Although I couldn’t see something told me I definitely wasn’t alone in the cellar. I felt a presence that was stronger than anything I’ve ever experienced. There was only a few bottles of wine of had to bring up for the service, but the suspense of the dimly lit room made me confused. “Where was the door?” I asked looking around. Until I heard a voice say “that way.” I quickly ran up the stairs until I saw a waiter at the stop of the stairs. “Oh are you hearing voices again” he laughed. I knew something was lurking but what was unknown.

Although I couldn’t see, something told me that I definitely wasn’t alone in the cellar.

It was pitch black and darkness surrounded every coner of the room. I was as blind as a bat down here and couldn’t even see my hand waving in front of my face. Yet, I new that someone— or something was in here with me. I could feel it. Like when you walking into a room late for something and can feel everyone staring at you. That’s how I felt, like something was watching me, judging me.

I curled myself up into a ball and started rocking back and forth. Who was in here and what did they want with me?

Exactly one hour ago, I had been skipping merrily through the woods near my new house collecting wood for a fire. I had begun to walk down the trail to my house when I heard my mothers voice call out. “Sylvia! Hurry, I’m in the cellar!” She cried, “come quickly, you’ll want to see this!” I thought that it was strange she was down in the cellar, we don’t usually like to go down there, it was almost impossible to see everything and gave a spooky essence.

I ran quickly down the path and once I arrived home I grabbed a nearby candle and lit it. I opened the door to the cellar and slowly began to walk down. “Mother?” I called out careful not to slip on the crooked stairs. “Down here, Slyvia!” My mother called out from the far end of the cellar. I had reached the bottom step and waved my candle around the room, the fire lit the whole place up, but I didn’t see my mother. That’s strange, I thought as I started to head back up the stairs. Suddenly, I froze. The door to the cellar gave a loud screech as it closed, but that’s not what had scared me. Just before the door closed my mother voice came from upstairs. “Sylvia, I’m back! Where are you?” She called out for me. If my mother had just gotten home than what had called me down here? The candle suddenly went out.

Now, I tried to steady my breathing as I tightened my hands grasp on the candle. Even if whatever is down here tried to attack me, I couldn’t chase it off with a candle, but it made me feel safer. “Mother!” My voice shaked with fear as I yelled, “where are you? Please, mother, I’m in the cellar!” No response. Tears began to stream down my face. I cried not just because I felt sorry for myself but also because I no longer knew if my mother was alright. But first things first, if I made it out of here, I could find my mother. I let go of the candle to wipe the tears off my face. But the candle never hit the ground.

I felt around for it. Nothing. Very suddenly, I felt a coldness draw closer causeing my to shiver. “No use in trying,” I dark and evil voice echoed, “they’ll never find you here.” My face grew pale and everything went fuzzy.

Not one thing in this house has stirred since then, not one thing moved, and not one living thing went near this house. Legends and stories say that an evil magic guards this house, and kills anyone who tries to take the house away from it.

“Although I couldn’t see, something told me that I definitely wasn’t alone in the cellar.” I hear footsteps going around me until they stop. Suddenly a spark of fire appeared in front of my face and in front of the fire I see a girl. She had blond hair that look like she got into a fight. Her white skin face had dirt. Her green eyes were dull, but I thought I could see her green eyes shine through a little bit. And finally her smile looked like a smirk and sinister one. She walks backwards with that smile still there. My eyes follow her and I see on the left side of her is a leaver. She pulls it down and a single light in the cellar on top turns on.

She moves back to me and her smile goes back to natural smile. “I have never seen you before. Who are you?” Her voice was hoarse and sounded almost like a witch. “My name is Penny.” I said. I look at her with unease. “Well, it’s nice to meet you Penny. I’m Cassandra. You must be the one the voices told me about.” She starts a creepy laugh.

I look down at her pocket and see her pulling a knife, but before I could react she runs up and stabs me in my right shoulder. I scream out in pain as I run backwards. I look around to see if there’s a key or something that could get me away from this crazy lady. “Come back, Penny. We just getting to know each other. And I think you’re really special. And besides it only hurts for a few minutes and you’ll be done.” She rushes up to me again and as much I tried to dodge her punch, she was too fast.

