Part 3: The Secret in the Cellar
“Dad didn’t drown her at the lake,” Jeremy whispered, his tone so calm it sent a shiver straight down my spine. “He took her away in the dark, and he locked her in the place where the light never reaches.”
My heart battered violently against my ribs as his words sank deep into my chest. The police had searched the entire house and property eight years ago, finding absolutely nothing to suggest foul play inside our home.
Jeremy took my trembling hand and pulled me out of the dining room, walking past our stunned, motionless relatives toward the back hallway. He stopped directly in front of the padlocked wooden door that led down into the old root cellar.
My husband had kept that heavy door locked with a thick rusted padlock for as long as I could remember, claiming the old wooden beams were structurally unsafe. He kept the only key on a brass ring that never left his pants pocket.
Jeremy picked up a heavy iron fireplace poker resting near the brick hearth and wedged the pointed tip into the wooden frame. With a strength that surprised me for a thirteen-year-old boy, he pried at the latch until the old wood splintered with a sharp crack.
The dark door creaked open, releasing a draft of cold, damp air that smelled faintly of old earth, stale water, and faint lavender soap. It was the exact lavender scent of the baby shampoo Janice used to love before she disappeared.
I took the flashlight hanging from the wall peg and pushed through the hanging spiderwebs, descending the narrow wooden steps one by one. Jeremy followed right behind me, his quiet footsteps echoing softly on the concrete floor below.
At the far corner of the dusty cellar, behind a towering wall of rotting wooden crates, stood a small child-sized mattress neatly covered with a clean pink blanket. Resting on top of the pillow was a recent drawing, painted in fresh bright watercolors that were barely dry.
I dropped the heavy torch, the bright beam reflecting off a pair of tiny shoes sitting neatly beside the bottom step. Footsteps suddenly pounded on the wooden floorboards directly above our heads, followed by the heavy thud of the cellar door slamming shut.
The sound of a heavy metal deadbolt sliding firmly into place echoed through the darkness, locking us inside the pitch-black cellar below.
