Lunar Silhouette

He heard a dull thud. It seemed [bad word] from the drawing room situated next to his bedroom. He dragged himself out of bed and put on his dressing gown. It was well past midnight. He heard the clock striking three. He quietly slipped into the room and saw only a shape imbued with a faint luminosity since it caught and reflected in its yellowed surfaces what little light there was in the ill-lit room. And then he saw a fragile figure, a girl, six – or maybe seven-year-old, sitting on a wooden swing attached to the oak ceiling. The girl was swinging rhythmically to and fro. She was the splitting image of the skeletal women he had met before in the house.