cellar?”
Chapter 7
Abby stared at the pile of refused bricks and mortar trying to reason why they had not fallen down into the cellar. She thought that possibly there was a slight slant in the floor—maybe it was not perfectly level, perhaps it was just enough that it allowed the bricks to tumble outward and their weight forced the door open. It seemed reasonable to her, but it did nothing to quiet the uneasiness growing from the seed planted by the picture of the dark priest.
“Abby, we didn’t do that, did we?”
“No, Madison, you didn’t,” Ethan replied. “You may have weakened it, but by what I felt, it was about to come down anyway.”
“Abby, I’ll pay for it anyway,” Chris offered earnestly. It was rare to hear him speak sincerely.
“We can’t leave it like this. We have to find a way to clean it up. Madison, you better get dressed; this will be hard enough to do with flashlights without you being naked.”
“Yeah, okay. Really, Abby, I’m sorry about this.”
“It’s alright, Madison. Let’s just get it cleaned up,” Abby said with a sigh.
“What about the picture?” Ethan asked.
“You tell me, you’re the computer guy,” Abby replied as she knelt to inspect one of the bricks.
“Well, I guess it could have been an image at one point and it did not completely delete or something like that—sort of like double exposure with real film. I can reformat the card. That will make sure nothing hangs out. Do you remember taking a picture like that of a priest or something?”
“No, I’m sure I didn’t,” Abby said, wiping the dust from her hands, her face a twist of worry.
“Where did you get the memory card?”
“Online.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it then, but it is still very strange—almost like he was looking at Madison.”
“Yeah, I noticed that, too.”
“I’ll go get some flashlights, see if we can find something to sweep this up a bit,” Ethan said.
“Brighton is going to have my ass over this.”
“No, he won’t,” Ethan said over his shoulder, “that’s already mine.” Ethan always seemed to make her smile just when she needed it most.
Madison returned, fully clothed but still buttoning her jeans. “What should we do with these bricks? Take them outside?”
“You know, maybe we should just wait till daylight to do this. I don’t want to damage the floor, especially the marble in front,” Abby sighed.
“It will be okay, Abby, I promise. We can take the bricks to the woods and hide them, then close this door; could be years before farmer-dude down there even finds out,” Madison said cheerily.
This piqued Abby’s interest. “That just might work, but we would have to clean all this up like it never happened.”
“I promise not to leave until it’s done.” Madison smiled at her.
Now that she was clothed again, Abby did not feel the same odd desire she had before. She was just the cute, little, silly-minded Madison again, but this time with a good idea.
“Here are the flashlights.” Ethan said as he returned with arms full. “I brought the rain tarp to stack the bricks on.”
“I think we are going to do it in the morning, when we can see what we’re doing. Madison thinks we can hide the bricks in the woods and just shut the door. Do you think Brighton would find out?”
“I don’t see why that wouldn’t work. I really doubt he comes up here very often; he is too old, the hill too steep, the hike too long, you know?”
“He didn’t seem very frail to me,” Abby said, looking more for an argument than an agreement.
“He has arthritis in his hands; I could tell that when I shook it. If he has it there, it will also be in his knees or ankles or shoulders…”
“Alright, I was just ready to leave, but we can hide the bricks tomorrow morning and clear this dust and make it all nice again. We can leave in the afternoon or the day after.”
“You have all of your pictures for the book thing?” Madison asked.
“Enough, I think. We will see. I just want to leave now.”
“Where is Chris?” Ethan asked, suddenly aware one of them was missing.
“He was right here a second ago,” Abby responded as she looked around.
“Maybe he went outside to take a leak?” Madison offered.
“I was just at the door,” Ethan countered.
“Chris!” Madison shouted, but not very loud.
There was no answer.
“He’s like babysitting a—”
A scream ripped through the house like a shot of lightening—not the scream of someone simply scared, but the scream of a soul tormented. If not for the missing Chris, Abby would have sworn at first it had been a woman. Madison screamed in response, shocked at the sudden sound of it, haunted by the anguish in it.
“He’s in the cellar…” Ethan said. His voice staggered with fear and run dry. He ran back toward the door to grab his small backpack, the one with the gun.
“Chris!” Madison screamed. “Where are you?” Her voice pierced the ear, but still so utterly feminine.
“He is in the cellar, Ethan, hurry!”
The scream came again, crawling up the stairs like some wounded animal, squeezing the hearts in their chests, driving icicles like nails into their spines.
Ethan jammed a flashlight into Abby’s hand. “Why don’t you guys stay up here, I’ll go down—”
“I’m going with you.” Abby said firmly, “There might be a real story in this.” She remembered her camera and rushed to retrieve it.
“Here, Madison. Don’t drop this, we may need it. Did we bring a first aid kit?” he shouted toward Abby who skidded herself into a turn and rushed to get that as well.
Ethan went to the cellar door and shined his flashlight along the steps. They were made of a thick wood, dry and dark with age, bits of mortar settling on them. They had been solid enough to hold Chris; he and the others should not be a problem.
“Chris! Are you down there, Chris?” Ethan shouted down into the dark hole.
No reply came.
When Abby returned, Ethan started down the steps. They did not creak or give any sign of collapsing, but still he went slowly. A rush of dread and wrongfulness washed over him as if he were submerging himself in a pool of water gone wrong. This was a bad place, but not just in his mind. This was a real honest-to-God bad place, and he did not need a doctor or medication to help him understand this—he could feel it in his heart.
The walls were layered stones, flat like river rocks and stacked to the wooden rafters above. The steps had no handrail, giving anyone attempting to descend a feeling of instability as though at any moment a light breeze may whisk them off and into the darkness below.
“Chris!” Ethan shouted, but there was still no reply.
He continued slowly down the steps, still nervous with the wrongness. Suddenly, the steps seemed to sag a bit.
“Chris!” This time it was Abby’s voice which made Ethan jump. She had begun to come down the steps as well, placing each foot as gently as Ethan had.
Ethan reached the dry dirt floor of the cellar and began to search the large chamber with his light. It was utterly empty, a void of stone-stacked walls and dirt flooring. The air stank of wet mold, and the temperature was noticeably cooler than it was above. It reminded Ethan of his grandmother’s basement, a desolate place of stacked memories and mold, magazines and forgotten times—that was except for the fact this basement was starkly empty,
