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The kitchen made the situation stranger.

A clean mug waited upside down beside the sink. The bin and fridge were empty. I had just checked the cupboards when the kettle switched itself on.

I stopped several feet away from it.

A cupboard door opened above the counter, revealing tea bags and a single clean mug.

“That feels presumptuous.”

The kettle continued heating. I left the kitchen before the house could take my refusal personally.

The estate office stood at the end of the rear corridor. A faded blue mark beside the lock matched one of Edith’s smaller keys.

Inside, modern filing cabinets covered one wall. A printer and computer sat on a heavy wooden desk, both unplugged. The room contained no personal papers, framed photographs or abandoned coffee cups. Whoever maintained Harrowmere came here to work and took every trace away afterwards.

I read Edith’s instruction again.

Move the cabinet nearest the window. Use the old key where the two lines cross.

The cabinet looked fixed in place, but the recessed handle released a hidden catch. The whole unit rolled forwards on concealed runners.

“Of course it does.”

A black metal plate had been set into the wall behind it. Two engraved lines crossed in the middle. The mark matched the symbol worked into the bow of Edith’s oldest key.

I took the key from my bag.

It fitted into a narrow opening I hadn’t noticed until I held it close. The lock turned by itself before I could apply any pressure.

Part of the wall moved inwards.

Cold air slipped through the gap. A flight of stone steps descended below the office, wide enough for two people to walk side by side. Electric bulbs ran along the ceiling inside old iron brackets. The first one came on as the opening widened.

The title plans showed solid ground under this part of the house.

Edith had owned Harrowmere for decades. Hiding an entire level under it required money, help and a commitment to lying that was impressive even by her standards.

I stayed in the office and aimed my phone down the steps. The screen showed stone walls, a turn in the staircase and nothing moving.

“Is anyone down there?”

Silence answered.

I wasn’t going below an unfamiliar house alone because my grandmother had left a dramatic note. I had a photograph of the entrance and proof that the plans were wrong. I could return with someone qualified to inspect it.

Metal scraped under the floor.

A thin, broken whine followed.

I stopped halfway to the office door.

The sound came again. It was rough and uneven, like a dog trying to pull against a chain. An animal could have entered through a broken vent or slipped past the contractors and found its way into the hidden level.

It was more believable than the alternatives in Edith’s letter.

I returned to the opening but kept both feet in the office. “I can hear you. Stay where you are.”

The scraping stopped.