Return to Kiluemar

by Kimberly Marraffino

  “We’re not supposed to be down here. Mom told us—”

  Voices echoed from beyond the door and the two hurtled into each other, grabbing hold of one another.

  “Is that Mom down there?” James asked, letting go of his sister.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I—I think so.”

  Rhiannon turned and reached for the hole once again. Afraid of what might be on the other side, she grabbed James’s hand. She held her breath and pulled at the door. It creaked as it swung open, but the roaring thunder and voices masked the unexpected noise. Beyond the doorframe was a set of old, rickety stairs with two thin railings descending to the stone floor of the cavernous cellar. Within the darkness, a soft, flickering glow illuminated shadows along the walls and floor. A voice bounced throughout the stone room and raced up the stairs. The two young children stumbled back into the slippery substance and crashed to the floor. James hurried to his feet, taking hold of his sister’s arm and pulling her up.

  Their mother screamed and they turned, facing back down the stairs.

  Rhiannon cried, “What are—”

  A crash filled the room below, followed by amplified groans of men and items being tossed to the floor. The twins stepped back, pulling each other closer.

  “Go get ’em!” a gruff voice demanded from the cellar.

  James slid his hand down his sister’s arm and grabbed her hand, forcing her to follow him. They raced past a long, wooden table in the center of the adjacent room and entered an enormous lounge area. The living room contained two stone fireplaces—both still containing glowing coals—on opposite ends of the L-shaped area. Along the far back wall was a narrow door hidden among a small recess in the corner. The twins ran over to it, trying to avoid the various antique furniture placed around the gently lit room.

  James reached the door first and pulled it open, revealing a thin set of stairs ascending upward to the second floor. The two hurried through the doorframe, their feet pounding as the steps creaked beneath them. James halted on the top of the stairs, listening as the hammering footsteps within the living room below stopped, but Rhiannon slammed into him and they both tumbled onto the landing.

  “Where’d they go?” a man shouted in a deep growl.

  “Look,” another man said in a softer voice. “Footprints.”

  James climbed out from under Rhiannon and tilted his foot. The thick, red fluid he stepped in earlier covered the soles of his feet. Moving his eyes to the stairwell, he squinted through the darkness. Two sets of footprints were smeared on the steps. He pushed himself up and grabbed Rhiannon’s arm, both speeding down the long corridor to another set of stairs on the opposite end of the spacious hallway. Grabbing the handle of each door they passed, James slammed them shut.

  Rhiannon’s petrified face shifted, and her eyebrows squeezed together. “What’re you doing?”

  “Distracting them!”

  The men’s footsteps raced up the other stairs as the twins reached the end of the hall, stopping at two beautifully decorative sets of steps—one descending to their left, ending at the entryway by the front door, while the other set rose upward. Pulling his sister in front of him, James encouraged her up the stairs to their right.

  Grabbing the railing, they quietly raced upward and stopped at the landing of the third floor. The hallway was narrow and dark except for a slight glow coming from the room at the end of the hall. The twins blinked multiple times, adapting their eyesight to the dark path. However, the crashing from doors flying open down below gave them the motivation to move blindly.

  Reaching the door at the far end of the hallway, their path was brightened as candles filled the room with an iridescent glow. A mahogany four poster bed placed in the center of the room was adorned with rich maroon drapes pleated perfectly against each post. On the bed were erratically placed pillows and a thick, ivory comforter was partially tossed onto the floor. They hurried past a large wooden wardrobe with beautifully elaborate designs along the front of the doors and headed to a massive bookcase in the back corner of their mother’s bedroom. The twins stood next to the tiny library—filled with hundreds of novels, poems, and famous writings—and searched the shelves.

  Rhiannon reached up, pulling an old leather-bound book with a tattered spine from the shelf. The book stopped halfway, and a click came from the enormous piece of furniture. She pushed the book back into place and the twins heaved open the secret door, rushing into a small hidden room. They grabbed hold of the bar handle across the backside of the bookcase and pushed, straining as they forced it closed.