I fell to the ground and the world started spinning around. My eyes blurred as I see the lady walking up towards me singing My Sunshine. I start to scream,as she stabs me. I try calling for help, but no one came. As I start to see black, my screams start to slowly get quieter until I her say”You’re special.” And I stop screaming and seeing black.

Although, jerald couldn’t see, something told him that he definitely wasn’t alone in the cellar. It was dark, too dark and big. The ground underneath him was made of rock and he heard it. He stayed completely still and silent in his corner straining his ears.

He heard the scratches and rocks tumbling as the creature moved towards him. He was cold, wet, and terrified. His muscles were aching and eyes were drooping. He didn’t know how he got in this deep, dark room. The only certainty was that he was going to die to whatever made that noise.

He extended his arm out to see if it was there. He touched something and he withdrew his hand. Nothing happened. He put his arm back and touched a cold, rough, flat wall. He touched another wall to his left and something metal to his right; the door. He realized that he had not heard a physical creature, he had heard his inner voices.

They lurked in his mind whispering things and making noises. They tried to make him give up, to die, but he didn’t know what to do. He would have to make a choice. He had to live and be tortured to death by his capturers or kill himself in this pit with his thoughts.

He chose the latter.

In the dim, musty cellar, my eyes strained in vain to pierce the enveloping darkness. The cold, clammy air clung to my skin, and a shiver ran down my spine. Although I couldn't see, something told me that I definitely wasn't alone in the cellar. It was as if an invisible presence lurked in the shadows, waiting to reveal its secrets, and I was about to uncover a mystery that would change my life forever. My name is Sarah, and I had stumbled upon this cellar while exploring an old, abandoned mansion on the outskirts of town. The place had always been rumored to be haunted, and as an adventurous soul, I couldn't resist the temptation to investigate. As I descended the rickety wooden staircase, I felt a strange sensation, an inexplicable feeling that I wasn't alone.

With every step I took, the darkness seemed to grow thicker, more suffocating. I reached for my flashlight, but it remained stubbornly off, betraying me in my hour of need. My heart raced as I continued my descent, relying on touch and instinct to guide me through the obscurity.

Just as I was about to reconsider my choice and turn back, I heard a soft, almost imperceptible whisper, like the rustling of leaves on a still night. "Who's there?" I called out, my voice trembling. The silence that followed was deafening, and I questioned whether I had imagined the sound. Yet, deep down, I knew I had not. Someone, or something, was down here with me.

I took a cautious step forward, my hands outstretched in search of any solid surface. My fingers brushed against cold, damp stone, and I followed the wall, tracing its rough texture as I moved deeper into the cellar. The air grew even colder, and my breath formed ghostly clouds before me.

The whispers continued, growing in volume and urgency. I strained to make out the words, but they were muffled and indistinct. My pulse quickened, and I wondered if I should flee, but my curiosity was an anchor that kept me rooted in place.

As I ventured further into the cellar, my fingers touched something unexpected – a door. It was solid and imposing, and for a moment, I hesitated. What could be behind it? The whispers seemed to emanate from this very spot, and the temptation to uncover their source was irresistible.

I gripped the doorknob, turning it with a creak that echoed through the cellar. The door opened slowly, revealing a hidden chamber bathed in a faint, eerie light. My heart pounded as I stepped inside, and the whispers now coalesced into audible words.

"Help us," they implored, a chorus of voices filled with despair. I realized with a shock that the source of the whispers was not human. The room was filled with the faint, flickering apparitions of figures who appeared to be from a bygone era. Their transparent forms were dressed in tattered, antiquated clothing, and their eyes held a pleading expression that sent a shiver down my spine.

I watched in astonishment as they drifted toward me, their ethereal hands outstretched. "Who are you?" I managed to stammer, my voice barely above a whisper.

