31. Below

There’s gotta be a way to get to it, if something’s really there.

I’m searching the cabin, not that there’s much to search. Mom is working tonight, and I have no big dates or parties to go to.

I plan to see once and for all if this house has a basement.

My hunt begins in the back of the cabin, in the laundry room. There’s an old washer and dryer back here, probably installed when this house was built thirty-something years ago. I check them out, look behind them, see the mounds of dust and cobwebs, think it might be nice to clean those one day just for our health and well-being. There’s a tube going out of the wall, but that’s nothing unusual. I examine all parts of the wall and the floor. Not much to examine except faded paint and cracked tile and dirt and grime.

There’s a small closet that I’ve never really noticed by the back door. A half closet for coats. Maybe this is an elevator.

And maybe Batman’s going to come out and show you his hidden lair right under your house.

There are a few coats in here. A pretty cool hunting coat, another hip-looking denim jacket. I’m guessing these weren’t installed with the washer and the dryer. Again I check out the walls and the floor. No type of door or opening or anything unusual. Just some dirty boots on the bottom of the floor.

I keep this up, going into the kitchen and inspecting each of the cabinets and the dishwasher and the back of the oven and all of that. Nothing. I look underneath the stairs that jut up right in front of the main door.

Nope.

I’ve been scouring the cabin for an hour and am starting to feel pretty stupid. Maybe there’s an empty area below this floor that was never intended to be used. Or maybe there were never any voices or laughter in the middle of the night.

You heard them and you know it.

I check the only other room downstairs, my mother’s. I move a dresser but find nothing. I move her bed but find nothing. For a minute I sit on the edge of the bed and listen. It’s getting darker outside, and another storm is supposed to be coming.

There’s still the bathroom.

Maybe the bathtub has a special button you push that allows you to be sucked down the drain like at some big water park.

You know it’s sad when your own thoughts mock you.

I turn on the light and glance around. A tub, a toilet, and a sink. I might as well be thorough. I kneel and open the doors to the cabinet and look at the handful of towels and toiletries belonging to Mom.

There’s nothing unusual.

I’m about to close it when something makes me pause.

Every cabinet I’ve seen has pretty much looked the same except for this one. I take out the towels and notice that the plumbing for the faucet is strangely warped, like it was built around something. It’s bent and goes around the edge of the interior of the cabinet, allowing more space.

The thing that caught my eyes was the scuff marks. The scraped sides.

Then I see it.

No way.

I see the square outline of something—I don’t know what. The back of the cabinet is the same color as the rest, but the four sides of it look—

Detachable.

I nudge it. Then nudge it a little harder. There’s nothing behind it.

After a few tries, I shove it hard with my palm.

This time a portion of the drywall gives.

This isn’t drywall. It’s a door of some kind.

Right now I know that maybe I should call Mom or call somebody, but I doubt that anybody can help me.

I insert my hand into the opening and feel the cold.

For a minute I think. But it’s not a very long minute.

I run out of the bathroom to find a flashlight.

And maybe something else.

Something for protection.

The knife belongs to Uncle Robert, just like the gun I found in the same duffel bag. The gun is lost somewhere on the side of a mountain close to the place Jocelyn died. I think about that gun and what I should’ve done with it. What I could have done. Instead, in my grief and terror, I dropped it.

One of the ten thousand things I regret.

The knife is a folding kind, but that doesn’t mean it has a small blade. This is the kind you can cut a deer open with. I touched the blade once and felt it cut my skin. It’s that sharp.

The knife is in my pocket. I’m wearing a sweatshirt because—because to be honest, I have no idea where I’m going to go after I slip through this opening. Maybe I’m going to find something like the hatch from Lost. Or maybe it’s going to be an alternative universe like Donnie Darko, because really, I’m dead. I died on that hill just like Jocelyn. Or maybe I’m going to see a white rabbit and follow it and end up finding Johnny Depp smiling below, wondering what took me so long.

I’m a product of the culture, or at least I used to be. Now I really do feel like I’m in a time warp, an alternative universe, a black nightmare.

