The Forgotten Cellar

The storm raged outside, rain hammering against the old farmhouse. Claire and her younger brother, Jamie, sat on the creaky wooden floor, surrounded by boxes of their late grandfather’s belongings.

“I don’t get why we had to clean this place up tonight,” Jamie grumbled, tossing a moth-eaten quilt into a box.

“Because Mom said the realtor’s coming tomorrow,” Claire replied, her flashlight beam dancing across the walls. “Just keep packing. The sooner we finish, the sooner we can leave.”

Jamie paused, staring at a trapdoor in the corner of the room. “What’s that?”

Claire followed his gaze and frowned. “Probably the cellar. Grandpa never let us down there.”

“Exactly. Which means it’s where he kept the cool stuff,” Jamie said, already moving toward the door.

“Jamie, no—”

But he had already yanked it open, revealing a dark staircase descending into the unknown. A foul, damp smell wafted up, making Claire gag.

“This is a bad idea,” she said as Jamie started down the stairs.

“Don’t be such a chicken,” he called back, his voice echoing.

Reluctantly, Claire followed. The cellar was cold, the air heavy with mildew. Their flashlights revealed shelves lined with dusty jars, broken tools, and strange, unrecognizable objects.

“Creepy,” Jamie said with a grin, but Claire wasn’t amused.

In the far corner, something caught her eye—a wooden chest, its surface carved with intricate symbols.

“What do you think’s in there?” Jamie asked, kneeling beside it.

“Don’t touch it,” Claire snapped, her chest tightening. Something about the chest felt wrong, like it didn’t belong in this world.

“Relax,” Jamie said, flipping the latch.

The chest creaked open, revealing a small black book bound in cracked leather. Its pages were filled with strange symbols and diagrams. Jamie picked it up, and as he did, the cellar seemed to groan, the walls vibrating with an unnatural hum.

“Put it back,” Claire hissed, backing away.

Jamie laughed nervously. “It’s just a book—”

Before he could finish, a deafening crash came from above, as though something massive had fallen in the room they’d just left.

“Claire…?” Jamie’s voice was small now.

“We’re leaving,” she said, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the stairs.

But as they climbed, the air grew heavier, and the steps seemed to stretch endlessly. Behind them, a deep, guttural growl echoed through the cellar.

“Run!” Claire screamed, pulling Jamie with all her strength.

They burst into the room above, slamming the trapdoor shut behind them. But the growl didn’t stop. It was louder now, as if whatever was down there was clawing its way up.

“What did you do?!” Claire yelled.

“I—I don’t know!” Jamie stammered, clutching the book.

The trapdoor shuddered, the floorboards around it cracking. From the edges of the door, a dark, oozing substance began to seep out, writhing like it was alive.

“Throw it back!” Claire shouted.

Jamie hurled the book onto the trapdoor, and as it hit, the room fell silent. The writhing stopped, and the cellar door lay still.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

“We’re leaving,” Claire said finally, grabbing Jamie’s hand.

As they fled the house, neither of them noticed the faint sound of pages turning from beneath the trapdoor.