Oddly, within seconds, the stairwell seemed warm and impossibly heated. By the time he reached the second floor landing, Soames had pulled off his hat and gloves and tucked them in his pockets. Who knew, maybe, like everyone else, winter was afraid to enter? The rats were not. He could hear them squeaking and scratching, along with God-knew-what-else skittering in the dark. The stairs creaked beneath his feet, the wind continued to moan, the frozen old building to pop and to groan. It all made for inspiring background music.
He was sweating by the time he reached the third floor. Feeling desperately out of shape, he unzipped his coat to cool off. By the fourth floor landing, he found he was just plain hot and had to pause to catch his breath. Whatever ghosts were in residence, he mused, m
