Chapter 5 - A Families Belongings

Irene’s small lantern barely illuminates halfway down the stairs, although that is not where she is looking right now. The other room upstairs, the door is ever so slightly ajar, with nothing but darkness looking back out from that tiny entrance.

The sound of shuffling continues, like something dragging across coarse carpet, clearly originating from the room across the way. Dr Bentley and Irene are stock still, Bentley is watching every expression on Irene’s face as she peers into that ominous shadow.

“What is it?” He queries under his breath.

“Honestly I have no idea, but it seems to have stopped, stay close, who knows if there is someone living up here.”

She begins moving toward the room, taking Bentley’s umbrella in her other hand to push it open at an arm’s length. The hinges on the door must be rusted as it shifts quite stiffly, letting out a loud and prolonged squeal as it opens. The room beyond is mostly taken up by what seems to be a four-poster bed that is entirely covered with a very large white dustsheet, obscuring anything inside of it. There is a large patch of the wall to the immediate right that is off-colour, there was clearly something big hung there previously for a long time.

“Irene.” Bentley whispers close to her ear. “Look down, old blood?” As he gestures toward dark brown stains that clearly lead to the bed.

The stains did not seem to continue onto the mildewed sheets, and so the Doctor and Irene moved to opposite sides of the stains slowly, and reached down to lift up the skirting hiding the shadowed underneath. With a swift flick of his wrist and well timed co-ordination from Irene, the both of their heads peek under simultaneously.

The trail of stains stop abruptly before a scrap of cloth that seems bundled around something small, just out of arm's reach into the shadows under the bed. Bentley carefully reaches in and grips the corner of the cloth to drag it toward them, however the weight of the object seems to offer too much resistance, the cloth loosely unravelling as he tugs, and with a muffled clink, a thick piece of broken glass clatters onto the floor. 

“Don’t touch it directly, Doctor. Here use this.” Irene mutters softly, handing her pry bar over.

Reaching his hand back into the darkness under the bed, carefully pushing the glass out with the bar. A chill of goosebumps move from his fingers up to his neck, looking at the piece of glass that has just caught the light of the lantern.

“I could’ve sworn the reflection just… I don’t know.” A stuttered whisper escaping his lips.

Irene swiftly flicks the piece of cloth back over the offending shard.

“Don’t look at it again.” Irene grips Bentley's chin with her fingertips to force eye contact. “You’re fine, it was just a trick of the light.”

Visibly shaken, Bentley starts nervously playing with the gem in his pocket. “Are we done in here?”

Irene nods, turning to leave the room.

“Are we not taking that piece? It seems out of place to me.”

“Yes of course, sorry it slipped my mind.” Irene’s brow is furrowed as if she’s focusing on a riddle. She, careful to not touch it directly, picks up and deposits the wrapped shard away. “I just want to check the basement, it feels like we’re still missing something here.”

“True, except for that trail and shard, it just looks like a family that left in a hurry.” 

They move back to the landing, Bentley carefully brushing the dust off himself, cracking his back as if the hunched position in the previous room has aged him twenty years. He takes the lead down the stairs again, staring almost longingly at the front door for a moment before Irene bumps into his back softly, urging him ahead. 

Turning right and then another right slightly further down the hall they come to the door behind the stairs, old white paint peeling off in strips from the front. With a muted rattle of the handle, Bentley turns to Irene.

“It’s locked. Time to go?”

“You’re not getting off that easy.” Rolling her eyes, Irene carefully pulls up her dress and kneels in front of the door, pulling a small lever and a pick from a strap on her thigh.

“Give me a minute.”

Dr Bentley leans back against the wall of the hall, his eyes carefully tracing the surroundings, each shadowed corner studied intensely. The silence of the building being set off by the very faint rattling of Irene unlocking the door. A minute passing here feels like an eternity, waiting for something to jump out.

“All done Doctor.” Bringing out a small flinch from Bentley.

“Right, let’s go ahead.”

Taking the lead again, Bentley slowly ekes the door open toward them, peeking in with his lantern in front, revealing the stairs below. The floor at the base of the stairs seems to carry the light of the lantern strangely, almost like it is flooded, although it is too dark to make out. Each step causing the light to move dizzyingly across the floor, until nearly halfway down the stairs, when Irene grips Doctor Bentley’s shoulder from behind.

“We were wrong. The family did not take their things when they left.” Irene whispers close to the Doctor’s ear.

That’s when it clicks for Bentley, the reflection isn’t flooding. It’s all of the missing objects from the house, broken picture frames, broken glasses, mirrors, everything. Littering the floor like a carpet. The worst part is the trail in the centre that seemed lightly dyed red. Someone had been walking through here, barefoot, more than once.

“Crouch low, take note of everything you see in there, then tap my hand and we will leave quickly.” Irene whispers again.

Lowering himself carefully on the stair with a muffled creak that echoes around the house, bringing the room into sight. Irene immediately feels his shoulder stiffening up. After a few tense moments, she feels a soft tap on her hand and she starts retreating up the basement stairs, when she stops suddenly. Someone is standing, just out of sight, behind the open door at the top of the stairs. So close that their toes are peeking out just a tiny amount, revealing the slightly yellowed nails, and many many scars lining their soles.

That feeling. Like something gripping your heart and trying to pull it down into your stomach. If there was ever an artist’s rendition of the most pure fear, it was carved onto Irene’s face in this moment. Made so much worse as Dr Bentley nudges her forward from behind. She stumbles slightly onto the next step upward from the nudge, the toes do not seem to react. Irene carefully turns to Dr Bentley and points out the feet to him, which warrants a suitably terrified expression in response. Irene holds up three fingers and starts counting down slowly, the tension building in both of their bodies with each stifled breath. Two, Irene turns and starts getting into position to run. One.

Irene runs the remaining three steps loudly and as fast as she can, throwing herself into the door, a heavy impact sounding behind. Without taking a moment to look, Dr Bentley grabs her hand as he passes by and rushes around the corner to view the front door at the end of the corridor. The closed front door.

 Without missing a beat they start rushing down the corridor, Dr Bentley’s fingers wrapping round the cold handle of the door in panic, shaking heavily as he turns it. It opens freely, the door swinging open to the outside, revealing the street. Both Bentley and Irene stumble out onto the cobbles. 

Through heaving breaths they both take stock of themselves and each other, clear relief across their faces. A light tapping noise echoes out, like a fingernail on glass, not from the house. It is coming from the bag held at Irene’s side. It’s about six taps in, when they finally notice the shape of a tall barefoot haggard man in the depths of the house they just left. Through the open door, he stands in the hallway, silhouetted but clearly facing away from them. 

The tapping gets louder and faster. The figure steps backward, the joints of its legs cracking unnaturally as it takes this long step, toward the open doorway. Irene and Dr Bentley take off, sprinting down the street, Irene is hiking up her clothes as she sprints, and Bentley is white knuckling his scarf.