by Amy Cross
“Fuck,” the cameraman whispers, taking a step back. “This isn't good. I don't like this, dude. I want it on record, right now, that I think we should be getting the hell out of here.”
He keeps the camera aimed at Jewell for a moment, before slowly lowering his hand until the lens is aimed down toward the ground. I can't see what's going on now; I can only hear the voices.
A moment later there's another scratching sound, this time much closer.
“What do you see?” the man asks, his voice filled with an increasing sense of desperation. “Dude, can you just tell me what's on the fucking stairs? Can -”
Another scratching sound buzzes from the speakers.
“Hell, no!” the man yells, and the camera's view spins and blurs for a moment.
It takes a few seconds before I realize that the man has run back into the room, and then suddenly the camera falls and bumps against the floor. The image on the monitor swings wildly until the camera comes to rest with a view of the bottom of the door. The man's feet are in view, and it sounds like he's trying to lock the door, although he seems to be in a state of complete panic.
“There wasn't anything there,” he stammers, as if he's trying to convince himself. “It was just a shadow.”
He pauses, and I can hear his panicked breaths.
“Dude?” he calls out finally. “Are you okay out there, dude? Say something!”
The camera hums calmly.
“Tony!” the guy yells, still standing next to the closed door. “Can you fucking say something? Talk to me, dude! Tell me there's nothing out there! There's nothing, is there? This is just some kind of sick joke, right?”
Again, silence.
“Tony! Can you -”
Suddenly there's a scream on the tape, as if somebody's crying out in agony. The scream lasts for several seconds before tapering off, and I watch as the other man's feet step slowly away from the door and disappear from the shot.
“Tony?” he whispers, and now his voice is trembling with fear. “Dude? Tony? Seriously, are -”
Suddenly there's a brief, loud thud, and the image shudders as if the camera was bumped slightly.
“Tony?” the man says after a moment. “What -”
Another scream rings out, lasting several seconds this time before ending in a faint, guttural groan that finally fades to nothing.
The camera continues to hum, but apart from that the video is silent again, at least until I realize I can hear the other man whispering to himself.
“Please God let this be a joke. Please let it be nothing.”
He falls silent again.
The video hums.
The camera stares toward the door.
Waiting.
And then, suddenly, I hear a bumping sound over my shoulder.
Turning and looking away from the monitor, I realize I just heard somebody downstairs. I head over to the door and look toward the top of the stairs, but now the house is silent again.
“Becky?” I call out.
No reply.
I glance back at the monitor and see that nothing seems to have changed, so I step out of the room and head to the top of the stairs. When I look down at the corridor, there's still no sign of anyone, although after a moment I notice that the door to the basement is wide open.
Chapter Nineteen
“Becky? Are you down here?”
Reaching the bottom of the wooden steps, I look along the dark concrete corridor. There are no working lights down here, so I only have the flashlight's beam to guide my way. I wait, listening to the silence, before starting to make my way forward.
“Hey Becky, are you here? What's going on?”
The corridor is so tight and so narrow, my own footsteps echo in the cold air. When I reach the far end and shine the flashlight into the small room, I feel a flash of relief as soon as I see that Becky is sitting in the corner, resting on the wooden chair.
“Thank God,” I say with a sigh. “I've been looking everywhere for you. Where have you been?”
I wait, but she doesn't reply.
“I thought you were gonna wait upstairs,” I continue. “I went out into the forest, but I still couldn't get any coverage. I dunno what's going on, but I think we're gonna have to wait until Freddie gets back. He can't be much longer, though. Even if he had to walk to the police station and bang on their window, he should be here soon. Don't worry, he's an idiot but he wouldn't just forget about us.”
Again I wait.
Again, she doesn't say a word.
In fact, as I watch her, I can't help noticing that she's sitting in a strange way, with her head bowed and her arms hanging limp on either side. For a moment I wonder whether she might be asleep, but then I realize that the way her shoulders are held high must be really uncomfortable. Nobody could sleep like that.
“It's really cold down here,” I point out. “I'm glad you've still got my jacket on, but don't you think we should go back up and wait in one of the rooms? We can play a game, if you like. Something to pass the time.”
I'm starting to get a little worried now, and I feel like maybe Becky's starting to become delirious. I'm no doctor, but I guess that injury to her leg might have caused her to lose way too much blood, and maybe the wood wasn't exactly clean in the first place.
I walk over toward her, hoping that the sound of my footsteps might cause her to at least look up at me.
“Becky? Are you okay?”
Stopping in front of her, I stare at the top of her head.
When she still doesn't say anything, I crouch down and try to look up at her face, but her head is too bowed. I lean forward slightly, trying to peer up at her, but all I can make out is her chin. The rest of her features are hidden by her hair.
Not knowing what else to do, I finally reach out and touch one of her hands, and I'm shocked to find that her skin is ice-cold and absolutely caked in sweat.
“It's gonna be okay,” I tell her, trying to stay calm. “Freddie'll be back with help real soon.”
This time, finally, she whispers something.
“What was that?” I ask, leaning closer.
I wait, but now she's silent again.
