The Gift

Victor gripped the rusted handle, shoving it open with a grunt. The hinges shrieked a high-pitched wail that would scare the strongest of hearts. A gust of pungent, icy air rushed up from below.

A steep staircase descended into pitch-black nothing. Kate stepped forward and flicked on her flashlight, another feature of her advanced costume.

The beam trembled slightly but remained alive. She glanced at Victor, now having second thoughts. Her teenage frame was rigid, her breath puffing in the cold. Was going into the basement a good idea?

“Ready?” Victor asked, his voice a low whisper.

Kate nodded, her jaw tight with tension. “Yeah. Let’s get this over with.”

They started down, each metallic step groaning under their weight. The air grew thicker as they went—cold, damp, and sour with a stench that hit like a slap.

Everything smelled like rotting flesh mixed with the tang of old metal. Kate coughed, pressing her sleeve to her nose.