold. A more impressionable woman would cover a shiver, but not her, practical and impatience. She was high, with dark brown hair, barely touched by gray, and with cold blue eyes. She bypassed the whole house, from the attic to the basement, from time to time setting quite relevant questions. After examining the whole house, she returned to one of the rooms located in the front part, from which the whole square was visible well, and without the bias, looking at the agent intently, asked: - So what's the same with this house? Mr. Raddish was caught by surprise. "Of course, the house without furniture always looks somewhat gloomy," he was missing. "Chephah," Mrs. Lancaster parried. - Rent for such a mansion is ridiculously low, almost no. There must be some reason for this. Perhaps ghosts live here? Mr. Raddish jerked nervously, but silently. Mrs. Lancaster looked to him and looked at him and after some time spoke again. - Of course, all this is nonsense, I do not believe in ghost or anything of this kind, and I personally will not keep me from buying a house; But the servants, unfortunately, are light and easy to scare. And so be kind to tell me right: the ghost of which creature is presumably appearing in this house. "I ... uh ... and in fact I don't know," the realtor stacked, the realtor. "And I'm sure - you know," Lady said softly. - I can't take a house, nothing knows about it. What happened here? Murder? - No, no! - cried Mr. Raddish, shocked by the thought of so alien to this respectable area. - It ... It's just a child. - Child? - Yes. And I don't know this story too well, "he continued reluctantly. "Of course, there are various versions, but I trust the one more that thirty years ago a certain person named Williams rented. Nothing is known about him; He did not hold servants, he had no friends, he rarely left the house in the afternoon. He had a child, a little boy. After about two months, he went to London and barely took his legs, because it turned out that he was looking for the police, for which it was unknown to me. However, apparently, the case was serious that he preferred to shoot on the road than to surrender to the mercy of the authorities. Meanwhile, the child lived here, in the house, quite alone. He had a little meal, and he had expected his father's return day. Unfortunately, he was inspired that he should not leave the house or talk to unauthorized people under any circumstances. He was a weak, painful, little creature and even thought could not disrupt the ban. At night, the neighbors who did not know that the father is not in the house, often heard his sobs caused by terrible loneliness and abandonment in an empty house. Mr. Raddish took a pause. "And ... uh ... the child died of hunger," he graduated from such a tone, as if he said that it was starting to rain. - And the ghost of the child appears in the house? Asked Mrs. Lancaster. "Nothing should not," Mr. Raddish hungry. - no one saw anything, but people say, and it is ridiculous, of course, they heard the crying of a child. That's all. You know? Mrs. Lancaster moved to the exit. "I really like this house," she said. - For such a price, I will not get anything better. I have to think about everything and then I will inform you. - He really looks charming, though dad? Mrs. Lancaster with a clear pleasure overlooked its new ownership. Funny mats, well-polished furniture, many baubles completely transformed even recently so dark premises of the house number 19. She appealed to a slightly slightly sutowable old man with sloping shoulders and sophisticated, detached face. Mr. Winbern did not like her daughter; Indeed, it was difficult to imagine the exact opposite than her solid practicism and his dreamy extension. "Yes," he answered with a smile, "no one would suggest that the house is enchanted. - Dad! Do not say nonsense. For our first day enough. Mr. Winberne smiled: "Okay, my dear, we will agree with you that there is no ghost." "And please," Mrs. Lancaster continued, "he is not so impressionable about this with Jeff. It was about a little boy Mrs. Lancaster. Their family consisted of Mr. Winberne, his widowed daughter and Jeffrey. The rain began on the windows: Cap-Cap, Shlepp-Shlepp. "Listen," Mr. Winbern said, "doesn't it look like a little legs on the trap ..." It looks more like rain, "Mrs. Lancaster smiled. "But this ... these are steps," the father exclaimed, leaning her better to hear better. Mrs. Lancaster openly looked around. Mr. Winbern was forced to laugh too. They drank tea in the lobby, and he sat her back to the stairs. But now he turned his chair to be a face to her. Little Jeffrey just descended the stairs, slowly