Algernon Blackwood

“ The swishing, rushing, hushing sound it makes⁠—that’s its hair against the walls and tiles, you see.”
“It is a woman, then?” said Jimbo, proudly.
All looked up, wondering. An extraordinary thing was in the air. A mystery that had puzzled them for ages was about to be explained. They drew closer round the sofa, and Maria blundered against the table, knocking some books off with a resounding noise.
“Hush! Hush!” said Uncle Henry, holding up a finger and glancing over his shoulder into the darkened room. “It may be coming now⁠ ⁠... Listen!”
“Yes; but it is a woman, isn’t it?” ”

“ They heard the different voices in it, although they did not catch the meaning of the words it sang. They heard its footsteps, too. Its way of moving awed them. Moreover, it was forever trying to get in.
“It’s wings,” said Jinny, “big, dark wings, very soft and feathery.”
“It’s a woman with sad black eyes,” thought Jimbo. “That’s how I like it.”
“It’s someone,” declared Maria, who was asleep before it came, so rarely heard it at all. And they turned to Uncle Henry, who knew all that sort of thing, or, at any rate, could describe it. He found the words. ”

“ The sun has been very tiresome all day⁠—overheating the currents.”
“Uncle, you ask it everything,” whispered Jimbo, “simply everything!”
“Say how we love it, please,” sighed Jinny. “I feel it closing both my eyes.”
“It’s over all my face,” put in Maria, drawing her breath in loudly.
“But my hair’s lifting!” Jinny exclaimed. “Oh, it’s lovely, lovely!”
Uncle Henry straightened himself up in the darkness. They could hear him breathing with the effort. “Please tell us what you do,” he said. “We all can feel you touching us. ”

“ A low, soft whistle answered to his own; somewhere in the room it sounded; there was no mistaking it, though the exact direction was difficult to tell, for while Jimbo said it was through the keyhole, Jinny declared positively it came from the door of the big, broken cupboard opposite. Maria stated flatly, “Chimney.”
“Hush! It’s talking.” It was Uncle Henry’s voice breathing very low. “It likes us. It feels we’re friendly.” ”

“ He knew everything⁠—everything in the world. “It’s unhappy as well as shy,” he sighed, “because nothing will play with it. Everything is asleep at night. It comes out just when other things go in. Trees answer it, but they answer in their sleep. ”

“ Moreover, it came out only after dark⁠—an ominous and suspicious characteristic rather.
“Why isn’t there a day-wind too?” enquired Jinny, thoughtfully.
“There is, but it’s quite a different thing,” Uncle Henry explained, calmly. “You might as well ask why midday and midnight aren’t the same because they both come at twelve o’clock. They’re simply different things, you see.”
“Of course,” Jimbo helped him unexpectedly; “and a man can’t be a woman, can it?” ”