Chapter 10 - Trapped Below
"Clara! Open this door!" I yelled, rushing back to the bottom of the concrete steps and pounding my fists against the heavy wood in a panic.
There was no answer from the top of the stairs, only the heavy, muffled sound of footsteps walking away across the kitchen floorboards. I grabbed the brass doorknob and rattled it violently, but it was completely immovable, secured by a heavy deadbolt thrown from the hallway side. I turned back around, the harsh yellow light of the single naked bulb casting long, menacing shadows across the damp stone walls and rusted cages. Clara was gone, leaving me trapped in the very same tomb where Sarah Miller’s remains had been hidden away for over a decade.
Panic threatened to overwhelm my senses, but I forced myself to take slow, controlled breaths, knowing despair wouldn't save me or my daughters. I looked over at the rusted wire-mesh cage in the corner, realizing with a sinking heart that Clara had locked herself down here with me on purpose. She hadn't accidentally trapped me; she had orchestrated this entire sequence of events to eliminate every loose end standing in her way. But as I scanned the stone walls of the cellar more closely, I noticed a small, high-placed ventilation shaft leading upward toward the lawn.
The vent was narrow, barely wide enough for a child to squeeze through, but it was covered by a rusted metal grate held in by old screws. If I could unscrew that grate, I might be able to reach the surface, find my phone, and call Marcus before Clara reached the girls upstairs. I rushed over to the wooden work table in the center of the room, frantically searching through the dusty collection of old tools scattered across the surface. My fingers closed around a heavy, flat-head screwdriver with a cracked wooden handle just as a strange sound echoed from the far corner.
It wasn't the sound of settling foundations or dripping water; it was a low, rattling cough coming from behind the canvas tarp in Sarah's cage. My blood froze in my veins, and the screwdriver slipped from my fingers, clattering loudly against the stone floor.
"Who's there?" I called out, my voice cracking with absolute terror as I stared at the canvas-covered pile in the dim light.
May you like
Slowly, the rotting tarp shifted, and a frail, skeletal hand reached out from beneath the fabric, gripping the rusted wire mesh of the cage.
---