and somehow sad, with children's reverence before this strange place. The steps of the staircase of polished oak were not covered with a carpet. The boy came up and became next to his mother. Mr. Winberne made a light move. When the child crossed the hall, the old man clearly heard the sound of small legs on the stairs, as if someone was catching up with Jeffrey. At the same time, it was with difficulty moving his legs. Mr. Winberne dismissed his shoulders. "Just rain, of course rain," he thought. "I see Biscuits," said Jeff admiringly, sniffing towards the aroma, who had taken from his object. Mother hurried to move a plate to him. - Well, son, how do you like our new home? She asked. "Mahina," Jeffrey replied with her mouth stuffed. - pounds, pounds and more pounds. Just a lot. - After the last statement, which, obviously, was fulfilled deep sense, he plunged into silence, concerned only in order to quickly know the cupcakes. Swinging the last piece, he suddenly broke out by speech. - Oh, mommy, Jane said that there is a attic. Can I get there right now and inspect it? There may be a secret door, however, Jane says that she is not, but I think that there must be, and there must be pipes, pipes with water (with face full of ecstasy), and I can play with them, and still look Boiler? He uttered the last word so long, with such an obvious delight that his grandfather felt a light shame from the fact that unmatched, full charm of children's impressions were resurrected in his memory only a picture of hot water pipes, which was not at all Hot, and countless accounts from a plumber. "We will examine the attic tomorrow, dear," said Mrs. Lancaster. "And now I suggest to go behind cubes and build a wonderful house or locomotive of them. - I do not want to build OM. - House. - Neither the house nor the locomotive, nor anything else. - Build a boiler, a steam boiler, - the mother succumbed. Jeffrey spotted: - with pipes? - Yes, with a lot of pipes. Happy Jeffrey ran away for his cubes. The rain was still walking. Mr. Winberne listened. Yes, it should be that it was only raining, but the sounds of the knocking droplets were like easy steps. A strange dream dreamed of him this night. He dreamed that he walked around the city, a large city, as it seemed to him. But it was the city of children; Not a single adult on the streets, anyone, except for children, the crowds of children. In the dream, they all rushed to him with a strange cry: "Did you led him?" And he realized that they had in mind, and in response he shook his head. And when the children saw it, they fought with bitter sobs. The city and children were gradually scattered, he woke up, felt himself in bed, but the crying children still sounded in his ears. Although he completely shakeped his dream, he still continued to hear sobs. He remembered that Jeffrey slept the floor below, and child crying came from above. He sat down, chirknuned the match. And all the sounds stopped. Mr. Winbern did not tell his daughter about his dream and about what followed him. That this was not the fruit of his imagination, he was convinced. And indeed, soon, already in the afternoon, he again heard crying. In the fireplace, dried the wind, but it was a completely different sound, it is impossible to make a mistake: a plaintive, thin, tearing child's crying. He found that he didn't hear these sounds alone. He accidentally heard the maid said to the cook: "I did not expect from the nannik that she could handle that Mr. Jeffrey, which would bring him to tears. I heard this morning, as he sobbed, even a heart grated. " Jeffrey appeared to breakfast, and then to Lunch without signs of sadness: shining and happy; And Mr. Winbern now knew that not Jeff, and another child was crying, and he had heard his shutters for him again. Only Mrs. Lancaster never heard anything. Her ears were not able to catch the sounds from the other world. However, she also experienced a shock. "Mommy," said Jeff complaints about. - I want you to play me to play with the little boy. Mrs. Lancaster pulled his eyes from his desk and smiled: - With what little boy, dear? - I do not know what his name is. He was in the attic, sat on the floor and cried, and when I saw me, ran away. In my opinion, he flashes, - Jeff smiled slightly, - just like small, and then, when I went to the nursery, I saw that he stands at the door and watches, as I build, and it looked terribly lonely and As if I really wanted to play with me. I said: "Come on, we will build a steam locomotive," but he did not answer anything, just looked as if he saw a whole bunch of chocolate, and his mother did not allow them to touch them. - Jeff