As Johnny Thompson put out a hand to ring the door bell of that brownstone house facing the deserted grounds of the Chicago Century of Progress and the lake, the door opened without a sound. He looked up, expecting to see a face, hear a voice, perhaps. The voice came: "Step inside, please." But there was no face. The space before him was empty. A little puzzled, he stepped into the narrow passageway. Instantly in a slow, silent manner that seemed ominous, the door closed behind him. The place was all but dark. Certainly there was no lamp; only a curious blue illumination everywhere. A little frightened, he put out a hand to grip the door knob. It did not give to his touch. Indeed it was immovable as the branch of an oak. "Locked!" he muttered. Then for a space of seconds his heart went wild. From the wall to the right of him had flashed a pencil of white light. Like an accusing finger it fell upon something on the opposite wall. And that something was an eye, an eye in the wall,--or so it seemed to the boy. And even as he stared, with lips parted, breath coming short and quick, the thing appeared to wink. "The eye!" he whispered, and again, "the eye!" For a space of many seconds, like a bird charmed by a snake, he stood staring at that eye. And then cold terror seized him. In the corner of the place he had detected some movement. It was off to his right. Whirling about, he found himself staring at--of all the terrible things in that eerie light--a skeleton. And even as he stared, ready to sink to the floor in sheer terror, the skeleton appeared to move, to tremble, to open and close its fleshless hands. He watched the thing for ten terrible seconds. Then a thought struck him with the force of a blow. "That--" he whispered as if afraid the thing might hear, "that is me! That is my own skeleton!" Of this there could be no doubt. For, as he lifted his right hand, the skeleton did the same. As he bobbed his head, the thing before him bobbed. And if further evidence were lacking, the thing had a crooked third finger, and so had he. Then, as if ashamed of being discovered, the terrifying image vanished and the eye in the wall blinked out. Instantly the door at the inner end of the hall opened. There, standing in a flood of mellow light, was a girl of about his own age. She was smiling at him and shaking her mass of golden hair. "Come in," she welcomed. "But--but you seem so frightened!" She stared at him for a second. "Oh!" There was consternation in her tone. "Felix left that terrible thing on! How can you ever forgive us? "But please do come in." Her tone changed. "You came about Father's books? How generous of you. Poor Father! His head is so full of things! He is always forgetting." Johnny stepped inside. The door closed itself noiselessly. "What kind of a house of magic is this?" he asked himself. "Doors close themselves. Eyes gleam at you from the wall. You see your own skeleton in the dark!"