Halloween I.F. – “Going Dark” – Day 4

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There was enough that still made them uneasy about the basement that they might as well resolve before leaving, Fern decided.

That flashlight, for one, should go with them; if they did get caught out late, they’d want it, rather than draining their phone’s battery. They headed back to the shelving, grabbing it, testing it—nice and bright—before shoving that as well in one of their deep pockets. Also in the bin were a hammer and screwdriver, which they certainly didn’t need to be hauling around, and, surprisingly, a set of spare keys. That they pocketed, too; they probably didn’t need to be too nosy, but subtlety beat destruction of property if they did end up nosing around.

The fuse box had the old-fashioned screw-in fuses rather than breakers, so it had been hard to tell which had power. They briefly considered unplugging a bunch of them to check, but there didn’t seem to be much point. If a room or appliance didn’t have power, they could always come down here and replace those later.

The last two weirdnesses were the dust cloth on the mirror and the oddly-placed tapestry, neither of which had exactly given Fern a good feeling. Better to check those now than give themself anxiety nightmares later. They could always put back anything they’d moved before they left in a couple weeks.

The first thing they did was pull the dust cloth off the mirror. Sure enough, it was a standing, full-length mirror, but they immediately saw why this of all things would get covered. There was something wrong with the glass in some subtle way; as the cloth came free, the hair stood up on their arms and they couldn’t quite suppress a shudder. It looked like it had warped slightly; not exactly a fun-house mirror, but just enough that they looked distorted in it, like it was a pond with a faint ripple. Still, only a mirror, if an ugly one. They left the dust cloth draped over the chair and checked under the carpet—nothing of interest—before moving over to the tapestry.

Behind that was a door.

For a long moment, they just stared at it, feeling something between Why didn’t I expect this and This is how a horror movie starts. It was locked, at least; they gave it a jiggle and felt momentary relief that nothing would easily be getting in or out.

But why was there a door here? The basement was the size of the whole cottage above, so that was… strange. It was far away from any neighbouring houses, but maybe a long time ago there had been another one and they’d joined with an underground tunnel, Fern supposed. Or perhaps it was some kind of escape tunnel from a long time ago, just in case—what, if a tornado came and the original owners would need another way out of the basement?

The only way to answer their too-many questions was to open it. With hands that only shook slightly, Fern tried different keys on the spare key set—already a discovery they were glad they’d made—until one clicked. Moving a bit too slowly, too cautiously, they swung it open.

They almost went weak-kneed with relieved foolishness as they saw the rows of wooden shelving and somewhat dusty jars in there. A root cellar, dug out separately so it could be cooled to do its job properly while keeping the basement insulated.

Nothing to worry about after all. Fern locked the cellar back up and headed upstairs again, still embarrassed at letting their imagination and fears get away from them. Always the problem, wasn’t it? If they didn’t have such a wild imagination they probably wouldn’t even be here.

Better to feel silly than have unwelcome surprises they didn’t check for, they reminded themself, tugging their shoes on and heading out into the woods. A glance at their phone showed that at some point, the text had sent, though they hadn’t yet received a reply.

They’d just do a quick perimeter check and then eat dinner. Maybe they’d make themself a pasta, they thought. Do something with the sausage in the fridge. 

It was crisp outside, bright and cool without being biting, so that Fern didn’t need to go back in for a heavier jacket. The wind rustled through the leaves, but the background silence behind it was strangely uncanny, the lack of traffic nearby almost shocking. They were too used to cities, and wondered how normal sounds like this had seemed to their ancestors.

The front of the cottage was nicely kept, with a gravel driveway that gave way into the dirt path Adrian had driven them down, and no garage. The flagstone path led from the driveway over to the front door, and bushes crowded underneath the living room window.

Around one side, they could see where the furnace let out. Several paths lead out into the woods, which they ignored, continuing to circle the house instead, leaves crunching underfoot. Near the back of the house was an odd tree: a half-dead pine with a crack along it; when they drew closer, they saw that someone had, a long time ago, buried a railway spike into the wood. The tree itself had done its best to grow around it, absorbing it into the wood, but it had done damage that had scarred regardless.

Fern had to wonder how that had happened. Was it meant to discourage logging too near the cottage? Or perhaps something long since removed had once hung from that spike.

They dismissed it, continuing their walk. There were several bushes at the back, and again, more paths vanishing into the woods. Then, not far from the other side of the house, an old well. They didn’t have any coins, but they picked up a pebble and tossed it inside, hearing no splash. Perhaps it had gone dry.

Nothing else of interest turned up as they reached the front of the house again, but it felt good to have a sense of what was—or wasn’t—around.

[Comment below with a suggestion for Fern]

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