Chapter 12 – The Basement

The moist, suffocating fog that crept into Thomas's lungs seemed thicker than it should have at the top of the narrow basement stairs. As though the basement had a unique gravity—a hole that was hungry for everything that went too close—the light from the corridor hardly made it to the bottom before being engulfed by the darkness below.

When Thomas flipped the light switch, nothing happened, even though his hand was hovering over it. The lightbulb was extinguished. It had, of course. The blackness was what the house desired.

He tightened his jaw, switched on the flashlight, and took his phone out of his pocket. Slicing through the darkness, the tiny beam only made enough of an imprint to see the wooden steps, slippery with wetness and twisted with age. The first step down into the darkness.

His legs were immobile for a moment. His thoughts begged him to go back, to go upstairs, to grab his kids, and to leave the house for good. However, he was unable to.

He pictured his wife, Eva, lost in her thoughts, drowning under the spirit's weight. He could lose her if he didn't take this action.

Thomas braced himself, clutched the handrail, and stepped down into the shadows.

The basement was a huge, dark area that extended in front of him. The stone walls were soaked with wetness as if the room had been crying for decades, and the chilly cement floor was slippery underfoot. For a minute, he believed he saw someone move in the corner of his eye, too fast to follow, as his flashlight wavered.

Even though his heart was racing, he continued to walk, his footfall resonating in the deafening quiet.

Then he noticed them at the other end of the room.

The chains.

 They were twisted and mangled like the remnants of some long-forgotten nightmare, coiled against the wall in a rusting heap. Old blood had left dark brown stains on the metal links, which had aged and crusted over. Like the imprint of a memory that would not die, they clung to the cement.

With his breath caught in his throat, Thomas knelt next to the shackles. It took place here. The boy's final minutes had been spent here, battered, shackled, and abandoned.

For a brief moment, as he ran his fingertips over the chilly metal, he felt the boy's presence—a persistent melancholy woven into the iron and rust, like a ghost holding on to the only thing it had ever known.

Then he noticed the bloodstains right below the shackles.

A fierce battle was evident from the dark stains that were smeared across the wall and the floor. The blood of the boy. Even after all these years, the recollection of his pain was still present in the walls.

With shaky fingers, Thomas extended his hand and touched one of the links.

There was a tremendous shift in the air in the basement the instant his hand touched the shackles. Like a vacuum, it drained the room's warmth and replaced it with a chill so intense that it felt like ice against his skin.

Twice his flashlight flickered, then died.

With his heart pounding in his chest, Thomas stumbled backward. He was surrounded by a dense, impenetrable blackness. There was nothing for a long time, only the sound of his labored breathing.

Then a figure appeared out of the darkness.

The youngster was only a few feet away, his complexion as pale as bone, his small frame covered in ragged clothing. With each hesitant step, the chains slid from his ankles and wrists, scraping the cement. Something too old and nasty for a child's face glinted in his black eyes.

Thomas was momentarily immobile. The boy's presence felt oppressive, pressing down on his chest like a smothering weight. He was looking straight into the boy's dark eyes, and it seemed as though he was looking into an abyss, an unending reservoir of anger and grief.

The boy's face contorted in rage, and his deep, hollow voice echoed horribly off the walls and filled the room.

The boy growled in a little, poisonous voice, "You're just like him."

With his heart thumping his ribs, Thomas retreated a step. "Like who?"

"Your dad."

The words knocked the air out of Thomas's lungs like a strike to the chest. His mouth opened to speak, but nothing came out. The boy was aware. He knew somehow.

The boy's voice was shaking with anger as he said, "He left me to die." "He went despite his commitment to keep me safe. He fled.

With his eyes lowering farther into his skull and his mouth opening too wide, the boy's face twisted into something hideous.

You'll also abandon her. Similar to how he left me.

Thomas gave a vigorous shake of his head. "No! I won't abandon her!

However, the boy's rougher, stronger voice filled the room with intolerable loudness. "You're going to fail! The same as he did! She will die, and you will flee. They will all perish!

Thomas tried to shut out the sound by pressing his palms to his ears, but it didn't help. His soul was sliced deep by the boy's accusations, which pierced him like knives.

"She cannot be saved by you. It's too late. Similar to him.

With short, shallow breaths, Thomas stumbled back into the wall. His mind reverberated with the boy's words, a dreadful chorus of uncertainty. Was it too late for him? Was he going to fail the way the boy's father had?

Now, the youngster stood still, his black eyes waiting and observing. His remarks had already caused enough harm that he didn't need to attack.

Thomas thought about running for a second. The entrance at the top of the steps and the safety of the globe above, far from the oppressive darkness, were on his mind.

Then he remembered Eva, his wife, caught in this nightmare, drifting farther and farther away every second. He'd lose her forever if he quit now.

Thomas made himself stand by clenching his fists. He was unconcerned despite his legs quivering beneath him.

His voice was scratchy but calm as he murmured, "I'm not leaving." "I promise not to let her down."

For the tiniest of seconds, the boy's contorted smile wavered, allowing Thomas to catch a glimpse of the misery that was hiding beneath the anger.

However, the boy was quickly engulfed by the darkness and disappeared. After a single rattling against the cement floor, the chains came to a halt.

With his heart thumping in his chest, Thomas stood by himself in the quiet. For the first time in his life, he felt afraid. However, he was convinced of one thing:

He needed to move forward.

He refused to flee from whatsoever the spirit threw at him.