Chapter 18 - Echoes in the Dark
The basement door closed with a soft click behind Ava, sealing her in silence. Dust motes floated in the dim light cast by her flashlight, spinning like tiny ghosts. The air was stale, with the faint scent of mildew and something older—a metallic tang that reminded her uncomfortably of rusted chains and blood.
She descended the creaking wooden stairs slowly, each step groaning beneath her weight. Her hand brushed the stone wall beside her for balance. This was the place from Ben's files—the hidden section of the townhouse, added long after the rest was built. It wasn't on any official blueprint, only on the hand-sketched floorplan he had left behind.
The basement opened into a low-ceilinged room lined with wooden shelves. Some were filled with dusty books, others with glass jars sealed tight, their contents indistinct in the low light. She tried not to stare too long at them.
In the center of the room stood a table. On it was a typewriter, ancient and mechanical, its keys worn smooth. Next to it lay a journal bound in cracked leather. She opened it carefully.
Handwriting filled the pages—cramped, slanted, frantic. It was Ben's.
"June 7. She's still watching me. I hear the whispers in the walls. Cassandra is not just a name. She's here. She's part of this house."
Ava's hands trembled as she flipped through the pages. Each entry grew more fragmented, the ink darker, the words more desperate.
"July 3. Caroline doesn't believe me. But I saw her. In the mirror. Behind me. Cassandra smiles when I sleep."
"July 17. The tape was just the beginning. There's more hidden in the walls. Behind the library. I can't get to it. But maybe Ava can."
She froze. Her name. He had known she would come here. That he wouldn't make it back.
The ground vibrated slightly. A dull thud echoed from above. Ava quickly shut the journal and looked up at the ceiling.
Footsteps.
Not again.
She flicked off her flashlight and crouched near the table, breathing shallowly. Shadows danced above her as the footsteps approached the basement door. But they didn't come down. After a few moments, silence returned, heavy and pressing.
She waited.
When nothing happened, she rose slowly and looked toward the far wall. A section of the stonework looked newer, slightly off in texture. She walked to it and felt along the edges.
A click.
A small portion of the wall shifted inward.
Behind it, another narrow passage, even darker than the rest. She hesitated, then stepped inside.
The air grew colder. Her breath fogged in front of her. The walls here were made of raw stone, damp and rough. She could hear faint whispers, or maybe just the wind—it was hard to tell.
At the end of the corridor, a single bulb flickered to life as she neared. It hung above another table, this one covered in photographs, maps, and tape recorders.
She recognized one of the photos. Ben and Caroline, smiling, standing in front of this very house. Next to them, a woman with dark hair and eyes too sharp. Labeled beneath: CASSANDRA.
She looked older than them. And something about her presence in the picture made Ava feel... watched.
Beside the photo lay another cassette. It was labeled, shakily: "Ava. If you found this, run."
But she didn't run. She found an old player on the table, clicked the tape inside, and pressed play.
The voice crackled.
"Ava... this is Ben. If you're hearing this, I failed. I'm sorry. I thought I could contain her. But she's stronger. Smarter. And now you're part of it too. Don't trust Caroline. She made a deal. This house... it feeds off memory. Off pain. Cassandra was real. But now she's something else. And she wants you."
The tape cut to static.
Ava stepped back, nearly tripping over a loose stone. The bulb above her flickered again. Then died.
She stood in total darkness.
And then, a whisper.
"Ava..."
The voice was behind her.
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