Chapter 3: The Crawlspace

Present day—

I returned to the old house that night. The drive felt endless, the radio crackling with static as I passed cornfields and empty storefronts. The house looked even smaller than I remembered, slumped beneath the weight of two decades’ neglect.

The place was an old single-story home. I moved in the dark, afraid the neighbors would notice anything strange. I parked two houses down, pulled my jacket tight, and walked through the overgrown grass. The porch light flickered above me, moths dancing in its pale glow. I ducked inside, heart pounding like I was a teenager sneaking in past curfew.

I went to the storage room and found the plywood covering the crawlspace entrance. The board was warped, nails rusted. I slid my flashlight between my teeth and worked the crowbar loose, the sound loud in the quiet house.

As soon as I pried up the board, I sensed something odd. A cold wind blew up from the entrance, hitting my face, icy and chilling.

It smelled musty, with a sharp metallic tang. My breath puffed out in white clouds, even though it was late spring. Goosebumps rose on my arms.

At the moment I lifted the board, I heard a "thud" sound—dull and heavy. It sounded like something suddenly hit the metal cabinet below. The sound echoed, hollow and wrong. My heart leapt into my throat and the flashlight nearly slipped from my shaking hands. The beam swung wildly, painting long shadows across the old linoleum. My knees nearly buckled.

Holding my breath, I listened carefully, but after a few minutes, the strange sound didn't come again. I wiped sweat from my brow, forcing myself to breathe slow and steady. Just the house settling, I told myself. Or maybe a raccoon.

Thinking this, I went down the steps into the crawlspace. Each step creaked beneath my weight, the air growing colder, thicker. The smell of dust and rust filled my nose. The beam from my flashlight quivered ahead of me.

It was just like twenty years ago. The concrete walls, the low ceiling, the boxes stacked in the corner—all exactly as I’d left them. I could almost hear my grandfather’s voice, telling me to keep the place tidy.

Empty and pitch-black. The flashlight beam only showed the big cabinet in the corner. It loomed there, just as I remembered, its paint flaking in the harsh light. I felt like a trespasser in my own past.

The cabinet was rusty, with lots of paint peeling off. Orange-brown streaks crawled down its sides like veins. I reached out, my hand shaking, running my fingers over the rough surface.

The lock on the cabinet door was still tightly fastened. It gleamed in the light—out of place, untouched by the years, like a secret that refused to fade.

I didn't smell anything foul. Just dust, and a faint metallic tang. Not the rot or decay I’d feared. After twenty years, Kelsey's body must have decomposed beyond recognition; any odor would have long faded.

That thought offered little comfort. My stomach twisted with guilt and dread. I swallowed hard, steeling myself.

I sighed, took out the key Diane gave me, and prepared to open the cabinet. My fingers fumbled with the keyring, slick with sweat. I hesitated, heart in my throat.

"Hee hee."

Suddenly, a laugh came. High and light, like the tinkling of wind chimes on a summer day. It sent ice down my spine. I swung the flashlight behind me, but saw only shadows.

I shuddered and turned around: "Who's there?"

My voice echoed, too loud in the cramped space. My pulse raced, ears straining for any sound.

Instinctively thinking someone was following me. I stepped back, bumping into a stack of boxes, my breath catching. The flashlight beam jerked across the walls.

"Who's there?" I asked again.

Nothing but silence. The only sound was my own ragged breathing. The quiet pressed in on me, heavy and suffocating. I clenched the flashlight tighter.

Thinking I couldn't let anyone see my daughter's remains, I carefully searched around. I swept the beam across the corners—empty, except for cobwebs and dust. My nerves were shot.

Found no one following, but did see a mummified animal in the corner. It was shriveled and small, its fur gray and brittle. My heart skipped a beat—just a dead raccoon, not a ghost. Couldn't tell if it was a cat or a raccoon. The sight made my stomach turn. I tore my eyes away, focusing on the task at hand.

Back at the cabinet, I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I closed my eyes, counted to five, and exhaled slowly. My hands still shook, but I forced them steady.

I must be too nervous, hearing things. I tried to laugh it off, telling myself it was just the wind, or maybe my guilty conscience playing tricks on me.

Once again, I took out the key and tried to open the cabinet. The lock clinked, the key cold in my sweaty hand. My fingers trembled as I turned it.