  The commotion coming from the manor stopped and silence loomed in between the continuing thunderstorm raging outside. Even though the hidden room lacked any windows, the sounds of the storm bounced within the walls.

  Rhiannon sat on the floor, rocking back and forth, her chin trembling and her eyes filling with tears. Lowering her head, she whimpered into her hands. An aching pain surfaced in James’s chest and his throat tightened, fighting back the urge to join his sister in her emotional release. He paced the room, rhythmically pounding his fist against his palm. His expression tightened and his face was flushed. Unlike Rhiannon, he did not want to cry due to fear, but rather out of anger. His mother was in danger, and he could not help her. He was helpless. Cracking his knuckles, he heaved a heavy sigh, stomping back and forth in front of Rhiannon.

  Gusts of wind shook the house as thunder roared outside. Heavy raindrops battered against the rooftop, crashing down like rocks. Rhiannon lifted her head and James stopped in his tracks. Both sensed an overpowering surge coursing through James, an unusual sensation to the young boy. Rhiannon, however, had experienced this before, but nothing like this—the stimulating charge flooded every part of her body. Emotions took over both of them. Rhiannon’s fear made James tremble, but the young boy’s anger raged inside of her.

  Sadness sent dull aches throbbing within their chests, their stomachs twisting and their muscles constricting. The conflicting emotions heightened their hidden courage, unmasking a sense of reassurance within them. The ground quaked and the storm beyond the walls intensified. They both closed their eyes as an invigorating rush sent their skin tingling and their heads spinning. Both were certain they could stop the seemingly random attack on their family. Though they both had not spoken a word, they knew exactly what the other was thinking.

  “Let’s go!” they said together.

  Stepping over to an elongated hatch door on the opposite side of where the bookcase door was located, James bent down and pulled up the flush handle resting against the floor. He heaved upward and the door creaked open, exposing a slender set of stairs disappearing downward into a dark hole. James steered his sister forward, taking her hand as she descended backwards down the steps. James followed behind, balancing carefully as he lowered down along the creaking steps.

  The room was extremely small. Even without any furniture, it was barely big enough to fit the two small children. James and Rhiannon peered around through the blackness, discovering a glow coming from a passageway just a few feet away from them. Distorted voices and footsteps could be heard on the other side of the wall within the adjacent room. The twins stayed motionless, waiting for the sounds to stop.

  Everything fell silent and the twins jumped at the opportunity, racing down the tight passageway. With James in front, he held tightly onto Rhiannon’s hand as she followed. The dark and enclosed hallway stretched along the exterior walls inside the manor and led to a small panel door at the end. The door was rectangular and sat a couple of feet above the wooden floor. A single lightbulb swinging from a tarnished chain hung overhead. The small opening along the wall had two rusted hinges on one side and a newer iron latch on the other. James pulled the thick lever up from the latch and the hinges snapped, rust falling from the aged hardware. The hinges creaked as he opened the door. Peering out of the opening, he observed the empty study located on the first floor.

  The
twins did not notice the subtle decline as they made their way through the secret passageway. Now on the main floor, they turned their heads, their ears facing the study’s only door. There were no footsteps or voices around, so James pulled Rhiannon forward, helping her crawl up and over the small opening in the wall—which was barely large enough for a full-grown adult. Rhiannon stepped over the wall and stood up as James followed behind her

  The room was quiet and pristine. Everything was still in its place and lacked any sign of disarray. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with thousands of books lined three of the walls in the room, while the fourth wall contained six casement windows draped with thick tapestries. The moon beamed behind the curtains, filling the dark room with a steady light. An old wooden table sat in the middle of the room with schoolbooks scattered along the top, and a wood burning stove hid in the corner next to one of the windows and the large oak door. An unseasonably cold breeze swept across the twins, and they both searched around for the source of their discomfort. Two of the windows were open and rain dripped from the glass, pounding rhythmically from the panes and into a puddle on the floor. The drapes flapped with the wind as cold air filled the room.

