The key sat near the garbage bags,

Half-buried in damp leaves,

It’s metal slick with something dark.

I shouldn’t have picked it up.

It was heavier than it should be,

As if it had been waiting,

As if it had a purpose.

I walked around my house to see which keyhole it fit in,

But none took the key.

Then I remembered,

“The basement.”

The basement door was locked.

I had never seen a keyhole before.

Had it always been there?

Had I just never looked close enough?

The key fit perfectly.

The door groaned open,

Air curling up the stairs like breath,

Damp, sour, and old.

A single light flickered below.

I stepped down.

The walls were wet.

The floor sighed beneath me.

A shape moved in the dark,

Something shifting against the concrete,

Dragging itself closer.

I turned to run-

But the door was already shut.

The key, gone.

The flickering light buzzed off.

And in the dark, something else was breathing.