“I didn't catch what you said,” I tell her. “Can you try it again?”
I wait, and then she whispers just loud enough for me to hear:
“He's not coming back.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“He's not coming.”
“He is,” I reply, figuring that she's just losing hope. “He's coming real soon, and he's gonna bring help with him. I know it's hard to believe that right now, but you've gotta stay positive.”
“He's under the steps.”
“Huh?”
“He's under the steps.”
“He's what?”
“He's under the steps.”
I wait for her to explain. My heart is pounding and I'm convinced she's out of her mind, but at the same time her voice seems so calm and matter-of-fact.
“What do you mean?” I ask finally. “Why would Freddie be under some steps? Under which steps?”
“He's under the steps at the front of the house,” she whispers, still not looking at me. “That's where they go.”
“Huh?”
I wait, still holding her hand, still trying to figure out what she means.
“You're wrong,” I tell her finally. “Freddie went to get help. Why would he still be here? He's not hiding under the steps.” I pause for a moment. “Is he?”
As I say those words, I suddenly realize that maybe all this craziness really is part of some sick joke. As much as I hate to admit the truth, Freddie is exactly the kind of guy who'd promise to go and get help, and who'd then hide and try to pull some kind of prank. I swear to God, if he's been giggling away and filming this whole thing, I'm never going to talk to him again. He's messed me around in the past, but this would be a prank too far.
“Did you see him?” I ask. “Is that what you mean? Did you see F
reddie hiding?”
I wait, but she doesn't reply.
“He wouldn't do that,” I continue, as much to convince myself as to reassure her, “not when somebody's hurt. I mean, you're bleeding real bad, he'd be putting you in danger. Even for Freddie, that's kinda extreme.”
And yet, at the same time, deep down I know that maybe Freddie sometimes can be a little extreme. He's never done anything quite this bad, but it wouldn't take much to tip him over the edge.
“I'll kill him,” I whisper, letting go of Becky's hand before getting to my feet and taking a step back. “If he didn't go for help, if he's been hanging around this whole time and trying to freak us out, I swear I'll kill him! Come on, we're getting out of here one way or another.”
I wait for her to get up and come with me, but she seems almost frozen in place.
“Let's get out of here,” I continue. “Becky, I don't know what's going on, but I really think we should get out of this house. I don't like it here, the whole place is creepy as hell and I think maybe it's just bad for us. Maybe there are spores in the air or something, and they're making us go nuts.”
I reach out toward her, hoping she'll take my hand.
“Come on, Becky. Let's go!”
I wait, but she seems to have barely even noticed that I'm here. Before I can say anything else, however, I notice that drips of water are falling from her face. I hesitate for a moment, before reaching my hand through her hair and running my fingers across her forehead. Not only is her skin cold and clammy, but the sweat is actually starting to run in small rivers down the side of her face. Looking down at the concrete floor, I see that a puddle is actually starting to form.
“Okay, you're not well,” I tell her, moving my hand away, “so I'm gonna get help. I'm gonna find out whether Freddie really left, and then I'm gonna do whatever it takes to get someone out here. I might have to run into town, but I'll be quick, I promise. Just sit tight and I swear I'll be back soon.”
She lets out a low, faint groan.
“I know,” I continue, “you don't want to be left alone, but maybe we don't have a choice.”
She groans again, louder and longer this time.
“I wouldn't do it if I had any other choice,” I tell her. “Please, Becky, don't think I'm abandoning you. I don't know what's happened to Freddie, but I swear to God, I'll get help and come back before you even notice I'm gone. Just try to stay awake until then, okay?”
I wait, and a moment later she groans again. Except this time, the groan seems more like a low, rumbling snarl.
“Becky?” I continue. “Please, tell me you're listening to what I'm saying.”
When she doesn't respond, I take a step back. I'm starting to think she's really really sick, and that maybe there was something toxic in that piece of wood that sliced through her leg. I didn't think anything could take hold of a person so quickly, but she's a real mess and all I can think is that I have to get help as fast as possible. And that means I can't just sit around, relying on Freddie.
I have to take charge.
“I'll be back before you even know I'm gone,” I tell her, before heading over to the end of the corridor. “I promise.”
Stopping in the doorway, I look back and shine the flashlight toward her. She's still sitting slumped on the chair with her head bowed, and I can see more and more drips of sweat falling onto the dusty concrete floor.
There's no point telling her yet again that I'll be back soon, so I hurry along the corridor and up the wooden steps, several of which bend under my feet.
As soon as I'm out at the front of the house, I start making my way across the yard, but then I stop as I remember something Becky said a moment ago when I mentioned Freddie.
“He's under the steps at the front of the house,” I hear her voice whispering. “That's where they go.”
She's delirious.
She has to be.
At the same time, maybe she saw something.
Turning, I look back toward the steps that lead up to the front door. I hadn't noticed before, but now I see that there looks to be a space under the steps with weeds growing out on either side. I know there's no way Freddie would be down there, since he's a borderline germophobe, but at the same time I feel like I need to double-check. Nothing makes much sense right now, and I could sure use a dose of pure, solid facts.
