Chapter 7 - Descent into the Cellar
The darkness at the bottom of the basement stairs seemed to actively swallow the amber light spilling from the hallway overhead. Mark gripped the wooden handrail, his knuckles white, and took his first step down into the cool, damp air that smelled faintly of copper and old dust.
"Lily!" Mark called out, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. "Lily, answer me right now! This isn't funny!"
The singing stopped abruptly. The heavy, dragging sound paused for a fraction of a second, followed by the soft, rhythmic patter of bare feet running across the concrete floor toward the back storage room.
Mark quickened his pace, nearly tripping over an old wooden crate left near the bottom step. He reached the bottom landing and flicked the wall switch up and down, but the overhead fluorescent tubes remained stubbornly dead, bathing the cellar in a sickly, pulsating gray gloom emanating from the small high windows near the ceiling.
He pulled his smartphone from his pocket, turning on the flashlight app to sweep the beam across the cluttered utility space. The bright LED light cut through the gloom, illuminating rows of cardboard storage boxes, holiday decorations, and the massive mechanical guts of the home's heating system.
"Daddy..."
The whisper came from behind the industrial shelving unit where the winter coats and old luggage were stored.
Mark swept the flashlight beam toward the corner. Standing beside the large gray washing machine was Lily. She was holding her stuffed bunny tightly, but her white t-shirt was stained with dark, wet patches of mud across the front.
"Lily, thank God," Mark breathed, rushing forward and dropping to his knees to pull his daughter into a tight embrace. "What are you doing down here? You scared your mother and me half to death."
Lily did not hug him back. Her arms hung limply at her sides, and when Mark pulled back to look at her face, he felt a wave of absolute horror wash over him.
Her eyes were completely milky white, devoid of pupils or iris, and a thin trickle of dark water was slowly leaking from the corners of her mouth.
"You shouldn't have come back down here, daddy," Lily whispered, her voice sounding layered, as if two distinct children were speaking simultaneously from the exact same throat. "Abigail says the basement belongs to us now, and the door is locked from the outside."
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Before Mark could react, the heavy metal basement door at the top of the stairs slammed shut with a deafening crash, followed by the heavy, mechanical thud of the deadbolt sliding into place.
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