by Amy Cross
“So you left?”
“In the middle of the night.”
“Your husband finally accepted that it was really happening?”
“He had no choice. We put the house on the market the next day, and we decided we'd take a hit on it if we had to. We couldn't afford to lose money, but we also couldn't afford to stay. We saved up for so long to buy our first house, and now we're back to living at my mother's, but...” She paused again. “Please don't think we're bad people, but we decided not to mention any of the strange things that had happened. We needed a quick sale, we couldn't afford for it to take too long, and besides, we honestly thought there was a chance it wouldn't happen to anyone else.” She took a deep breath. “Is that why you got in touch? Has something else happened there?”
Sarah paused. “Tell me about the basement.”
Deborah shook her head, but it was clear that the mere mention of that word had brought fresh tears to her eyes. After a moment, she let out a brief, uncontrolled sob that left her a little breathless, as if she was on the verge of breaking down.
“I'm sorry,” Sarah continued, “maybe we should -”
“No,” Deborah stammered, finding more strength from somewhere, “please. Go on.”
“The way you left the basement, it was almost like you were too scared to go down there.”
She nodded.
Sarah paused. “Can you... tell me why you were scared to go down there?”
“That's where it lives.”
“Where what lives?”
“The evil. I don't know.” Leaning forward, Deborah put her head in her hands for a moment. “If I tell you what I think, you'll laugh at me.”
“I won't,” Sarah replied. “I swear.”
“I think something's down there,” Deborah continued, looking at her again. “I don't know what, I don't know why, but I think something lives in that basement, and I think it's probably been living there for a very long time, and I think that somehow, for some reason, Daisy was more aware of it than the rest of us. Maybe it's because she's a child, but it seemed to get into her head and cause her pain. I think it extends through the whole house, but I'm certain it's rooted in that basement. One time, I had Daisy in my arms when I went down there to fetch something, and she cried so much and she actually tried to scratch my face, as if she was panicking.” Another pause. “Have you been down there?”
Sarah nodded.
“Have you felt its presence?”
“I... No, I can't really say that I've felt anything in particular. It's kind of cold and spooky, but I certainly haven't felt anything that fits with what you've described.”
“Do you have children?”
“They're at home with my husband right now.”
“Get them out of there,” Deborah said firmly. “Please, don't let the same thing happen to them.”
Looking over at Daisy again, Sarah felt a chill at the sight of the baby's cold, dispassionate eyes. “Have you tried different doctors?” she asked finally, turning back to Deborah. “I know people in London who might be able to help, it's always worth getting someone to try again. If money's a problem, my husband and I can help.”
Deborah shook her head.
“You can't give up on her,” Sarah said firmly. “You have to try everything. There might be something simple that can be done to help her.”
“Are you rich?” Deborah asked.
Sarah paused. “I... No, I mean, we're comfortable. My husband's a writer and I'm an estate lawyer.”
“So you could afford to lose the house.”
“What do you mean?”
“Burn it to the ground,” Deborah replied. “Get the bricks taken away and pulverized, and make sure the basement is ripped out, then salt the earth and don't let another house get built there. We'd have done it ourselves, but we couldn't afford to take the hit. I still thought about doing it, but Mike said we had to be practical. I think he's still not quite convinced about what happened, but...” She reached across the table and took hold of Sarah's hands. “I don't know what's living in the basement, and I don't need to know. All that matters is getting rid of it.”
“I -”
Before she could finish, Sarah spotted an angry-looking man storming past the window, headed for the door, and she immediately knew that it must be Deborah's husband.
“Promise me,” Deborah hissed, as tears ran down her cheeks. “Burn that place and -”
“What the hell are you doing to my wife?” the man shouted, slamming the door open and hurrying to the table. Grabbing Deborah by the arm, he pulled her roughly up from her seat.
“Mike,” she stammered, “it's okay -”
“What are you,” Mike continued, glaring menacingly at Sarah, “some kind of psychic? A journalist? Keep the hell away from us or I swear to God I'll make you pay!”
“I'm none of those things,” Sarah replied, shocked by his fury, “I just -”
“I don't care!” he shouted, pushing her back against the wall. The cafe's few other customers were staring in shock, and the waitress had a phone in her hand, as if she was considering calling the police. “This family has been through enough and I won't have anyone starting it all up again!”
“She's the new owner of the house,” Deborah told him, trying to pull her husband back. “Mike, please, I was just trying to warn her!”
“You own that place now?” Mike asked breathlessly.
Sarah nodded.
“Then God help you,” he replied, taking a step back before angrily grabbing the pram and starting to wheel it toward the door. “If you want my advice, you'll steer clear of the place. Don't even think about taking legal action, though. I've spoken to lawyers, I know we didn't do anything wrong. There's nothing you can do, it's your house now.”
