Why do the stairs lead to floors that shouldn't exist? What makes the basement walls shift in impossible ways? How do the shadows climb the walls against gravity? Why do the rooms change their positions each night? What causes the house to grow new rooms when unobserved?
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Margaret inherited the house from a great-aunt she’d never met, along with a single rule: never open the basement door. The brass key hung on a hook by the kitchen window, tarnished black with age, but when she tried it, the lock wouldn’t turn.
The first week passed peacefully. Margaret settled into the ground floor, using the second as storage. She never climbed to the third floor—something about the narrow staircase filled her with inexplicable dread.
The scratching began on Tuesday.
At first, she blamed mice. But mice didn’t scratch in perfect rhythm, didn’t pause when she held her breath listening. The sound came from deep within the walls, a methodical scraping like fingernails on wood.
Thursday brought new sounds from above. Footsteps, slow and deliberate, pacing back and forth across the third floor. Margaret grabbed a flashlight and climbed the stairs, her heart hammering. The floorboards creaked under her weight, dust motes dancing in the beam. Empty rooms stretched before her, undisturbed for decades.
But the footsteps continued overhead.
On Friday, she found gouges in the basement door. Deep scratches, as if something had clawed desperately from within. The brass key felt warm in her palm, almost eager. She pressed her ear to the wood and heard breathing—slow, patient, waiting.
Margaret tried the key again. This time, it turned.
The door swung open to reveal nothing but darkness and the overwhelming smell of earth. Stone steps descended into black. As her eyes adjusted, she saw them—hundreds of scratches covering every surface, desperate marks carved by whatever had been trapped below.
The breathing stopped.
In the silence, Margaret realized her mistake. The door hadn’t been locked to keep her out.
It had been locked to keep something in.
Behind her, the basement door swung shut with a gentle click. The footsteps above began again, but now they were descending—from the third floor, to the second, to the first.
Coming to welcome her home.
