Chapter 8 - The Open Back Door
The wind whipped rain across the kitchen linoleum, soaking the kitchen floor and sending papers flying off the counter. The soggy white stuffed bunny that had been left on the paper towel was gone, leaving behind only a wet smear of dark mud.
David slammed the back door shut, sliding the heavy deadbolt into place with shaking hands. He leaned against the door, breathing hard, his chest heaving as he scanned the kitchen.
"She took it," Sarah whispered, staring at the empty wet spot on the counter. "She took her toy back."
"It's not real, Sarah," David said, though his voice lacked any conviction. He was trying to convince himself as much as his wife. "It's mold. Toxic mold in the old drywall causing mass hallucinations. Carbon monoxide from the basement heater. That's all this is."
"Carbon monoxide doesn't open locked doors, David!" Sarah shouted, her restraint finally snapping as tears welled in her eyes. "And it doesn't leave muddy footprints that match a child who died thirty years ago! Look at our daughter! Look at Lily!"
Lily stood near the kitchen island, holding her dry white stuffed bunny, looking completely unbothered by the chaos around her. She looked up at her mother with those big, innocent blue eyes.
"Mommy, don't be mad at her," Lily said softly. "She's just lonely. She told me she wants to show me where she keeps her treasures."
David walked over to the basement door, his jaw set in a hard line. "I'm turning off the main gas line and the furnace right now. If there's a leak, we're getting out of this house tonight. We're packing the car and driving to a motel in town, storm or no storm."
"The car keys," Sarah said, her face draining of what little color remained. "Where are the car keys?"
David patted his pockets, his expression freezing. He checked his hoodie pocket, then his jeans pocket. Nothing. He rushed to the entryway table where the ceramic key dish always sat. It was completely empty.
"I left them right here," David muttered, running his hands frantically across the wooden surface. "I put them right here when we came inside from grocery shopping this afternoon."
A loud, metallic rattle echoed from the darkness of the basement stairwell behind the closed kitchen door. Clink. Clink. Clink.
It was the distinct sound of a metal key ring sliding down the wooden steps, one step at a time, guided by an invisible hand.
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David reached out and grabbed the brass knob of the basement door, his knuckles turning white. He pulled it open, staring down into the pitch-black abyss of the cellar while the storm raged outside.
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