Through the Cellar Door
Slowly she ambled through the house, looking for what she did not know. She fancied seeing some relics of her childhood, something to sweeten her mood a bit. Of late she had felt sombre, depressed, isolated. Her childhood, once happy, was now a bright daydream in the shade of her adult years.
A cup of well-creamed coffee warmed her and she smiled a little, thinking of the wooden chest that stood alone in the cellar for so many years. She set the cup down on a small table and passed a row of open windows. The slight midnight breeze stirred the gauze curtains. Their movement cast soft shadows on the moonlit wall. An unpainted wooden door stood at the end of the short, white hallway. No modern key fit the lock. Around her neck, tucked well into her shirt, a skeleton key dangled from a black cord. She had always worn it but seemed never to remember why. Always that key knocked against her chest as she walked. She had grown so used to it that she no longer felt it, no longer cared that the key belonged in a certain lock, no longer cared to know where the key might take her – no longer cared until now. Now was the time to try to bring back some of the past that haunted her, now, when she needed it most.
She drew the key out of her shirt and inserted it into the lock. She gave it a sharp twist. To her surprise, even after all of these years, it turned with no trouble. She grasped the glass door knob and pulled. The hinges squealed loudly as they turned. All within was darkness. Her hand fumbled about on each side of the jamb, feeling around for the toggle that turned on the light over the doorway. A sharp click sounded and suddenly the inside was lit with a soft, orange glow. It pulsed a little and a tiny hum of electricity was heard. Yes, the old rickety stairs were still here. She stepped cautiously onto them to see if they were still strong enough to hold her. They wobbled a bit under her weight. She tried the next step down. It wobbled again, but she thought that it would be alright.
Down she went into the cellar. The orange light barely reached it, but she could just discern her wooden chest still waiting for her in the left corner. She stopped her descent abruptly. A pair of nervous eyes went to the wall from which the stairs sprung. Long ago her grandfather had sternly warned her to be quick about her business in the basement. Now she remembered why. In the wall, just a little lower than the door and to the left of the stairs was a large, black opening. Grandfather never told her why she should hurry out of the cellar but she knew it had something to do with that hole.
“Be quick down there and don’t dawdle. It doesn’t like visitors.” And then Grandfather would shudder.
She had been down twice before and had scampered right back up like mad for dread fear of the hole. Grandfather never said what “it” was. She only knew that it was “it” even though she always asked him. Each time she asked he shook his head and said to her, “It’s better if you don’t know. We don’t bother it so it doesn’t bother us.”
“What could possibly be in there?” she incredulously wondered aloud.
Perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps Grandfather only told her that so she wouldn’t play in the cellar. After all, it was rather dirty. That had to be it. It was silly to think otherwise. Her old childhood fears of what could be in it melted away. It was nothing, nothing at all. It must only be a crawl space beneath the upper floor and might have a mouse or two in it, maybe a spider, but that was all. She smiled a little at the foolishness of her fear and pulled a small torch out of the pocket of her trousers. She gave it a click with her thumb and a little beam of light lit the floor below. It was a little dim. The battery needed to be replaced. At first she thought of going back to change it; but she wasn’t going to be long down here, so why bother? She turned the beam toward the gaping hole. The wall beneath it looked wet.
“I must see to that,” she thought to herself, knowing the kitchen sink to be right over the same spot upstairs.
She made her way down the rest of the stairs, the whole thing shimmying all the while. She bent down to the chest, lifted the lid and shined the torch into it. Her toys were still in it. They looked to be still in fair condition. Woodlice had gotten in over the years. Most were dead, lying slightly curled; yet a couple still crawled lazily over her dolls and stuffed animals. She rummaged about in the chest until she found her teddy bear. It was made of soft cloth with a pair of plastic eyes. The fabric was now rough from years of hugs and kisses. Its’ thread nose, long gone, had been replaced with an ebony button by Grandmama years ago.
