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The unfrosted cake was typically made to celebrate the New Year, and like a British Christmas pudding it contained a coin that would bring luck to the person who found it. Not that she really thought it would help, but it was a nice idea and it would give her something to do.
As she turned towards the oven, something flickered in the corner of her eye. A chill ran down her spine, and she sighed. No matter what Damian believed, she was absolutely convinced that the house was haunted. She was equally convinced that the ghost was trying to communicate with them, although she had no idea what it was trying to say. Was there some hidden meaning in the perpetually open bathroom window? Or the way her brush kept popping up in unexpected places?
“I don’t suppose you could just leave me a message?” she asked the silent kitchen.
Of course there was no reply, but that didn’t change the fact that she felt as if someone were watching. The last time she’d felt like that, she’d been right, even if it turned out to be Damian. Why was he so convinced that ghosts didn’t exist?
Another flicker, but this time it seemed to be coming from the pantry. She cautiously opened the door and turned on the lights but nothing seemed out of place. At least while she was here she could gather the ingredients for her cake. She reached for the flour—and an apple fell to the floor, the thud echoing in the small space. Her heart started to race. How had that happened? Was the barrel overstocked?
Everything appeared perfectly normal, but that didn’t quiet her racing heart. She bent down to pick up the apple and as she did, she noticed a very faint square outline on the floor. Was this the cellar where the woman’s body had been found? She’d read about it in the article, but she’d always assumed it had been filled in. Maybe it was just a trap door?
She ran her fingernails cautiously around the edge, trying to see if she could pry it open but it didn’t move, which must mean there was a catch of some kind. If she could find it, she could surprise Damian when he returned. She stepped back, studying the floor. There had to be a handle or knob or lever somewhere.
Nothing. She kneeled next to the square and ran her fingers across the floor, then up the wall. Her heart started to beat faster when she found a small depression set in the wall that was only detectable by touch. Her breathing sounded loud and harsh in the silent pantry as she tentatively pushed against it.
There was a moment of resistance, then an eerie creaking sound filled the space and the square lifted slightly. Her head began to swim as she bent over to look. There was a ladder leadingdownwards, and the air coming from the gap was surprisingly chilly. She took a deep breath and told herself to calm down.
Nothing scary down there, just an old cellar. She fumbled her phone out of her pocket and turned on the flashlight app, aiming it down into the hole. All she could see was a rough dirt floor and part of an old brick wall. With trembling fingers, she grabbed the edge of the door and pulled it all the way open, so it leaned against the back wall of the pantry. Then she bent over again to see if she could observe more through the wider opening.
A small ice-cold hand pressed hard against her back, and she tumbled down into the cellar. Fortunately, she didn’t have far to fall, but she landed hard enough to knock the breath out of her, her head hitting the wall as she landed. Her vision turned grey, but the last thing she saw before she passed out was the trap door closing.
She wokesome unknown time later to complete darkness, the blackness pushing against her eyes in rolling waves. She bit her lip to stop herself from screaming as her memories came rushing back, then cautiously pushed herself into a sitting position. Her head throbbed and every inch of her body ached, but nothing seemed to be broken.
Damian will find me.She had absolutely no doubt he would never stop looking for her. But would he know to look here? Pushing aside the frightening thought she started patting the ground, looking for her phone. The ground was bone dry—she shuddered at the expression—but at least that was better than mud. The air was dry too, musty and unused.
A sob escaped her throat when her fingers encountered her phone and she snatched it up. The screen was cracked, but whenshe tapped it, it lit up and she bit back another sob. She tapped Damian’s number but it only circled.
No bars.
I just need to get higher.She half-crawled over to the ladder, then very carefully began to pull herself up. The wood felt hard and smooth beneath her hands but she tested each rung. When she reached the very top, she pressed her phone against the trap door, but there still weren’t any bars.Fuck. The tears were harder to fight back this time.
She tucked her phone back in her pocket and wedged herself against the ladder before trying to lift the door. It didn’t move at all, but she kept trying until her back was aching and her legs were beginning to shake, then she climbed back down to the cellar floor.
Damian will find me, she told herself again and settled down to wait.
She kept her phone off for as long as she could stand it, until the weight of the darkness made it hard to breathe, then flicked it on just long enough to see if by some miracle a bar had appeared. Time passed with excruciating slowness, but she forced herself to wait for an entire hour before she climbed the ladder to check again for a signal and to push uselessly against the door. Another hour, and then another.
Weariness started to creep over her, and she wondered vaguely if there was any source of oxygen. But maybe suffocation was better than dying from thirst or hunger. She was starting to drift off to sleep when she thought she heard a faint scratching noise.
Just an illusion, she decided, but then the trap door flew off, the rush of light almost blinding her as she finally took adeep breath. Damian’s beloved face appeared above her and she threw herself at the ladder, climbing up until she could reach his hands, and then he pulled her up and out and she was safe in his arms as she sobbed her heart out.
She finally stopped crying long enough to realize that they were not alone. Nakor was there, and Trogar, and a big, scary-looking werewolf in a sheriff’s uniform.
“The ambulance will be here in a minute,” the werewolf said in a deep, oddly soothing voice.
“I don’t need an ambulance,” she protested.
“You are going to the hospital,” Damian growled.
He looked so worried that she stopped arguing.
“Glad you’re safe,” Trogar said and left before she could thank him.
Nakor and the sheriff both waited until the ambulance arrived, which was probably just as well since she thought Damian was going to attack the nice paramedic who tried to examine her. He finally consented to releasing her long enough for her to be examined, snatching her back into his arms the minute it was over.
“We’d like to take her in for a scan since she hit her head,” the paramedic said.
Damian gave a jerky nod and climbed into the ambulance with her.
