Growing up Ethan never cared about the door. For one thing, it was always locked, but beyond that, it had a huge table in front of it. A table that was littered with Grandma's countless issues of "Time" magazine, unnecessary issues of "TV Guide". And prehistoric copies of "Highlights".

Dad called it junk, and Ethan remembered him bringing it up to Grandma on almost every visit.

"Ma what are you doing with all this? Who the hell needs an issue of TV guide from 1984??"

"Mom, this table is a mess. These Time magazines are older than me for Pete's Sake!"

"What the fuck are Highlights?"

Everyone loved Grandma. Her room illuminating smile, her immaculate baking of the most delicious cookies. And the warmth she provided. The warmth she gave to everyone, especially her grandchildren. A warmth that no one could replicate.

It killed Ethan when she passed. Everyone knew that it was coming. But it stung, and he thought that it would for some time.

And that was fine, he loved her. He always would.

Ethan closed the front door behind him. His eyes locked on the dark and unknown abyss that stood in front of him. Again...he'd forgotten about that door, yet here it stood. Wide-open. He remembered the table with a bunch of junk on it, but not the door.

"Dad?" Ethan shouted.

The only response was his voice echoing off the hollow and empty walls of the house that was once occupied by Grandma.

Ethan cleared his throat and made his way towards the door.

"Dad? Are you here?" Ethan repeated. And once again there was no response.

Ethan pulled out his iPhone and switched on the flashlight. He aimed it down a dark stairwell that led down to what appeared to be a basement.

Hesitation held him back, keeping him firmly planted at the top of the stairs. But this was Grandma's house. What could be down there? It couldn't be anything bad...

Right?

Of course not. This was Grandma's house after all. Ethan shook himself free from the hesitation and made his way down the stairs. The wooden stairs creaked and groaned under his weight, despite feeling sturdy. He could feel the coldness from the room as he reached the floor. He shined his light to take in his surroundings.

Ethan's mouth fell open. Like that of a puppet with no puppet master. Ethan felt his body temperature drop lower than the coldness that surrounded him. He began to shiver as his mind processed what lay before him.

The first thing he saw were the handcuffs on the bedpost, a pair on each of the four posts. Chains with leather cuffs hanging lazily above the mattress. To the right of the bed, mounted on the wall was an assortment of masks, all crafted from various leathers. Some with spherical orbs at the mouth, others with perfect round holes.

A large "X" stood at the corner, with leather bindings on each corner. A workbench stood off to the right with a robust assortment of long spherical objects that altered in size. Short, Fat, Long, and Ridiculously Long. Some so long that they slouched over like sad trees. Each one beaming with vibrant color. On the wall to his right hung an assortment of whips, ropes, and paddles, some made of wood, others made of metal. Random couches and stools littered the massive basement that Ethan had never known about.

The front door opened from upstairs. He could hear the sound of numerous voices, numerous footsteps. Ethan shook his head clear and jolted up the flight of stairs.

Standing before Ethan, in Grandma's living room was a sea of people. All wearing robes, all wearing the mask of an animal. A man in a bird mask to his right, a woman in a tiger mask to his left. A sea of safari animals stood before him.

The Lion spoke: "Ethan? Son? What are you doing here?"