"We are the lost souls of this mansion," one of them replied, his voice trembling with a sadness that transcended the grave. "We have been trapped here for centuries, unable to find peace."

The story they told was one of tragedy and betrayal. The mansion had once been a place of opulence, owned by a wealthy family. But as the spirits revealed, the family's fortune had been built on the suffering of others, and their greed had led to unspeakable cruelty.

As the apparitions recounted their tales of woe, I felt a deep sympathy for their plight. Their pleas for help tugged at my heartstrings, and I knew I couldn't turn my back on them. I asked how I could assist, and they directed me to a hidden compartment in the room, where a series of old, dusty journals lay.

"These journals hold the truth of our suffering," one of the spirits said. "If you can uncover the secrets they hold and bring our story to light, perhaps we can finally find the peace we seek."

With trembling hands, I picked up the first journal and began to read. The entries revealed a harrowing account of abuse, greed, and treachery. It was a tale of family members turning against each other, of innocent lives sacrificed for the pursuit of wealth, and of a mansion tainted by a dark legacy. Over the following days, I delved deeper into the journals, determined to uncover the truth of the mansion's history. As I unearthed more and more secrets, I felt the presence of the spirits growing stronger, their whispers becoming words of encouragement and gratitude. With each revelation, I became more entangled in the history of the mansion. I discovered hidden passages, secret rooms, and the remnants of long-forgotten tragedies. The spirits guided me, leading me to clues that would expose the family's dark deeds and the suffering they had caused. As I delved into my research, the town began to take notice of my activities. Rumors swirled about the mansion, and soon, I had attracted the attention of historians, paranormal investigators, and even the media. They all wanted to know the truth, and together, we uncovered the full extent of the mansion's sinister past. The revelation of the family's crimes shocked the community, and the spirits in the cellar found a measure of solace as their stories were finally acknowledged. With the truth exposed, they began to fade, their apparitions growing fainter and fainter until they disappeared entirely. The mansion, once shrouded in darkness and whispers, began to transform. It was no longer a place of fear The town decided to preserve the mansion as a museum, a solemn reminder of the past and a tribute to the lost souls who had found peace at last

Although I couldn’t see, something told me that I definitely wasn’t alone in the cellar. I can feel their presence around me, their eyes watching my chained and blindfolded figure analyzing me. I can almost feel them come closer, their breathing becoming more and more audible. Before now I just assumed that it was my own breathing that I hearr, but the more I focus on it the more I can hear the two distinctly different breath patterns. The way they move around me is almost predatory, calculating my every move, like I’m their prey. Maybe I will become their prey, since they did kidnap me and chain me up down here. The closer this person gets the more on edge I feel. Suddenly I feel a second pair of eyes on me, further away, most likely watching from the top of the cellar. They stare just as coldly as the other, treating me like I am a toy or a prize of sorts. Knowing that there is two of them sends a shiver down my spine. There is no possible escape when there are at least two people watching my every move and analzing every breath I take. I am doomed. There is no hope for me now.

 Although I couldn’t see, something told me that I definitely wasn’t alone in the cellar. Frozen, I stood in front of the dryer scared to make any sort of moment. They say your other senses heighten when one is useless. I never really noticed that until this moment. And I will never forget it. My ears located the tiniest of sounds and movements. Like a cat who cocks its head and twitches its ear after hearing the pitter-patter of tiny mouse feet through the wall. Noise people shouldn’t be able to hear. But I was hearing them. It’s like my body evolved thousands of years in mere seconds to maintain its safety.  

 But, against my better judgment, I turned the dryer on after throwing the soaking heap of clothes inside. Grabbing my guide cane, I swiftly move to the stairs trying to ignore the heavy energy I felt in the basement; and although it was involuntary, slamming the door. 

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 A few days pass with no sounds or feelings of another presence in the house. And why would there be? Twenty years in this house and I have never felt this way before.

“I’m being ridiculous”, I say aloud to myself as I stare in the direction of the door leading to the cellar with a basket of laundry in my arms.

