Carl woke to the shrill sound of pan pipes being played outside the door to his chamber. Angry at being awoken, he pulled on his robe, ripping it in the process. Then he remembered that his host, Lord Ison, had an idiot son who wandered the house late at night. Perhaps, he reasoned, I could persuade him to stop that infernal racket or convince him to trade the offending instrument away for dross.
The sound died abruptly as he pulled the door to his room open. Looking around the vast hallway, Carl found no trace of the boy. New-fangled electrical lamps along the walls flickered mockingly as if in silent laughter.
He waited for some time in the damp air that oft drifted in and out of the house without regard for wall, window, or door. Listening carefully, he was eager to follow any sound that would give his investigation direction.
A few minutes passed. Carl grew bored. He returned to his room, tossed his robe aside and climbed back into his bed. There he lay, restless, as the haunting music began anew.