“I'm sorry,” Deborah sobbed, following her husband to the door. She turned back to Sarah. “Protect your family. Whatever else happens, whatever anyone says to you, protect your family or -”
Before she could finish, Mike grabbed her by the arm and pulled her outside. Stunned, Sarah stood and watched as he marched Deborah and Daisy toward the car park. Finally, she reached into her pocket and took out her phone, quickly bringing up John's number.
“What's up?” he said as soon as he answered. “You on your way back yet?”
“Sure,” she replied cautiously, “but... Is everything okay?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Yeah,” he said after a moment, as if the question had unsettled him. “Why, what's wrong?”
“Nothing,” she replied, as she saw Mike driving Deborah and Daisy away. “Nothing,” she said again, “I just... I'll be back soon. I need to talk to you about something important.”
***
“Great,” he muttered as he set his phone back onto the window ledge. Turning, he looked across the garden, and for a moment he couldn't help thinking back to the greenhouse that had once stood a few meters away, filled with his grandmother's prize fuchsias. The greenhouse was long gone now, of course, and apart from its basic dimensions the garden was pretty much unrecognizable.
“John?” a voice called out suddenly, from the other side of the fence. “John Myers, is that you?”
He barely had time to recognize the voice before he saw an old man's face popping up over the fence with a smile. It had been twenty years since John had last seen that face, but nevertheless he knew it immediately.
“Mr. Shepherd,” he said with a polite smile, making his way over to the fence and reaching up so he could shake the man's hand. “I was going to knock on your door later and see how you're doing.”
“I heard voices,” Mr. Shepherd replied, “and I couldn't believe it when I realized it was you. How long's it been? Ten, fifteen years?”
“Twenty.”
“Twenty?” At this, the old man's eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Lord have mercy, it doesn't feel like more than a month or two since I came into your garden to moan about that huge bonfire you h
ad burning.”
“I remember that.”
“What are you doing back here? You're not the one who's bought the damn place, are you?”
“I am,” John replied. “I don't even know why, really. I guess I was just being a little sentimental.”
“Well, you won't find that much has changed in the area,” Mr. Shepherd continued. “I'm still here, for one thing. Still not got my compost heap sorted, either. You know, I can't think what I've really been doing with my time over the past two decades. Just pottering about, going from one little job that needs fixing to another. Nothing to report, really. Meanwhile, you went out and became a famous writer.”
“I wouldn't say famous,” John replied. “I do okay.”
“And you're married, aren't you? With kids?”
“I am, yes.”
“Where are they? I bet they look just like you.”
“They're playing somewhere,” he replied. “Back in the house, I think. You know what kids are like.”
***
“Quiet!” Scott hissed to Katie as he gently pulled the hatch down, leaving them in darkness at the top of the steps that led down to the basement. “If Dad finds out we're down here, he'll kill us.”
“Dad wouldn't kill us.”
“It's an expression, dumb-ass. It just means he'd be mad.”
“Dad isn't mad.”
Scott sighed. “It's another expression. He'd be angry.”
“Oh.” Katie paused. “Why?”
“I don't know, he's just funny about the basement for some reason.”
“Why?”
“I told you, I don't know.”
“But why?”
“Stop asking dumb questions,” he replied, using the torch app on his father's phone to light the way as he began to make his way down the creaking steps. “Are you coming or not?”
“Wait for me!” she called out, hurrying after him.
“Sssh!” he hissed, turning to her again. “Can you just be quiet for five minutes?”
“Don't yell at me.”
“Come on,” he said with a sigh, heading down to the foot of the steps and then shining the light around. “It stinks down here. I swear to God, it's like something's rotten.”
“Why would something be rotten down here?” Katie asked.
“I don't know.” He crouched down and cautiously poked at one of the damp cardboard boxes. “Maybe someone left food down here or something.”
“I think we should go back up.”
“What's wrong?” he asked with a smile. “Scared?”
“No!”
“Then why do you want to go back up?”
“I just don't want to get into trouble, that's all.”
“Why's it so small down here?” Scott asked suddenly, stopping and looking toward the far wall.
“It's not that small,” Katie whispered.
“It's smaller than upstairs,” he continued, “and that wall's different to the others. It's like it was put in much later.” He took a step forward, before Katie grabbed his arm.
“Don't!” she hissed.
“Whatever,” he replied, pulling free and heading to the wall. He reached out and ran his right hand over the surface, feeling the roughness of the breeze blocks. After a moment, he turned his head and leaned closer, as if he was listening out for something.
Katie waited, fighting the urge to run back upstairs.
“Hey,” Scott said after a moment, “come over here and listen to this.”
“Listen to what?” she asked cautiously.
“Just come and listen.”
“Tell me what it is first.”
“I don't know what it is, it's like -” He paused, frowning as he listened some more. “It comes and goes, but it's like a scratching sound.”
Katie instinctively took a step back. “Do you think it's rats?”
“Come and listen.”
“I don't like rats.”
“It's not rats!”
She opened her mouth to ask again, before realizing that she was in danger of coming across like a scared little girl. Which, to be fair, she was, but still... She didn't want to seem weak in front of her brother. Swallowing hard, she took a few steps forward and then leaned closer, placing her ear against the cold, damp wall.