  The break in the clouds faded and the moon’s light disappeared from the room. Stepping behind one of the curtains, Rhiannon began closing one of the windows, but a flash of lightning struck the tall Alder tree atop the hill behind their home. She yelped, stepping back and staring out the window. The lush tree burst into flames and the fire danced with the rain, filling her with both delight and dismay.

  The twins were overcome with relief and joy as they both remembered a neighbor lived just beyond the hillside where the tree stood burning. Rhiannon and James turned to each other, and without a single word, ran to the door. Rhiannon reached it first, pulled it open, and peered down the dark hallway. Without anything of concern in sight, she finished opening the door.

  Catching sight of movement, they both dropped to the floor. A shadowy figure traipsed on the opposite side of the conservatory, which was just outside the study. Through the interior windows lining the hallway walls, the twins ignored the blooming flowers and fresh herbs and observed an oddly shaped silhouette shuffling passed the exterior windows of the greenhouse.

  The back way out was too dangerous, so the twins crawled down the hallway. Before reaching the main door of the manor, Rhiannon and James tucked into the alcove under the stairs and waited. The lack of evidence from any wandering intruders on this side of the manor made the twins ignore any more precautions and they rushed from the alcove, running and reaching the wide-open front door.

  Rain beat against the stone walkway as they stepped onto the covered landing. Thunder clapped overhead and strong winds blew across their bodies. Unsure which way to go, the twins waited for the other to move. James scanned the front yard, focusing through the steady rainfall. Lightning dashed across the sky and lit up the area. The muddy driveway was filled with large puddles and rain pounded against the ground, sending droplets splashing upwards. Leaves held on for their lives as the trees and bushes bent in the wind. All the flowers lining the pathway were bare, only the stems remained. Among the bushes under the front windows was something out of place. Doing a doubletake, James froze. The outline of a person hiding behind the bushes made his pulse race. The figure moved, sending James backwards as he tiptoed over to the door.

  Putting his finger to his lips and pulling Rhiannon with him, he whispered, “Shh . . . there’s someone”—he pointed—"over there.”

  Rhiannon turned her head as voices echoed from around the corner. The twins hurried back through the front door, closing it behind them. The manor was quiet. The intruders had all worked their way outside and onto the property, but James and Rhiannon were unsure where their mother was. Her cries and screams could no longer be heard.

  An impulsive and careless plan formed within Rhiannon’s mind, a plan not like anything she would ever come up with herself. In fact, this was an idea more linked to James’s wild mindset. She faced her brother, who had a grin plastered across his boyish face, and shook her head.

  “No!” Rhiannon snapped. “Absolutely not.”

  “Come on. It’s the only other way out and it opens up in the direction right next to where we need to go.”

  “What about the back door? Maybe they’re gone from that side of the house.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “There’s got to be another way out of here,” Rhiannon pleaded, her voice cracking. “I—I’m not going down there. I refuse.”

  “Then I’m going without you.” James walked away. Stopping, he scoffed, “Go back to the study and hide then.”

  James strolled away and Rhiannon tapped her foot, her face pulling into a frown. Fear was present, but irritation hid the aching tightness looming within her stomach. Again, his reckless and headstrong personality forced her into a dangerous situation—something she was all too familiar with these days. Glancing down at her arm, Rhiannon rubbed a scar on her wrist. She clenched her hands into fists and let out an exaggerated exhale, hurrying forward. She reached James and he angled his head, a smirk on his face.

  “I knew you’d follow me,” he teased.

  “Be quiet. I just want to say this . . . This is a stupid idea.”

  “Probably.”

  They crept through the hallway and under the arched entryway of the kitchen, stopping to analyze the room. The lights were now on and many of the items along the counters were thrown erratically on the floor. Pieces of glass scattered throughout one side of the kitchen and the cellar door was askew, hanging from a single hinge. The glow still flickered from beyond the door frame which led into the room below.

