THE HOUSE BENEATH OUR FEET: THE SHADOWS WE BUILT IN THE DARKNESS

“Get it off me! Mark, help me, something’s got my leg!” Eleanor screamed, her professional composure shattering completely as she stumbled backward and fell hard against the sideboard.

“Don’t pull away, you’ll break the bones!” Mark shouted, dropping the metal box and throwing his full weight onto the floorboards to pry the icy fingers loose from his wife’s ankle.

“It’s freezing, it feels like ice, get it away from me!” Eleanor sobbed, kicking frantically with her other foot until the grip finally released with a wet, suction-like sound.

“Look down there, it’s trying to crawl out through the opening,” Mark panted, grabbing Eleanor by the shoulders and pulling her safely toward the hallway.

A gaunt, pale face emerged slowly from the darkness, blinking painfully against the harsh daylight as matted white hair clung to a skull-like head covered in dry gray dirt.

“My... my ledger... did you bring the municipal registry back?” a cracked, ancient voice rasped from the figure’s throat, sounding like dry leaves scraping across concrete.

“Who are you? How are you still alive under this house?” Mark demanded, shielding Lily with his body as the emaciated man pulled his shoulders free from the floor joists.

“I am Arthur Miller... and your grandfather promised me he would let my family out when the zoning board signed the permits,” the old man wheezed, his milky, cataract-clouded eyes staring blindly toward the light.

“That’s impossible... Grandfather said the Millers moved to the coast before the construction started,” Eleanor whispered from the floor, trembling violently as she clutched her torn grey stocking.

“He walled us in... behind the fruit cellar... so the title would never be contested,” Arthur whispered, coughing up a spray of dark dust as he collapsed weakly against the edge of the wooden gap.

“We have to call an ambulance right now, the man is dying,” Mark said, reaching for his phone before remembering the lead-lined walls.