I’ve pushed away the covering to the back of the cabinet and am about ready to climb in through the narrow enclosure when I hear Midnight barking. Her bark is more like a little cough. She never does this, so I go out to the main room to see what’s wrong.

Midnight is on the couch, just barking. I pet her for a few minutes and tell her that everything’s fine. Maybe she can feel my fear. Or maybe she smells something coming through that opening.

Yeah, like the smell of death.

I go to the fridge and get the little baggie full of treats for her. I’ve been feeding her little cut-up hot dogs. I saw this on a program once. One of those dog-whisperer shows where a kooky guy gets the dog to do anything. His trick: hot dogs. Lots of them.

“It’ll be fine, girl, just stay right here.”

Back in the bathroom, I pause for a moment as my flashlight scans the opening. All I can see is a black wall. It doesn’t look like there’s much of a passageway there.

I slide in and then put my arms and head through the place where the piece of panel was. It’s a door of sorts, a kind that swings upward and only can be opened from the back. Once I’m through it will fall back in place.

I slide in a little more and then slip.

For a second, I’m falling headfirst into some dark hole.

I know dark holes. I’ve become pretty well acquainted with them.

This time I grab on to the edge of the opening and prop the rest of my body up. My legs and gut are still propped in the cabinet so I’m able to balance and not fall in.

I bring the flashlight over and aim it down, my head drooped over some opening where the cold air is coming from.

This really is a hatch.

There is a square hole that’s large enough for a person to fit through. Along the side of the wall facing me is a set of metal rungs going down. I see the bottom. All I can see is dirt.

Maybe a lot of people would stop now. And I realize the people in scary movies do idiotic things. Hey, let’s go for a late night swim. Hey, the moon looks great if we go to that abandoned cliff. Hey, I know there’s a serial killer around, but can’t we still just make out a little longer? Those idiots are all goners, and you know that the moment they do something so stupid.

But I can’t remember seeing this in a horror movie. I seriously doubt Desmond is going to be in my basement, and if he is, then maybe that will explain everything.

I think back to the little cabin I found in the woods above our place. The opening I fell through, the one with a similar ladder attached to its side. The passageway leading into the darkness below. I wonder if the two are connected in some way.

After trying to see if I can fit in the narrow tube going down, I stop moving and have an awful thought. If someone or something’s down there, they’ll be able to grab me before I can see them.

Nothing’s down there, just like nothing was in the cabin above the house.

I wiggle backward and force myself through the cabinet. I can just imagine Mom coming home now and seeing my head sticking out below the bathroom sink.

Are you really that bored, Chris?

My legs arch, as does the rest of my body as I struggle to find the rungs of the ladder. Soon I have one hand attached to a cold strip of metal while the other has the flashlight. I scan the bottom to see if anything is moving.

Before I’m too far down, I check the door and make sure it’s secure. In case Mom sees it and suddenly has the crazy idea of trying to go through it herself.

Only one of us needs to be that stupid.

The ladder ends as the hole opens to what must be our cabin’s basement. On the opposite side of where I’m climbing is a wall that has another built-in ladder on it. I swing like a monkey from one side to the other and then finish climbing down on the opposite side, which I presume is the edge of our house. It’s cold down here, and I know that I’m now underground.

When I get down I scan the area with my light, trying to keep my hand from shaking. I pat my jeans pocket and make sure the knife is still there. For a moment I just take in my surroundings.

There’s really nothing to take in.

It looks like an unfinished basement. The walls surrounding me are cement, the ground a soft dirt. There are no doors or windows or openings coming in. Except for the rather large and ominous opening on the other side of where I’m standing.

I try to figure out which direction is what. If I’m guessing right, the opening is toward the back of the house, which means it’s a couple stories underground.

What if it connects to the other passageway?

There’s a part of me that thinks this is pretty cool. In the same way I think a movie that gets me to stop breathing is pretty cool.

There’s another part of me that wants some answers.

I listen and can’t hear anything. No voices, no laughter, no wind.

Then I hear Midnight barking.

That’s when I realize that it’s pretty easy to hear what’s going on above.

That’s also when I realize beyond any doubt whatsoever that the laughter I heard the other night was real, and it came from where I’m standing right now.