sighed, sad personal memories of this kind, obviously stirred in it. "But when I asked Jane, what kind of boy, and he said that I want to play with him, she said that there was no little boy in the house and there was nothing to tell stupid fairy tales. I no longer love Jane. Mrs. Lancaster rose. - Jane law. There is no little boy here. - But I saw him. Oh, mommy! Let me play with him, he is so lonely and unhappy. I want to help him, to do something to him better. Mrs. Lancaster was going to say something, but her father shook his head. "Jeff," he said very softly, "this poor boy is alone, and maybe you can do something for him, but you have to think of yourself - what exactly." Here you kind of riddles. Understand? - Because I'm already a big boy and can you come up with my own? - Yes, because you are a big boy. As soon as the son came out of the room, Mrs. Lancaster was impatiently turned to his father. - Dad, it is absurd. Encourage the boy to believe in wild risks of servants! "None of the servants did not tell anything like a boy," said the old man. - He saw that I heard, and I could see if it was at his age. - But this is such nonsense! Why I do not see and do not hear anything like that? Mr. Winbern smiled a little mysteriously a smile and did not answer. - Why? - Repeated daughter. - Why did you assure that he can help this ... creature? All this is uncomplicably impossible. The old man threw her thoughtful look. - Why not? - he said. - Do you remember these words: what lamp gives the light of the children, what is wandering in the darkness? "Sleeping faith," - heaven in response. Jeffrey has he - blind faith. All children are endowed with her. When we become older, we lose it - just throw away as unnecessary. Sometimes, when we become quite old, the lightweight reflections of this faith return to us, but the brightest light lamp burns for us in childhood. That is why, in my opinion, Jeffrey may well help someone. "I don't understand anything," Mrs. Lancaster muttered confusedly. - I myself can do anything else. That ... that ... the child is in danger and wants to be freed. But how? I do not know, but terribly thinking about it, and the suffering of this child tear the heart. A month after this conversation, Jeffrey was seriously ill. The eastern wind was harsh, and the boy did not differ strong health. The doctor shook his head and said that it was serious. With Mr. Winbern, he was more frank and said that the case was completely hopeless. "The child will not recover under any circumstances," he added. - He has too launched lung disease. " It is cautious for Jeff, Mrs. Lancaster discovered that another child existed. First, sobs seemed an integral part of the wind, but gradually they began to stand out, found certainty. It was impossible to make a mistake. Finally, she heard them at the time of the full toss: the child was sobbing - sad, hopelessly, breaking the heart. Jeff was getting worse, and he was talking to a "little boy" again and again. - I want to help him get rid, I will do it! He shouted. Following delirium, complete apathy came for nonsense, he forgotten heavy sleep. Jeffrey lay very quietly, barely breathe, immersed in oblivion. It was impossible to do anything, it remained to wait and watch. Suddenly, the boy was fixed. His eyes opened. He watched Mother past the door to open. He tried to speak, and his mother leaned towards his lips to hear rustling words. "All is well, I'm going," he whispered and plunged into oblivion again. The sudden horror was mastery, she crossed the room, going to his father. Somewhere nearby laughed another boy. Joyful, knello, fading, and with silver echo, laughter swept around the room. "I'm scared, I'm scared," Mother groan. The old man patronically hugged her shoulders. A sudden impulse of the wind made them flinchering, and immediately, silence came again. Laughter stopped, but now they heard a new sound, first barely catchy, but gradually everything increasing, becoming loud, so they were able to distinguish it: steps - light, soft steps. "Top top, slap-slap, top top, slap-slap". They fled - these are well familiar little legs. And here - it is impossible to make a mistake - other steps joined them, quick and lungs. They hurried together to the doors, there, there, over the door, together, together, top top, slap-slap, rushed the invisible legs of small children. Mrs. Lancaster looked widely open her father. - There are two of them, two! Her face became gray from fear, she turned to the crib in the corner, but his father gently held her and sat down in place. "There," he said simply. Top top, slap-slap - everything is easier and easier. And then - silence.