Chapter 8 - The Child on the Stairs
Mark stood frozen at the bottom of the cellar stairs, his flashlight beam trembling as it illuminated the small figure standing silently at the top of the landing. The little girl stared down at him with large, luminous blue eyes that glistened in the harsh white light.
Hello? Mark called out, his voice cracking slightly as he took a cautious step upward on the creaking wooden stairs. Who are you? How did you get in here?
The little girl didn't answer right away. She slowly tilted her head, her long straight blonde hair falling across her shoulder just like Lily's. She raised her right hand slightly, holding the white stuffed bunny closer to her chin.
You found my box, the little girl whispered, her voice sounding impossibly clear and soft, carrying down the stairwell like a summer breeze.
Mark stopped dead in his tracks, the breath catching in his throat. The voice didn't sound like a stranger's voice. It sounded exactly, perfectly like Lily's voice when she was tired and whispering before bed.
Who are you? Mark asked again, his heart pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. What is your name?
My name is Elizabeth, the little girl replied softly, taking one small step down the stairs toward him. And I've been waiting for my daddy to come back and unlock the front door for a very long time.
Mark gripped the wooden handrail so hard his knuckles turned white. Elizabeth Miller. The name flashed through his memory like a lightning bolt from local town history. The little girl who disappeared during the great flood of nineteen-eighty-five. The child the town assumed was swept away by the river when the bridge collapsed.
Elizabeth... that house was abandoned thirty years ago, Mark said, his voice trembling as he tried to reconcile the impossible reality standing before him with the laws of nature. You can't be here.
I've always been here, Elizabeth said simply, taking another step down the stairs, her big blue eyes filled with a heartbreaking, gentle sorrow. Because nobody ever looked for me under the floorboards.
Mark, what's happening? Who are you talking to down there? Sarah's voice suddenly pierced the tense silence through the radio attached to his collar, sounding panicked and frantic. Mark, answer me! Lily is screaming! She says her chest hurts!
What? Mark gasped, his head snapping toward his collar mic. What do you mean her chest hurts?
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She's holding her heart, Mark! She's gasping for air! Sarah cried out, the sound of a shattering glass cup echoing in the background through the open radio channel. Get back through that tunnel right now! Our daughter is collapsing on the living room floor!
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