But unexpectedly—

"Bang!" Another loud crash. The sound echoed like a gunshot, so close I jumped. My heart slammed against my ribs. This time I heard it clearly; the sound came from the metal cabinet right in front of me.

No mistaking it now—something was inside, something that wanted out. The space inside the cabinet was big, like someone suddenly lunged at the door and pounded on it hard. The whole cabinet rattled, the metal groaning under the force. I stumbled back, flashlight shaking.

The deafening noise even made the cabinet door tremble. A cloud of dust drifted up, the hinges squealing in protest. My ears rang from the shock.

My hands shook so much, the flashlight rolled far away. It skittered across the floor, its beam swinging wildly, plunging the far side of the crawlspace into darkness.

Could it be, besides my daughter's remains, there was something alive in the cabinet? The thought made my skin crawl. I forced myself to breathe, fighting the urge to run.

What could it be? My mind raced—an animal? Some desperate squatter? Or something far, far worse?

"Daddy."

The voice was soft, high-pitched. My heart froze.

"Daddy, is that you?"

It was unmistakable. My hands turned to ice, legs rooted to the spot.

"I've been waiting for you so long. I'm right here in the cabinet."

The words sent chills down my spine. The tone was so familiar it hurt. A familiar voice, a long-missed tone. It sounded just like Kelsey used to, when she’d call for me at bedtime, voice muffled by her blanket fort.

Why did it sound so much like... Kelsey's voice? I clenched my jaw, fighting the rising panic. My knees trembled.

Realizing this, I felt my whole body go cold. Every muscle seized, cold sweat running down my back. This couldn’t be happening.

"Hee hee, daddy finally found me. Looks like I hid really well this time."

Her giggle echoed in the darkness, twisted by years of silence. My heart stuttered, my breath coming in shallow gasps.

God, it really was Kelsey speaking. A sob caught in my throat. My vision blurred. I stumbled back, as if her words had struck me physically.

I stumbled back several steps, almost scared out of my wits. I crashed into a stack of old boxes, sending them tumbling. My knees buckled, and I barely caught myself on the cold concrete.

What on earth was going on? My mind raced, desperate for a rational explanation. There was none. Only fear.

Wasn't Kelsey long dead? I pressed a trembling hand to my chest, as if that could shield me from the impossible truth.

"Bang bang bang."

The cabinet shook violently, the noise echoing in my bones.

"Bang bang bang."

Each bang louder than the last, like the fury of a storm battering a window. The cabinet door was pounded again. "Daddy? Why aren't you answering? Hurry and open the door."

Her voice rose, insistent and frantic. I pressed my back against the wall, desperate to melt into the shadows.

My daughter's voice still sounded like a seven-year-old girl. Frozen in time, untouched by the years. It was so wrong, so impossibly wrong.

How could that be? I wanted to run, to scream, but all I could do was stare at the cabinet in horror.

Locked in an airtight metal cabinet for twenty years, even if she didn't suffocate, she would have starved to death. Logic warred with fear. My mind rejected what my ears told me.

So what was inside the cabinet? Every horror movie I’d ever seen flashed through my mind. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing it all away.

"Daddy. Let me out, open the door."

The banging resumed, relentless. My breath came in short, ragged gasps.

Kelsey kept pounding the cabinet door, the violent metallic clangs mixing with her shrill screams. Each scream cut deeper than the last, a knife twisting in my chest. My hands shook uncontrollably.

I had never heard such a terrifying sound. It was primal, inhuman—a sound that should never exist in the world.

My legs trembled, my feet went weak; I didn't dare make a sound. I pressed myself tighter against the wall, praying she wouldn’t see me, wouldn’t find me.

"Open the door. I want out."

Her cries rose in pitch, desperate, clawing at my sanity.

"Daddy. I don't want to play hide-and-seek anymore. I want out."

The words stabbed into me, each syllable a reminder of my guilt. Tears blurred my vision.

"Open the door..."

The banging grew louder and louder, as if some horrifying monster was about to burst out of the cabinet. The walls shook. Dust rained down from the ceiling. The air itself seemed to vibrate with the force of her rage.

I couldn't stand it any longer, practically rolling and crawling out of the crawlspace. I scrambled up the steps, heart pounding, lungs burning. I didn’t look back. Couldn’t.

Even left the key behind, too scared to go back for it. It clattered to the floor, abandoned like everything else I’d left behind in that cursed house.