  James took Rhiannon’s hand and headed toward the splintered door, but she tugged, causing him to stop. There was a puddle of blood, smeared red streaks, and bloody footprints along the kitchen floor. Refusing to meet her gaze, James pulled her forward, stepping around the blood. Beyond the doorframe were buckling wooden slats and a thin railing descending downward. James placed a foot on the first step and the rickety stairs creaked. The railing swayed as he took hold of one side and made his way down into the cellar. Following behind him, Rhiannon stumbled, gasping as she landed on the step. She sat there, trying to catch her breath, but breathing was difficult. Her hands shook and her insides constricted.

  She shut her eyes, tears trailing down her face. “I—I can’t do this.”

  James crouched down. “Rhiannon, open your eyes.” He cradled one of her hands. “Just breathe.”

  He inhaled through his nose, exhaling out through his mouth, repeating the action as Rhiannon joined in and opened her eyes.

  After a few moments, he asked, “Better?”

  Rhiannon nodded.

  James was always able to calm her during her most chaotic and emotionally driven spirals. Unlike James, Rhiannon was controlled by her sensitive and irrational side when it came to fear. Fear, for her, came in many different forms. Even as a young child, she analyzed everything with a worst-case-scenario outcome. It allowed her to prepare for the unpredictable and mentally plan for the most severe and negative outcome if it should arrive. This trait was inherited from her mother—who also feared the worst in every situation. It was not so much a pessimistic attribute, but more of a realistic what-if situation. Rhiannon always thought with her mind but felt strongly with her heart—emotions were her downfall. When it came to fight or flight, she usually chose to flee.

  James, however, was the opposite. Though fear was currently present in the young boy, the urge to continue erupted inside him. Fear for him was often cloaked behind different emotions or feelings—anger, sadness, even happiness. But right now, James was being overcome with anticipation and love. The eagerness to see what lay beyond the old stairs. Fear was suppressed and turned into a powerful form of hope. Hope his mother was still alive. Hope he and his sister could get help. Hope the ones he loved would survive the night. His love for his f
amily was his driving force—the pull he needed to push aside the fear and continue with his plan.

  He stood and reached out a hand to Rhiannon. “Come on. We need to keep moving.”

  Rhiannon took a deep breath and placed her hand in his. “Okay.”

  The frigid, cobweb infested root cellar was once used as storage for various canned goods and rare bottles of wine by the previous owner. The makeshift underground room, however, fell prey to poor construction and inadequate supplies. Although the large manor was immaculate, the flawed addition was deemed unstable. The young children had never been beyond the door, but often wondered what was hidden behind the locked warped entrance nestled along the back wall of the breakfast parlor.

  James and Rhiannon stepped from the warped stairs, continuing into the trashed cellar. The stone walls were lined with old wooden shelves, which had been recently broken. Along some of the fully intact shelves were some dusty books, wine bottles, and a few nearly burnt-out pillar candles. Blood, a thick rope, and a long piece of gray cloth with the ends tied into a knot lay in the center of the stone dungeon.

  “Where are they?” Rhiannon asked.

  James stepped over a pile of broken boards. “I don’t know, but I don’t think we should wait around to find out.”

  “I agree.”

  James disappeared into the shadows outside the light of the candles, Rhiannon following closely behind him.

  “James? What if she’s dead?”

  “She’s not!”

  They reached the wide stairs on the opposite end of the room and began to climb up. The thick wooden steps were in better shape than the ones leading into the cellar but lacked a railing. A loud crack came from each step as they made their way up to the storm cellar doors just above them. A long, rusted nail clanked down the stairs as James removed it from the hooks holding the thin doors closed. They each pushed, struggling to lift either of the heavy wooden doors. James stopped and moved next to his sister, placing his hands next to hers. With a quick shove, the twins heaved open the door, crashing loudly as it hit the ground. They ducked back into the cellar, making sure the noise did not alert anyone. Rain poured in as they listened through the storm. Once the coast was clear, they stepped from the cellar, their bare feet sinking into the waterlogged grass.