Chapter 9 - The Floorboards
The rhythmic tapping beneath Arthur’s feet grew frantic, transforming from a steady cadence into a desperate, frantic scratching. Scritch, scritch, tap. It sounded as though someone—or multiple someones—were trapped in a subterranean crawlspace directly beneath the living room floorboards.
Investigator Vance stopped mid-sentence, her radio transmission cutting off with a squawk of static. She dropped to one knee beside Arthur, pressing her hand flat against the oak flooring.
"Do you hear that?" Vance demanded, her eyes wide with shock. "Mr. Carter, what is underneath this room?"
"Nothing," Arthur stammered, his teeth chattering as panic seized his throat. "It’s just a standard crawlspace for plumbing. There’s... there’s nothing down there. Helen said it was sealed when we bought the house!"
"That’s not a plumbing crawlspace," Vance said grimly, unholstering a small, high-powered tactical flashlight from her belt and clicking it on. She shone the beam along the baseboard where a narrow, painted-over ventilation grate sat flush with the wall. The screws holding the grate in place had been recently turned; the white paint around the heads was chipped and flaking.
From the kitchen, Helen’s laughter rang out—short, sharp, and chillingly theatrical.
"You'll never get the locks open without the master key," Helen shouted down the hall, her voice echoing off the walls. "And the key isn't in the safe, Investigator. It’s sewn into the lining of the beige sweater I'm wearing!"
Vance cursed under her breath, standing up quickly and striding toward the hallway. "Stay here, Mr. Carter. Do not let the child move."
Arthur didn't move. He couldn't. He sat frozen on the floor, his eyes fixed on the ventilation grate as a small, pale hand reached out from the darkness inside the wall, its tiny fingers clawing desperately at the metal slats.
The hand was smaller than Lily’s. Much smaller. A toddler’s hand, bruised and smudged with dried dirt.
"Water," a tiny, raspy voice whispered from inside the vent. "Please... cold water."
Arthur let out a choked sob. He scrambled across the floor on his hands and knees, ignoring the pain in his joints, and reached out with trembling fingers to grab the small hand. It was ice cold, fragile as spun glass.
"I've got you," Arthur cried out, tears finally breaking free and streaming down his cheeks. "I've got you, I'm right here!"
He gripped the edges of the painted metal grate and pulled with all his might. The rusted screws groaned, protesting against the sudden force. Behind him, the front door of the house flew open with a deafening crash, shattering the quiet morning air.
Three uniform police officers burst into the entryway, guns drawn, led by a frantic-looking sergeant shouting orders.
"Clear the hallway! Secure the suspect!" the sergeant roared, rushing past the living room toward the kitchen.
At that exact moment, the ventilation grate gave way with a sharp pop, tearing free from the wall and revealing a pitch-black cavity leading down into the bowels of the house.
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And as the beam of Investigator Vance’s tactical flashlight cut into the darkness of the subterranean chamber, Arthur looked down and saw something that stopped his heart permanently.
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