That night Emma was prowling the halls of the house.  Her room, and the whole of the house, seemingly, were eerily quiet.  The thick walls of the mansion were like unto a fortress.  The thing that had Emma so bothered could not be puzzled out.  She knew exactly what it was – it was a question.  And the answer wouldn't be had by losing sleep.  But the restless girl could not force herself to sleep.<br/><br/>So she slipped quietly out of bed and deliberated for a moment.  It was late – likely no one else would be about.  She wouldn’t bother with a robe or night jacket.  Just her night gown would do for sneaking around.  It wasn’t like she was going outside or anything.  The rich hardwood floors were cool under her bare feet.  The many rugs were an exploration of textures to her little toes.<br/><br/>She stole into the kitchen and tested the locks on the pantries and crept into the study and the drawing rooms where she tested the locks on the liquor cabinets.  But this was just silly amusement, she was not really that bad of a girl.  So she continued her explorations.  And in the back hall, she heard a sound.<br/><br/>More quietly than ever, Emma moved to follow the faint noises.  As she drew nearer the cellar stairs, the sounds became a little clearer.  They sounded almost like some one moaning in pain.  And the cellar door was slightly ajar.  That was odd.  Emma slipped around the open door, hardly having to open it any further to pass her slight frame through the gap.  The stairs were not the rough-hewn timbers of any ordinary basement redoubt, but neither were they the dark elegances of the grand stairways on the main floors of the house.  It was dark at the bottom.<br/><br/>Though she knew the basement level had several windows, it was also very late, and what little starlight filtered through was occluded by a surprising amount of clutter.  In just three years since the house was built, according to Mr. and Mrs. Bronski at least, they amassed quite a collection of… well, Emma found she had no idea was all this was down here.  There were crates and boxes galore.  There were rooms and locked-off places and machines covered with tarps and smelling of oils.  Emma as much felt her way along as she followed the strange sounds.<br/><br/>*Smack!*  The sound came more sharply to her ears now.  It was definitely followed by a moan of pain.<br/><br/>Slap!  This sound was followed by Mr. Bronski’s voice, Emma was sure of it, but she could not make out the words.  Finally she made her way to the very rear of the cellar where she found a light spilling out of another open door.  Another slap!  “You like that, don’t you my little coquette?”  Definitely Mr. Bronski, Emma decided.  Quietly she stole up to the door.<br/><br/>She had to be silent, she knew.  So much as a tiny little sound and Mr. Bronski would turn his mind and his attention away from… whatever it was he was doing.  Hiding behind walls, no matter how thick, was no way to hide from a psychic.  Emma peered around the door jam into the large, dimly lit room and nearly gasped out loud at what she saw.