The iron latch on the storm cellar door was freezing against Clara’s bare fingertips. Outside, rain beat against the stone foundation of her son Julian’s sprawling estate, but down here in the dark, the air smelled like damp concrete and stale dust.
She pulled the flashlight from her coat pocket, clicking the beam across broken lawn furniture and stacks of abandoned cardboard boxes.
Three days ago, Clara had stood in a crowded church wearing black, watching a closed mahogany casket sink into the earth. The funeral programs had cost thousands of dollars, paid for directly out of the late family inheritance Julian was so desperate to secure.
Clara: I just need her favorite sweater. Just one piece of clothing to remember my sweet girl.
She stepped deeper into the chilly room, her orthopedic shoes squeaking against the wet cement floor.
A faint rustling sound came from beneath a pile of moldy wool blankets tucked behind a rusty boiler.
Clara: Is someone down here? Is that a stray animal?
She aimed the yellow beam into the dark corner. Two wide, tear-stained eyes reflected in the light.
Lily: Grandma? Can I wake up now?
Clara’s heart slammed against her ribs like a sledgehammer. The flashlight slipped from her trembling fingers, clattering loudly against the hard stone.
Clara: Lily? Sweet Jesus, Lily!
Lily: Shh. Please don't be loud, Grandma. Dad said if I make a sound, the bad men will take everything away.
Clara: Oh God, you’re breathing. You’re warm. Your hands are freezing, but you’re breathing!
Lily: Dad said I ruin everything. I was good, Grandma. I stayed asleep during the church party just like he told me to.
Clara pulled the shuddering six-year-old into her arms, wrapping her thick woolen coat around the child's paper-thin hospital gown.
Suddenly, the heavy wooden cellar door at the top of the stairs creaked open, casting a tall, sinister shadow down the wooden steps.
Julian: Mother? What the hell are you doing down there?