“Wait,” Scott whispered.
“For what?”
“For the noise, dumb-ass.”
“But what -”
Before she could finish, she heard a faint scrabbling sound from the other side.
“That's no rat,” Scott told her.
“Then what is it?”
“I don't know. It seems kind of muffled, though.”
“We should tell Mum and Dad,” Katie continued. “They'll know what to do.”
“You're such a baby,” he replied, making his way past her as he examined the wall. “You always want to go and get Mum and Dad.”
“I do not!”
“Do too.”
“I'm going to tell Mum you said that!”
“Loser,” he said with a smile, before crouching down and taking a look at one of the breeze blocks. “This part isn't sealed the same as the rest. Do you think we could get through?”
“Why would we want to go through?”
He rolled his eyes. “To see what's on the other side, dumb-ass. I think there's another part to this basement, and it's been sealed off for some reason.”
“And that's where the rats are?”
“Yeah.” He paused. “If they are rats.”
“But...” She frowned. “If there's something, and if someone sealed it off, isn't that a good thing? Why would we want to risk letting it out?”
“To see what it is.”
“But what if it's rats?”
“Then they'll bite your face off,” he said with a smile. “Do you know how violent and mean a hungry rat can get?”
“Stop it.”
“And do you know how big they can be? I heard about rats that are as big as cats.”
“Scott, stop it!”
“Maybe,” he continued, “just a few centimeters away on the other side of this wall, there's a rat as big as a -”
Before he could finish, they both heard the hatch opening, and they spun around just in time to see John hurrying down the stairs with a flashlight in his hand.
“Dad!” Scott called out. “We -”
“Out!” John shouted, grabbing them both and pulling them back toward the stairs. “What the hell do you think you're doing here?”
“You're hurting me!” Katie shouted.
“Get out of here!” he yelled, pushing them at the steps and then shoving them as hard as he could back up toward the hatch. “Jesus Christ, I leave you alone for five minutes and you start disobeying strict orders not to come down here!”
“We just wanted to see,” Scott replied. “Dad, I think we found -”
“Out!” John said again, as the three of them reached the kitchen. Turning, he slammed the hatch shut and then slid the bolt across before turning to them. “Okay, so whose idea was it to go down there, huh?”
“Dad -” Scott began.
“Whose idea was it?” he shouted.
“Mine!” Scott replied, back up against the wall. “What's so wrong about going down there anyway?”
“You were given a direct order to keep out!”
“It's just a stupid basement!”
“It might be dangerous down there,” he said firmly. “There might be wild animals, there might be anything! Fumes, poison, traps -”
“We heard a noise.”
“No,” John replied, shaking his head, “you didn't.”
“We did,” Katie whispered.
“There's nothing down there,” John said firmly, “do you understand me? I want both of you to tell me that you understand, right now! And don't go telling your mother all these crazy stories, you'll only end up worrying her.”
Katie looked at Scott, waiting to follow his lead.
�
��Why are you being like this?” Scott asked his father. “I get that we weren't allowed down there, but it's just a basement.” He waited for an answer. “Isn't it?”
For a moment, John seemed almost on the verge of striking his son, so great was his anger. Finally, however, he took a step back, as if his rage had passed its peak, although there was still a hint of white hot fury in his eyes.
“We're going to the carnival tonight,” he told them, “and we're going to have to head out as soon as your mother gets home, so why don't you two go upstairs and get ready?”
“Dad -” Katie began.
“Now!” he shouted.
Scott muttered something under his breath as he and Katie hurried through to the hallway, leaving John alone in the kitchen to listen to the sound of his children running to the bedroom. Sighing, he turned and looked down at the hatch that led to the basement, and after a moment he realized that although he still felt furious, he couldn't remember why he was so angry. He leaned against the counter and closed his eyes, feeling the anger swirling in his mind, and then -
Suddenly it was gone. He felt calm again, and when he opened his eyes it was almost as if he was someone else entirely. He didn't even remember why he'd been so angry, and he didn't really want to remember. All he knew was that he couldn't allow anyone to go down to the basement. Not ever.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Twenty years ago
After pulling the door shut, John paused for a moment with the key in his hand. He knew this was an important moment, that he was finally leaving the house for the last time, but something was holding him back. His bags were packed and he was traveling light as he headed off to the train station, bound for Bristol and for the house his father had bought for his time at university. Still, he felt as if he'd forgotten something.
Opening the door again, he stepped back into the kitchen and looked around, before heading to the hatch and pulling it open. There was something in the basement, something invisible and silent that seemed to be calling him, but as he made his way down the steps and used his phone to light the way ahead, he realized that he still couldn't see anything untoward. The breeze-block wall had drawn no unusual comments from the surveyor who'd assessed the house during the same process, and although he'd been down to inspect the cramped space several times over the previous few weeks, John still had no idea why he felt drawn to the place.