Part 4 - The Basement Hole Whispered Back

I wish I could tell you I stopped there. But I went back. The basement door was behind the laundry

room — rusted shut, with about six padlocks. Someone had scraped symbols into the wood.

Circles, lines, something like eyes. I brought a flashlight, broke one of the

locks, and it opened just enough to slip through. The air smelled like wet metal and

dirt. The floor wasn’t concrete — it was earth. And in the center

of that dirt floor was a hole about four feet across. At the bottom, through my flashlight

beam, I saw something that should not have been there… It was a chair.

And a man’s hoodie, folded neatly on the seat. Then I heard whispering. From inside the