Even though I'm certain I'm wasting my time, therefore, I head back over to the steps and crouch down, shining the flashlight's beam into the narrow, dark space.
Spotting nothing except weeds and twigs, I'm about to get back up when I notice some kind of small white object glinting on the ground. I pull some of the weeds aside, which allows me to see several more of the objects. I reach in and pick one of them up, and as I slide it out from under the steps I realize with a slow-spreading sense of dread that I know what I've found.
Bone.
Not just a small piece, either.
This looks like part of a rib.
I set the piece down and peer deeper into the weeds, and sure enough I spot several more pieces of bone. Some are larger than the rib, and a moment later the flashlight's beam catches the sides of two human skulls. I tilt the beam and quickly spot a third skull resting a little further back.
Letting out a shocked gasp, I pull away and drop the flashlight.
“No,” I whisper, “please...”
Whoever's under there, they've been dead for a long time.
I stay completely still for a moment, before scrambling to my feet and heading around to the other side of the steps, where I quickly crouch down again. This time I have a much better view of the bones, and I'm relieved to see that at least there's no sign of Freddie. I pull the weeds aside a little more, but there's nowhere else Freddie could be hidden, so finally I get to my feet and take a step back.
My thoughts are rushing, and I can't help thinking that maybe two of these dead bodies are the men who were in the video. After all, that'd explain why they left their equipment behind, and why one of them even left his wallet.
It wouldn't explain, however, who killed them, and how they ended up under the steps.
And it wouldn't explain the third skull.
Suddenly hearing footsteps over my shoulder, I turn just in time to see Becky limping toward me.
“Hey,” I say, startled by her sudden appearance, “what -”
Before I can finish, she snarls and swings a wooden post at me, smashing the side of the head and knocking me out cold.
Chapter Twenty
As soon as I open my eyes, I feel a sickening pain cracking through my right cheek. I let out a faint gasp, but this only causes the pain to surge and I immediately hold my breath.
I wait, terrified to move a muscle in case the pain returns.
My head is bowed, and I realize after a moment that I'm staring down into absolute darkness. The air all around me is freezing cold and I can hear nothing but silence. I take a slow, deep breath, and this time the pain is just a slow, rumbling soreness.
Something wet is running down the side of my face.
Slowly, I force myself to raise my head, and I see a very faint patch of light over at the far end of the room.
I'm in the basement.
Why am I in the basement?
There are no lights on, but I can just about make out a faint glow out in the concrete corridor that leads to the steps. I guess the electric lamp is still running upstairs.
I start to lean forward, but suddenly something tightens around my chest, holding me down. I try again, and this time I realize I'm sitting on the little wooden chair. My arms are tied to my sides, and my ankles are tied to the chair's legs. I instinctively try to pull free, but the ropes are far too tight and I succeed only in causing the chair to rock slightly from side to side.
“Hey!” I call out. “Is anyone there? Help!”
I wait, but all I hear is silence.
“Hey! Help me!”
I rock the chair some more, and now the woo
den legs are scraping against the concrete floor. The ropes don't feel any looser, however, and finally I fall still as I realize I need to come up with another plan.
Sitting in silence, I try to work out how I'm going to get free.
And then, a moment later, there's a very faint, almost imperceptible creak from the ceiling. Looking up, I wait in silence, and about a minute later I hear another creak. Somebody seems to be walking very slowly and very softly across the kitchen.
“Becky!” I yell, struggling again to get loose from the ropes. “Hey, what -”
Suddenly I remember the moment when she hit me outside. She came up behind me, and I turned just in time to see her swinging some kind of wooden post at my face. She was screaming, and I remember hearing the sound of pure fury just as I was knocked out.
As I replay that moment over and over, I can still hear occasional creaks coming from the ceiling, until finally the house falls silent again and I realize Becky must have moved through into the hallway.
Figuring that I can ask questions later, I start trying again to pull my arms free from the ropes. I work for several minutes, trying everything I can think of, but the ropes are too tight and I don't think I'm making any progress at all. I start working on my ankles instead, hoping that maybe I can get free some other way, but even these ropes are way too tight. In fact, the ropes around my chest seem to be getting tighter, and finally I have to stop for a moment and take some deep breaths.
As I start trying to think of some other way out, I hear another faint creak.
She's on the wooden stairs.
I wait, listening to the silence, and a couple of minutes later I hear another creak.
Becky's coming, but I don't understand why she's walking so slowly. I wait again, and sure enough I eventually hear another creak coming from the stairs. I keep waiting, and eventually there's a different sound, a kind of soft bump.
She's in the corridor.
“Hey Becky, is that you?” I call out. “What's happening? Can you untie me?”
I wait. After about a minute or so, I hear another footstep out in the corridor.
She's slowly getting closer.
I start working again on my arms, trying desperately to wriggle free. All I need is to get one hand free, or maybe even just a couple of fingers, and I'm certain I'll then be able to start loosening the rest of the ropes. So far, however, I haven't been able to make the ropes budge at all, and I'm starting to feel sore patches on my wrists. Occasionally I manage to make the chair move a little, scraping its wooden legs against the floor, but the ropes themselves are remaining firmly in place.