Clara Bennett's heart pounded as she stood in the kitchen doorway, staring at the trapdoor in the floor. The rusted iron handle seemed to glow in the weak afternoon light, as if daring her to lift it again. Dust motes danced in the beam of her flashlight, and the rest of the house lay silent—too silent.
She set down her mug of cold coffee and stepped forward. The lock, which she'd drilled free only hours ago, was now gone. A heavy wooden board lay nearby, the handyman's makeshift barricade. Clara picked it up, moved the boxes and dresser that blocked the hatch, and set the board aside.
Below, she could almost feel that same pulse of expectation she'd sensed by the well in the backyard. Trembling, she flipped open the trapdoor. A rush of damp, musty air spilled up, carrying the scent of earth and something more… ancient. She hesitated, then clicked on her flashlight and descended the steep, creaking stairs.
At the bottom, the beam revealed a low-ceilinged cellar. Walls of rough stone were lined with empty shelves and dusty crates. In the far corner, half-hidden beneath a tarpaulin, sat a second well—smaller than the one outside but no less ominous. Its rim was slick with dark green moss, and the wooden pulley above it was coated in rust.
Clara swallowed hard. Her pulse echoed in her ears. Every instinct screamed to flee, but she forced herself forward, shining the light over the scene. Jars of decayed fruit and pickled roots lined the shelves; a broken lantern lay on its side. She knelt beside the well and aimed the beam into the blackness.
Nothing. Just depth.
She raised the flashlight higher. A faint movement at the edge of her vision made her jerk back.
"Hello?" she called, voice unsteady. "Is someone there?"
Silence.
Then—soft scraping, like fingernails on stone.
Clara froze. Her breath caught. She shone the light around, nerves coiling tighter. The sound came again, directly from the well below.
She leaned over the rim. "I'm not leaving until I know you're okay," she whispered.
The scraping stopped. A drop of water plopped onto the stone lip. Clara's eyes widened as the ripples in the dark water below reflected an indistinct shape—something pale. She gasped and stumbled back, the beam tilting wildly.
"Get out… get out…" a voice hissed, so low she barely heard it.
Her flashlight flickered, and in the instant the beam died, Clara felt something brush her leg. She shrieked, kicked wildly, and scrambled up the stairs, slamming the trapdoor shut behind her. Her flashlight clattered down the stairs, its beam dancing in the darkness.
She shoved the board and the sofa back over the hatch, heart hammering. Her hands shook so badly she could hardly hold her phone to call Eli.
He answered on the first ring. "Mom? Is everything okay?"
She pressed a hand to her mouth. "I—I heard something down there," she stammered. "I'm locking it again. Promise I'll be up soon."
Eli's voice trembled: "I'm scared."
"I know, baby. It's okay. I'll come upstairs."
She climbed the stairs with slow, cautious steps, every creak amplified in her ears. In the hallway, she paused beside Eli's closed door. He lay wide awake on his bed, flashlight on his chest, eyes fixed on her.
"Mom," he whispered. "It called my name again. Right here, like it was in the room."
Clara's throat constricted. She fought tears. "I'm so sorry, Eli. I will fix this."
That night, she padded downstairs with Eli clutching her hand. She lit every lamp in the living room and stacked chairs against the trapdoor. She tucked a heavy blanket under the crack and taped it shut, then sat on the couch with Eli between her legs, both wrapped in quilts.
They waited. The wind rattled the windows. The trees outside tapped like skeletal fingers. At 2:44 a.m., a soft whisper came up from below, drifting through the floorboards:
"Help me… Clara…"
Clara's heart felt like lead. She squeezed Eli's hand and whispered back, "We're here. We hear you."
But the voice only laughed—a dry, hollow sound that rattled every bone in her body.
At dawn, they watched pale light creep through the curtains. Clara kissed Eli's forehead. "We're safe for now," she said, though her voice shook. "Tomorrow, I'll find a way to end it."
Behind her, the trapdoor lay unmoving, but Clara knew the danger wasn't gone. The voice beneath the floor was patient. It only needed time.