Chapter 5 - Whispers in the Floorboards
The cellar doors below the kitchen opened with a groan of rusted hinges that vibrated directly through the floor under Sarah’s bare feet. A cold, damp draft rose between the seam of the floorboards, carrying the unmistakable scent of stagnant water, decaying potatoes, and turn-of-the-century stone. Whoever was down there moved without hesitation, familiar with the layout of the underground room.
Sarah knelt before Ruth, holding the girl by both shoulders. "You listen to me," she said, keeping her voice to a harsh, barely audible whisper. "Take the baby. Go into the pantry behind the flour bins. There’s a panel in the wall that leads into the crawl space under the stairs. You stay there, no matter what happens, no matter what you hear. Do you understand me?"
Ruth nodded, tears silently carving tracks through the grime on her cheeks. She crawled on her hands and knees to the wicker basket, lifting the sleeping infant with practiced, desperate gentleness before vanishing into the dark shadow of the pantry door.
Sarah stood up, the knife held low against her thigh. She walked silently across the kitchen to the interior cellar door, the heavy oak door that led directly down from the hallway into the darkness below. She didn't have to turn the knob. From the other side, the latch clicked. The door swung open inward, releasing a wave of frigid air.
A tall figure stepped out of the black staircase into the kitchen. He was soaked through, a heavy oilskin coat dripping puddles onto the wood floor. He pulled back his hood, revealing hollow cheeks, silver-streaked stubble, and eyes that Sarah had not seen since her brother had vanished from Blackwood Hollow eight years ago.
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"You should have kept the doors locked from the inside, Sarah," Thomas whispered, his voice cracking like dry wood. "They know she made it to the river."
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