He pushed open the door to the attic room. It was perfectly dark, now, but the opening door disturbed the air, and I heard things rattle gently, like dry bones in thin bags, in the slight wind. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Like that.
I would have pulled away, then, if I could, but small, firm fingers pulled me forward, unrelentingly, into the dark.
What do paragraphs 59-60 reveal about the possible resolution of the story?