The Visitor(29)

Dr. Shaw had suggested that I search the cellar for additional stereograms and I thought it was a good idea. If there were other cards to be found, maybe the images could provide more clues.

I wasn’t anxious to explore that murky cellar alone, but far better to go down there now with the sun still burning brightly in my garden. I would make quick work of the search. In and out. A matter of minutes.

It sounded so simple.

Changing into my work cargoes, I loaded my pockets with a flashlight, pepper spray and my cell phone. Then I went out into the yard and lingered among the flowers as I tried to bolster my courage.

Idling plucking a pink rose from a nearby bush, I twirled the stem between my fingers as I walked over to the cellar steps to stare down at the door while I sniffed the air for a musty odor. I smelled nothing but the sweet scent of the rose. Dropping the blossom on the top step, I slowly descended.

I unlocked the door and thrust my hand inside to grope for the light switch. The weak illumination cast by the bare bulb was hardly inviting so I hovered in the doorway, piercing the dreary corners with the flashlight beam. I saw nothing and smelled only the faintest trace of decay.

Propping open the door with a brick, I stepped inside. Macon had accomplished a lot after I’d fled. The shelves at the front of the cellar were all reinforced and neatly arranged, the discarded boxes and broken bric-a-brac piled to one side for easy transfer to the curb on trash day. I walked slowly through the gloom as I flicked the light over the crumbling brick walls, assuring myself that I was alone.

The old staircase was to the left and toward the back of the cellar in an area as yet untouched by Macon. The shelving that had been built over the boarded-up kitchen door was piled high with boxes and debris. I began to shuffle everything around, temporarily abandoning my stereogram search for a darker quest. How had something gained entrance to that stairwell from the cellar? Could there be a hidden passageway into the walls of my home?

Nothing seemed amiss at first, but then as I stood back and fanned the beam over the wall behind the now-empty shelves, I saw a crack near the floor. Dropping to my knees, I crawled under the lower shelf to get a better look, and then pried back one of the boards so that I could shine the flashlight up the rickety staircase.

Playing the beam over the kitchen door, I spotlighted the keyhole as I imagined a tiny humpback being peering in at me, somehow shriveling into something minuscule enough to scurry through my walls.

As I brought the light slowly down the stairs, a flash of fire caught my eye. The crystal bookmark—I was sure of it. Proof that something had indeed been in my bedroom and had somehow exited the house via the stairwell and cellar.

But why take the bookmark? Why leave the insect husk in its place? Was there a message in the exchange that I hadn’t yet deciphered?

At the bottom of the steps, I could see bits of cloth and shredded paper as if something had tried to make a nest there. Quelling my desire to flee the cellar, I went in search of Macon’s tools and supplies, and then, easing back under the shelf, I set to work with grim determination. Dust rained down upon me as I pounded away, but I didn’t stop until I’d thoroughly secured the stairwell.

Brushing grime and cobwebs from my hair and clothing, I returned to the front of the basement to resume my search for the cards. Even as alarm bells sounded inside me, I took my time, moving boxes around and shining my flashlight into all the dark recesses.

But the longer I remained below ground, the greater my unease. As I turned to toe a plastic carton out of my path, the light dimmed. I thought at first the overhead bulb had gone out, but then I realized that something had blocked the natural light streaming down the steps into the open doorway. I wanted to believe a cloud had passed over the sun, but I could still see ribbons of illumination trimming the edges of the door frame. Someone—or something—stood at the top of the stairs.

Slowly, I lifted my gaze to the opening, sniffing the air for a death scent. Nothing came to me and I thought—hoped—it might be Macon. I told myself to call out. What harm could it do? I wasn’t exactly hidden nor could I slip away unnoticed. I was trapped. I knew it; whoever was at the top of the steps knew it. But neither of us made a move and the only sound I heard was the drumming of my own heartbeat.

As I stood there immobile, my tongue suddenly tingled with the warm taste of cloves. I saw a flash in the doorway, an arc of reflected light, and then came a metallic ping as something hit the brick floor and bounced toward me. I glanced down warily, an icy breath whispering down my collar.





Seventeen

A brass key lay at my feet, the kind that would fit an ordinary door lock. Surely this couldn’t be the key the blind ghost had demanded I find. How could something so nondescript be my salvation?

I supposed it was human nature that I should reach for it even as Papa’s warning sounded in my head: Leave it be, child. Remember the rules. Never acknowledge the dead. Never stray far from hallowed ground. Never associate with the haunted. And never, ever tempt fate.

Too late. My fingers had already closed around the metal.

As I straightened, a shaft of sunlight from the doorway caught the brass. For a moment, the thing seemed to dance in my hand. The radiance mesmerized and I stood transfixed, helpless to combat whatever dark force had entered my life.

Put it back, Amelia. The door that can be unlocked by that key could very well lead to your destruction. Return it and leave the cellar without looking back.