“Here you are,” she whispered softly to the bear. “I’ve missed you so much.” She hugged it to her breast and sighed deeply. That old bear still had enough magic to soothe her. What fantastic little beings they are, teddy bears. They can listen with the patience of Job, will never reveal your deepest secrets and can slay the most horrible of nightmares. She closed her eyes and laid her cheek against one of its ears.
There was a small scrape. She flinched and pointed her torch up to the hole in the wall. The noise stopped. Did it come from there? she wondered. She stood up to study the hole, still hugging the teddy bear. Her heart pounded in her chest. The light shined into the hole, revealing only the bracing that supported the upper floor. Everything was wet. A dank scent came from the opening. She had to get a better look in. She put her teddy down on the stairs then dragged the chest over to the wall under the hole. With the lid closed, she climbed atop it to see inside. There was another small scrape. She stood up on her toes and was only just able to see inside. The torch shone in but she could not see anything except more bracing and a couple of pipes. At last her old curiosity was satisfied and her unreasonable fear allayed. It was just a crawl space, nothing more. It was very wet and by the shine she thought that it was probably slimy in places also. She stepped off of the trunk and put it back in its place. When she turned to leave she saw her teddy bear lying on the floor.
“So you tumbled off did you?” she asked it affectionately
. “You didn’t break any bones, did you teddy?” She gave him a good squeeze and started to climb the stairs. Her foot met the empty air. She looked up in shock.
The stairs were gone.
High above her she could see the door still standing slightly open. A gust of wind from the open windows slammed it shut. She gasped and looked wildly about. To her left, where she thought there had been another wall, lay a wide open space, dark and empty. Over there another soft light glowed. She could not recall ever seeing this much space. With some hesitation she walked into it with the torch pointed forward, clutching tighter onto the teddy bear. Her breathing became erratic as she tried to keep her terror under control. Far into the murk she could just make out another set of stairs beneath the light. She moved slowly toward them, jumping and turning her beam at every fancied sound or movement. It was absolutely empty, yet she could not shake the feeling that someone or something else was down there with her.
At last she reached the stairs. She wasted no time in hurrying up them. She gave the knob a fierce turn and pushed the door. It would not move. She gave it a hard yank. This time it opened only to reveal a brick wall. A wave of terror washed over her. She slapped the wall and yelled at it.
“Is anyone there?!” she screamed. “Anyone?”
There was no answer. She descended again into the cellar, intent on returning to the first door. She stopped short. Something was making the scraping sound again. This time it was closer. The noise died away. The torch light was getting dimmer. She gave it a shake and the light brightened a bit. Turning the beam up to the walls, she rapidly scanned to see where the sound might have been coming from. There was nothing on the walls – nothing hanging, no holes, nothing.
She inched forward to the place where the stairs had been before they vanished. There was another scrape and a few scratches. The sounds had to be coming from the hole. The torch failed at last and the light disappeared from it. Her chest rose and fell.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she said aloud. “Do you hear? I’m not afraid of you!”
She could not say what she spoke to. If the sounds were coming from rats then they must be huge. But rats wouldn’t make the stairs disappear.
At last she came back to where she started. The stairs were still gone. She glanced up to the door. It was slightly open. Whilst pressing the teddy bear closer to her heart, she grasped a handle on the wooden chest and dragged it to the place under the door. She turned it over onto one end and clambered onto it. Now her head was slightly above the hole. She reached up as high as she could. Her fingertips just touched the floor. There was nothing else at all in the basement that she could stack on top of the trunk to get her any closer. She tried to jump but lost her footing and slipped off. Undeterred, she tried it again. But even though she could get her hand up to the floor she still could not pull herself up. Once more she tried. Her hand grabbed at the floor and slid off of the metal framing. A fiery sting seared through her fingers. She bent down and grasped her wrist tightly. Blood trickled into her palm as she realised that she had cut her fingers on something. There was a loud scratch in the hole.
She stepped off of the trunk and backed away, her terrified eyes on the hole. The wall that she had previously thought was there had reappeared and she bumped hard into it. The door closed again. This time she heard the lock click. The orange light above the door dimmed further. A large, groping, slimy hand emerged from the gap. A hairless head started to appear.
The light went out.
Word count: 1881 words
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