I squinted at the portion of the basement I could see in front of me.
A breathless moment.
My vision jostled.
The walls seemed to be trembling, warping, as if they might break loose and shuttle inwards at any moment.
They were painted white. As was the ceiling.
The floor had been laid with terracotta tiles.
When Sam had shown me the photographs he’d taken, I hadn’t expected it to look quite so austere.
We hadn’t included any images of the basement in the property details because Bethany had agreed with Sam that it wasn’t an area we needed to focus on.
But now I wondered: was that the real reason?
I glanced up the steps towards the door again, my stomach twisting as I thought about Sam on the other side, thinking of the noise – that click – the bolt had made and how it had seemed to chime with something inside me.
Like the lock on the bathroom door.
The one that torments you.
I swallowed too quickly.
Almost gagged.
My head was pounding.
I withdrew a shaking hand from the wall, pinched the bridge of my nose and gradually pushed up to my knees, then my feet.
The floor melted under me.
Or seemed to.
I planted my feet wide apart and put my arms out at my sides to keep my balance.
I edged forwards.
The ceiling is not coming down on you.
You’re not going to be trapped down here.
I could tell myself that but I wasn’t sure I believed it. My instincts screamed at me to cover my head as if masonry was hammering down.
I’d only taken one step but it felt as if a chasm had opened up behind me.
I peered upwards, towards the door, but I had a powerful sense there was something I needed to see down here.
Something I had to confront.
I’d read once that wolves can smell the scent of fear on the air. A musty combination of pheromones and angst given off by their prey.
On some level I was dimly aware that I could smell something similar right now, the aroma intensified and marked by the specific base notes given off by the static cellar air, the low ceiling, the brick walls and terracotta tiles.
It’s your own fear, said a voice in my head.
And then another thought.
An instinctive, olfactory warning beacon, far more powerful than any recollection I could conjure visually or access in any other way.
You’ve smelled this smell before.