 I open the door, but slowly. Tapping my way down the stairs with my cane, even though I don’t need to, I feel a bead of sweat drip down my face. 

 I reach the floor and start tapping again. Floor. Floor. Floor. Floor. Flo….. what the hell is that? I know this house more than I know myself. If I move something, I immediately put it back after use. Nothing is ever out of place in this house. 

 I gasp quietly and stop myself with my hand from making any more sounds. 

“He…hello”, I say in a shaky voice. I wait a few seconds before I say again, “h…”, my voice breaks, “…ello?”

 I hear something. Just barely. I focus on this noise trying to understand what it is. It sounded like someone snoring, very quietly.... like breathing. It started to get louder, but only slightly. And then a small, but present, puff of warm air brushed my face like a hay broom. It smelled of cigarettes and bourbon. 

 I immediately drop the laundry basket and bolt up the stairs, miscounting the stairs on the way up and tripping into the kitchen. 

 “Fuck…”, I touch my nose and repeat the same word only louder, “fuck!”

I touch my shirt to be greeted by a warm liquid, only what I can assume to be blood. I lick my lips. Iron. 

 Suddenly, I feel a tight grip on my ankles and am violently dragged down the stairs by an unknown force. Thrashing my head on every stair as I plummet down, I start to scream but am stopped by the blood filling my mouth. Gurgling and bubbling like I was drowning. 

 I make it to the bottom. Turning my head to the side, I spit out the blood that was filling my mouth. A few minutes pass by while I’m on the cold, cement floor in front of the stairs. The temperature of the cement soothes my throbbing wounds, but only for a second. My body starts sliding on the cement towards the middle of the cellar, which, like a chain reaction, causes me to scream. 

 I am thrown up against the wall, head slamming back on the sharp brick. I feel more blood flowing down my back like a waterfall of molten lava. 

This person-if I can even call them that-grabs a fist full of my hair and thrusts my head back into the brick again. 

 A mixture of blood, sweat, tears, and snot covers my face. I manage to get the word, “p..please” out of my mouth, spitting blood. They bash my head against the brick again.

 I’m on the ground now, my entire body throbbing. I point my face to the ceiling. My mouth hangs open and then suddenly, things start to take shape. 

 The piping on the ceiling becomes more and more visible every second. I turn my head and squint at the window. Morning sunlight peaks through the little glass pane and onto my face. 

 I took a few seconds scanning the room, at how neat everything was. This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

 “This wasn’t supposed to happen”, I whisper, spitting blood when trying to form the ’p’ sound. I start to cry.

 My life was structured. Everything was neat. I was always on time and everything that I have done was supposed to happen. 

 “This wasn’t supposed to happen”, I spatter again.

 I felt a presence over my body and slowly turn my head up toward the ceiling to see who was standing over me. To see who did this to me. And to see who was most likely about to kill me. 

My eyes focus on the figure above me. But before my brain could make a connection, they kick me in the face. Two more times in the chest. I can no longer feel pain. I am completely and utterly numb. 

 Laying on the ground in the fetal position, I look across the cellar at what looks like a mattress. And I notice now that I am laying on some kind of tarp. I haven’t been alone for a while.

 I turn to lay on my back, using up the rest of my strength. My vision is blurred and my breathing is interrupted by phlegm and blood coating my throat. 

 The figure appears above me again, this time sitting down, straddling me. They get close to my ear. I hear the labored breathing of a smoker and a voice that whispers, “I’m sorry mom.”

I look above my son's head to see a knife, raised in his hands above him. My eyes widen and I gasp for air trying to find the strength to move. But I cannot.

 The knife swiftly falls toward my body and into my chest; tearing my flesh and cracking through bones. I let out a groan because that is all I can do. 

      . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

 Standing over my fountain of a mother, I watch as the blood gushed from her chest. Her breathing gets more violent as she tries to gasp for just one more breath of air. And then, everything was still. Everything was quiet. 

