Chapter 3 - The Box Beneath the Floorboards
Sarah walked back into the living room, a mug of warm cocoa held carefully in her hands, her face etched with exhaustion and growing dread. She set the mug down on the wooden coffee table and looked at her husband’s pale, sweaty face.
Mark, you're scaring me, she said, her voice dropping to a nervous whisper. What did you see through those old glasses?
I saw her face, Sarah, Mark answered, his hands still trembling as he set the binoculars down. And she wasn't just standing there. She was mouthing something through the glass. Over and over again.
What... what was she saying? Lily asked softly, walking out from the kitchen with her white bunny tucked securely under one arm, her big blue eyes wide with innocent curiosity.
Mark knelt down to his daughter's eye level, ignoring the knot twisting tightly in his stomach. He forced a reassuring smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
She was just playing a game, sweetheart. Adults play games too sometimes, Mark lied gently, stroking Lily's long blonde hair. Why don't you go upstairs and pick out a bedtime story? Mommy and I need to talk about the weather and the flooded road.
Lily nodded slowly, casting one last lingering glance toward the dark window before turning toward the staircase. Her small footsteps echoed softly up the wooden steps until her bedroom door clicked shut.
As soon as she was out of earshot, Sarah grabbed Mark's arm, her fingernails pressing through the green sweater.
Mark, what is happening? That house is separated from us by a roaring, flooded ravine. Nobody can cross that water tonight. The bridge washed out years ago.
I know the bridge washed out, Mark said grimly, walking over to the closet in the hallway. That's why I'm getting the emergency toolbox and the old floorboards map of this entire property line.
What does our property map have to do with the Miller house? Sarah asked, following him closely.
When my father built this house thirty years ago, he didn't just buy our plot, Mark explained, pulling a dusty leather folder from the top shelf. He bought the drainage easement that connects both properties. There's a utility tunnel. A concrete drainage pipe running beneath the ravine floor.
You can't possibly be thinking of going in there tonight, in this storm, Sarah gasped, staring at him in sheer disbelief. Are you out of your mind?
May you like
Mark spread the yellowed blueprint across the dining table, pointing a steady finger at a faded ink line. The tunnel starts right beneath our basement storage room, Sarah. And according to these old notes, it leads directly into the cellar of the abandoned house.
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