Chapter 12
The heavy wooden doors of the root cellar slammed shut with a concussive shockwave that kicked up a violent vortex of grey ash and dust across the basement floor. Total, absolute darkness swallowed the room instantly, extinguishing the warm amber light as if it had never existed at all.
“Damn it!” Vance cursed, clicking the heavy tactical flashlight attached to his belt and sweeping the bright beam across the dark space. “Arthur! Where did he go?!”
The beam of light cut through the settling dust, illuminating the empty dirt floor where the old man had been standing just a second before. There were no footprints, no scuff marks, nothing to indicate that Arthur had ever been there at all.
Mark stood paralyzed in the center of the dark basement, his chest heaving as the cold wind still whispered past his ears, carrying the faint, sweet scent of lavender and pipe tobacco.
“He went back inside,” Mark whispered numbly, staring at the closed wooden doors of the root cellar. “He went back to the table.”
“Mark, pull yourself together! There is no table down there! This is a structural collapse, a psychological break, a gas pocket playing tricks on our eyes!” Vance yelled, grabbing Mark by the shoulders and giving him a hard shake. “We are walking out of this ruin right now. My backup is waiting outside!”
“You heard him, Vance,” Mark replied, his voice terrifyingly calm as he looked dead into the detective’s eyes. “The dinner party is waiting for me.”
Before Vance could react, Mark lunged forward and grabbed the heavy iron handles of the root cellar doors, pulling them upward with a sudden, unnatural surge of adrenaline. The doors resisted for a fraction of a second before flying wide open with a smooth, silent glide, revealing no dark, damp root cellar underneath—only a brightly lit, pristine dining room filled with the warm glow of a crystal chandelier.
Vance gasped, stepping back instinctively as his flashlight beam illuminated polished mahogany furniture, crystal wine glasses, and heavy silver settings that defied every law of physics and logic.
“No... no, that’s impossible,” Vance breathed, his hand trembling as he gripped his service weapon. “The house burned down. I saw the ash. I walked through the ruins!”
Sitting gracefully at the head of the pristine dining table was Clara, wearing a flawless pink dress, her face completely free of bruises, smiling warmly as she polished a silver fork with a white linen napkin.
May you like
“Mark, darling, you’re late,” Clara called out in a sweet, melodic voice that echoed softly across the timeless room. “Everyone is waiting for you to carve the roast.”
Mark slowly stepped toward the threshold of the glowing dining room, ignoring Vance’s frantic warnings as a heavy, inescapable gravity pulled him forward toward the table of his past.