 It was time to get to work. And I had to work fast. Running to the sink in the basement, I wash off my blood-soaked gloves and the knife stained by my mother. I walk over to the tarp she was on and drag it to the bucket.

 I made sure everything was ready. Every detail and every plan was followed. Nothing could go wrong. 

 The bucket of hydrofluoric acid sits in the farthest corner from the door and waits for my mother. I pop it open and without thinking, pick her up and drop her in.

 The reaction was immediate, and so was the smell. The acid bubbled and sizzled, letting off a vapor that smelled of burnt flesh. I maneuvered her limbs to fully fit inside the bucket and closed the lid. 

 After cleaning the cellar, I cleaned it again. And again. I cleaned the kitchen 3 times and every doorknob in the house 4 times. I made sure that my presence inside the house would be impossible to trace. 

 The house fell silent for days. I needed to wait until she was liquified to return. Until it was like she never existed. The way it should've been.

Although I couldn’t see, something told me that I wasn’t alone in the cellar. Maybe it was the way the water changed tones as it dripped from the pipe onto the ground. Perhaps it was how before my flashlight had died I had come down here to investigate what had caused the ruckus I had heard. The cellar was damp and musty, not a single thing of value down here but heirlooms were placed in totes on the floor. The door upstairs had slammed shut all the light that had once flooded down the staircase whisked away in one movement. But now as I stood holding my breath I could hear it. The faint steps masked by soft breathing. The sound of metal bumping concrete making my skin become riddled in goosebumps. Whatever, or whoever was with me in my cellar was not happy, and my heart betrayed me as it beat fast enough to run out of my body. “Hello?” I whispered into the dark. No reply came but the noises stopped abruptly. Panic surged through my veins, and before I could move I was unable to speak. My hands gripping at my throat as I felt the warm liquid seep down my neck. It was thick and goopy making it hard to breath, my lungs felt like I was drowning. The soft chuckle making my heart thump faster as I fought for air. I stumbled around finding the stairs as I climbed them, begging to make it into the living room before I suffocated. Before I reached the top my vision became spotty. The light that filtered under the door warm as I collapsed taking my last blood filled breath as I succumbed to the warmth.

Although I couldn’t see, something told me that I definitely wasn’t alone in the cellar. It wasn’t that I could see it, but more that I could feel it. It started slowly at first. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. And I felt the frenetic energy of anxiety, a need to act. But I didn’t know how to act or why I felt that way. I couldn’t see a threat in the dark.

As I tried to maneuver my way around the dark room to look for a door or a light switch I felt it for the first time. The feeling of being watched. The feeling of eyes on you when you move. My breath came faster, shorter. I felt my feet stumble, nerves overtaking me as I searched for a way out.

I thought I heard something. Shuffling of feet that weren’t mine. Ragged breathing that didn’t belong to me. Was that a growl?

And then there was the smell. Subtle at first. Just a little unsettling. And then stronger. The smell of something old. The smell of something metallic. Blood. Decay. My stomach flipped.

I clenched my eyes closed, sending out a silent plea for help. Scuffling of feet as I stood still. Claws sliding across the floor. An exhale of something foul, breath across my face.

I let out a scream just before I felt the pain. Claws slashing though clothes. Teeth gliding through flesh. A wet squelch before I knew I would be contributing to the fear down here, to the smell. I would be a new set of eyes to watch from the dark.

Everything is still and silent. Sound being drowned out by the pressing of the darkness. The cellar has always been humid, making the air sticky and inescapable like an itch. Footsteps approach and he kneels to the ground shelf to find something. He believes he is alone, though I know better. He never comes here, never feeling the usually humidity, or smelling the usual decay or rust. He will be the death of me, as I will be to him. I’ve been chained to him for so long, staying silent while he takes no notice of my presence. I like the loneliness that he seems to despise, I like the unknown of the darkness that he seems to fear, I like the press of the crowded humidity that he seems to run from. All I have to fear or despise or run from is the brilliance that is his pride, it burns me, drys me, keeps me aware, the feelings I so hate. He will be the death of me, but only if he realizes he could be.