Page 26 of The House That Held Her

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I reach for the heavy handle first, but quickly realize the door itself isn’t fully shut. Surprised the wind hasn’t forced it open yet, I gently push the door inward. The hinges groan so loudly it makes my spine prickle, the echo rippling through every dark corner inside. A suffocating, stale smell pours out—a nauseating cocktail of wood rot, mildew, and something sharp and metallic that sets my nerves on high alert.

Shannon crinkles her nose, covering it with her hand. I grope along the wall and find a switch. With a reluctant click, dusty overhead bulbs flicker awake, throwing a jaundiced light across the room. I narrow my eyes, struggling to see in the weak glow. The bulbs buzz, fighting to stay lit, but they reveal just enough for us to take in the drapes of spiderwebs and the shadows lurking in every corner. Curtains, thick with dust, weigh down the windows, soaking up what little light there is.

“This place is giving me the creeps,” Shannon whispers, her voice barely above a breath. “It feels like the Tower of Terror at Disney—minus, ya know, the whole fun ride part.”

I give a small nod, my throat too dry to speak. A thick, oppressive energy throbs all around us, like the walls themselves are sneaking closer to us whenever we look away. We walk deeper in, each footstep echoing unnaturally loud. Every room we pass seems haunted by the same story—drapes of darkness, forgotten furniture, and crooked family photos. There’s a silence so deep it rings in my ears.

I pause at a line of photos along the hallway. Faces stare back from behind the glass: George, his little sister Amelia, and their parents, Normand and Dorothy. Their smiles are so forced it almost hurts to look at them. The nerve endings on my head start to prickle.

“Margot…look.” Shannon’s voice quivers behind me.

She stands at the base of the stairs, gaze pinned to a dark stain pooled across the worn floorboards. Even in this dim light, it’s unmistakable, the color and shape telling a bleak story.

“Is that…” Her voice cracks before she can finish the last word.

I nod. “Blood. This is definitely where Amelia and Dorothy both died.”

My stomach twists. Every step I take sends a new wave of fear shuddering through my body. My eyes dart around, half-expecting some ghastly figure to lunge from the shadows.

We stop at the basement door. I feel cold air seeping through the gap beneath it, like a warning. My hand hovers over the doorknob, and a strange pulse in my temples makes the door look like it’s breathing. Shannon rests a hand on my shoulder, silently reminding me we’re in this together. I grit my teeth and push the door open. It groans on its hinges, revealing a steep descent into darkness.

A surge of frigid air smacks me square in the face, laced with an overpowering coppery stench that makes my eyes water. The smell clings to my tongue, thick and nauseating. I gag, swallowing the bitter tang of fear. Shannon tries for a shaky joke. “Silver lining: if this is how I die, at least I won’t have to pay off my student loans.”

I force a weak snort. “Your parents paid for your college, you idiot,” I mutter, but my voice trembles, betraying my terror.

“Shhh!” she hisses, flashing me a taut grin as she starts down the steps.

Each step groans an ominous welcome, and a wet sloshing noise grows louder with every footfall, like we’re closing in on something vile and alive. The darkness presses in, crawling over my skin, setting every nerve aflame. With three steps left to go, I freeze.

There, against the far wall, something shifts. A shadow. And it’s not ours.

“Shannon,” I whisper, the word barely making it past the dryness in my throat, “do you see that?”

She squints into the gloom, eyes wide, and nods. My chest constricts so tightly I can hardly breathe. Someone else is down here. The thought ricochets through my head, turning every heartbeat into a thunderclap.

Forcing myself to move, I edge onto the next stair. The shape along the wall jerks, then stops cold, like it senses me. My lungs burn, but I’m terrified to breathe, as though even the slightest sound might trigger something unspeakable.

Click. The basement plunges into absolute blackness, so intense that for a moment I’m not sure I still exist. My ears ring with silence. My hands grope blindly in front of me.

“Shannon?” I rasp, my voice cracks in fear.

“I’m here,” she calls, shaky but audible.

Then I hear it—the ragged, heavy breaths of a stranger, prowling along the wall, inching closer. My stomach lurches violently. Every hair on my body stands on end. It’s the primal fear of being hunted, of prey cornered in a predator’s den.

I shuffle urgently toward Shannon, but the darkness feels alive, twisting us apart. My arms wave through emptiness. We’re both off the stairs now, but I can’t tell how far into the room we actually are.

“Shannon?” I call again, more desperate this time.

“Margot, stay close!” she says, voice barely above a hiss.

Suddenly, someone—something—charges up the stairs. The thunder of footsteps explodes above us, and the door slams shut, leaving an even deeper hush behind. I’m suffocating in this void, my heart hammering so violently I think it might burst out of my chest.

I swallow, forcing my dry throat to speak. “Shannon?”

“I’m here.” Her voice is nearer, a thin lifeline in the dark. “Hold on.”

I hear her fumbling, the clink of her phone. Then, a flash of light explodes from the phone’s screen, illuminating her pale, terrified face for a heartbeat. Her eyes are wild, sweat carving tracks through the dust on her cheeks. Before either of us can speak, the phone slips from her fingers, smashing screen-first onto the floor. Everything goes black once more.

“Fuck!” Shannon curses. “Hold on, I’ll find it.”

I shuffle forward, feeling the walls closing in. My foot strikes against something and I stumble. My knee collides with cold porcelain, sending a jarring shock up my leg. Biting back a yelp, I reach down and trace my fingers along a curved edge—an antique claw-foot bathtub.

A wave of dread slams into me. In the darkness, my fingertips graze something wet and viscous, smearing across my skin. Blood, I know it without even needing to see the liquid. My stomach turns inside out. I jerk my hand away, struggling not to vomit as my mind whirls with awful possibilities. The stench intensifies—a sickly mixture of rust and decomposition that clogs my lungs.

Just when I’m sure I can’t take another second, Shannon manages to flip the breaker on the wall. Dim, flickering light floods the basement, and in that moment, I see the tub for what it is: a horror show splashed with crimson. My breath falters, and my vision swims.

“Margot, don’t look!” Shannon cries, her voice trembling with pure panic.

But it’s already too late. My eyes latch onto the figure slumped in the bathtub. An adult man—headless. Smeared trails of blood snake from the jagged stump at his neck, winding up the stairs like a grotesque path leading out of this dungeon. My gaze drifts to his limp left arm draped over the tub’s edge only inches from my face. And resting exactly where it should be—between his pinky and middle fingers—sits my husband’s wedding ring.