Chapter 7 - The Knocking Below
The hollow, rhythmic thud echoed through the dusty attic floorboards again. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Clara froze, her hand hovering just inches above the heavy iron strongbox. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked down at the old wooden planks beneath her knees. The sound wasn't coming from outside; it was coming from the narrow crawlspace hidden directly beneath the attic floor.
Downstairs, Elena screamed, her voice cracking in pure panic.
"Clara! Get out of there right now! The rookie just ran outside because someone is pounding on the back cellar door!" Elena yelled up the narrow stairwell, her footsteps retreating toward the kitchen.
Clara ignored her sister. She pressed her ear directly against the cold, dusty wood of the attic floor, holding her breath to listen.
From beneath the floorboards came a muffled, scratchy sound—not a ghost, not an animal, but the unmistakable sound of a human voice speaking in a hoarse, broken whisper.
"Help... me..."
Clara’s heart pounded against her ribs like a sledgehammer. She scrambled backward, her sparkly yellow dress catching on a protruding nail, tearing the fabric near the hem. She scrambled to her feet and grabbed a heavy iron fireplace poker leaning against a nearby brick chimney.
With frantic strength, Clara wedged the tip of the poker into the gap between two rotting floorboards near the rocking chair and threw her full weight against it.
Crack!
The old wood splintered apart, sending a cloud of choking gray dust billowing into the air. Clara coughed, waving her hand to clear the haze, and shone her smartphone flashlight down into the dark, hidden cavity beneath the floor.
The beam of light cut through the gloom, illuminating a small, cramped compartment no larger than a coffin. Inside, huddled against the brick chimney stack, was an elderly woman wearing a hospital gown, her hair matted and gray, staring up into the light with wide, terrified eyes.
It was their mother.
Clara dropped the fireplace poker, her hands flying to her mouth as a blood-curdling scream tore from her throat.
"Mom?!" Clara gasped, staggering backward until she collided with a stack of old cardboard boxes. "You're... you're dead! We just had your funeral!"
The frail woman in the crawlspace slowly raised a skeletal, bruised hand toward the light, her lips trembling as she rasped out a horrifying truth.
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"He didn't bury me... he buried the neighbor lady in my place."
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