Page 57 of The House That Held Her

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I push farther down the tunnel, and I can’t be positive, but it feels like the water is rising the deeper I go. Initially, it was just my feet sinking into cold puddles, but now it sloshes around my ankles, making my skin prickle. Every drop of water that drips from the low ceiling mingles with the beads of sweat on my neck, and I can’t tell which is which. Fear or rain—either way, it’s soaking me in a clammy dread.

The darkness hangs onto me like a living thing. With no idea how far this tunnel goes, I can’t shake the mental image of floodwaters creeping higher until I’m forced to swim. And while I was a lifeguard back in high school, it’s been many years since I needed to swim for any significant period of time.

That scream—God, that piercing, female scream echoing through these walls—it could be coming from anywhere. My breathing grows labored, my heart hammering like a caged animal as I inch forward unable to see more than an inch or two in front of me.

Eventually, I feel the space in front of me shift. I pull out the phone to see if I can make sense of the shapes ahead. The tunnel splits in two. I could continue forward or take a hard left that leads to what appear to be steps; how many or where they lead, I have no idea. But the sight of those stairs makes my heart skip with hope. Stairs mean an exit—maybe a way out of here.

I stand there, drenched and trembling, listening for that scream again, but I only hear rainwater echoing through the rocks. Deciding to follow my gut, I choose left and start climbing. My relief is short-lived. After a few steps, I plant my foot to rise onto the next stair—and my boot lands on empty air. I lurch forward, panicking as my arms flail. Instead of dropping into another pit, I smack onto a sloping floor that cuts right off from the step I missed.

I stay crouched for a moment, breath catching in my throat. Then I notice tiny pinpricks of light up ahead. The weird angles and absolute blackness mess with my depth perception. My brain spins, imagining what I must look like to anyone watching. I shuffle forward in a half-crouch, arms out, trying to avoid invisible drops or sudden obstacles.

The glimmers of light grow larger, like bullet holes in a wall that let splinters of illumination through. Seeing them calms me for a moment. Even if they’re not an escape route, they’re the marking of life outside of this blackness. That tiny comfort vanishes the instant another scream pierces the silence. This time, it ricochets from behind me, not ahead.

My pulse spikes again. How could the disembodied voice be behind me now? Is there another hidden entry, another secret path carved into these walls? I freeze in place, torn between the faint hope of what’s ahead and the undeniable fact that my gut, once again, steered me in the wrong direction.

I stare at the pinholes of light. They beckon me with the potential of warmth and freedom. It would be so easy to keep going, slip through some hidden door somewhere, and escape this watery crypt. But I know why I’m here. I’m not the same coward who stood paralyzed in that basement, watching as Walter murdered Patrick. This time, I’m the man who’s willing to wade into terror for the sake of saving a life.

My jaw clenches. One last glance at the light, then I turn around. The steps behind me loom like an ominous descent, each step back down darker, wetter, more dangerous. I brace myself, practically sitting on the edges of each stair so I don’t miss another break in the floor. Once I’m down, I steer myself left, heading deeper into the unknown rather than returning to the main basement I came from.

The water’s higher here—maybe it’s pouring in from the storm, or maybe this section is just lower ground. Regardless, I push forward, steps noisy as the water drenches me up to mid-shin now. Then another scream rings out, closer this time. My blood turns cold, but at least I know I’m on the right track. Someone needs help, and I’m getting closer

Clutching the flip phone, the pallid glow trembling with my shaking hand, I walk on. Water drips, fears swirl, and that desperate cry for help drives me forward through the rising flood, faster and faster.