Beneath the Basement Floor

Previously...

Hira has uncovered pieces of a disturbing truth: her name tied to a psychiatric record she doesn’t remember, voicemails from her own voice, and a child claiming to be forgotten. A mysterious mirror message begged for help. Photos show her with a girl she doesn’t know. And now, in the basement of her building, an ancient wooden box and a tape revealed chilling therapy sessions she supposedly had.

One message keeps repeating in different ways:

“You left her behind.”


The Trapdoor

It started with a sound — a faint, rhythmic tapping beneath the floorboards of the basement. A sound no one else could hear.

She returned to the basement that evening, armed with gloves, a flashlight, and a crowbar.

She moved aside old furniture, broken filing cabinets, and a dusty mattress. And then she saw it — a square outline on the ground that didn’t match the rest of the concrete floor.

She pressed her ear to the center.

Silence… then, a heartbeat?

She pried the corner open.

A gust of cold air rushed upward — damp, earthy, and metallic.

A wooden staircase led downward into darkness.

Beneath the basement… there was another room.


The Underground Room

Hira descended carefully. Each step creaked like it hadn’t been touched in decades.

The flashlight flickered.

When she reached the bottom, she found herself in a stone room with no windows. The walls were covered in scratched writing.

Dozens of them. Repeating again and again:

"Find her. Find her. FIND HER."

In the corner, a single cot with old bedsheets. Next to it, a desk, a tape recorder, and a stack of photos — of her. And the girl.

A girl no older than seven. Same long black hair. Same eyes.

In some photos, they were laughing.

In others, crying.

In one, Hira was hugging her tightly — like a mother would.

Her knees went weak.

“What is this?” she whispered.



The Hidden File

Inside the desk drawer, she found a thick folder marked "Ridge Town Psychiatric – SUBJECT H13".

She opened it.

Patient: Hira Saeed
Case Type: Dissociative Identity Disorder
Report Date: July 2015
Subject believes she has a daughter who doesn’t exist.
Subject repeatedly enters altered state where she assumes “Mother” personality.
Severe trauma suspected, but cause unknown.
Subject claims: “My daughter is real. She lives in the place beneath the floor.”

Hira dropped the folder.

She was reading about herself.

And yet, she remembered none of it.


The Voice Returns

Suddenly, the old tape recorder clicked and began to play.

Mommy?" a soft voice whispered.



Hira spun around, her light darting across the stone walls.

Nothing.

I waited here. Like you told me to."



Her heart pounded.

But you never came back."



She backed up toward the stairs.

And that’s when she saw it.

A child’s drawing on the far wall.

Crayon lines. Stick figures.

A girl and a woman standing side by side, holding hands.

Above their heads:
“Me and Mama”



The Rusted Door

In the back of the stone room, almost camouflaged by shadows, was a small rusted metal door.

It was locked.

She rattled the handle.

Something moved behind it.

She stepped back.

Then — three slow knocks from the other side.

KNOCK.
KNOCK.
KNOCK.

Followed by a muffled whisper.

“Hira…”

She ran.



Back in the Apartment

That night, she collapsed on her bed, covered in dirt and dust. Her mind spiraled.

Could the reports be true?

Had she suffered a breakdown years ago?

Was this “child” just a mental projection — something she invented to survive?

But if so…

Why were there photographs?
Why did she have voicemails she didn’t remember recording?
Why did the camera show her standing up in her sleep and whispering things to herself?

She looked in the mirror again.

Her reflection blinked out of sync.

Once again, words formed in the fogged glass.

“She’s still down there.”



The Letter from the Past

Early the next morning, an envelope slid under her door.

No stamp. No name.

Inside: a single letter, handwritten on torn paper.

> "Hira,
If you’re reading this, it means the walls between you and her are collapsing.
You weren’t supposed to forget.
You weren’t supposed to leave.
Go back before it’s too late.
She still believes you’re her mother."



Signed:
“You.”


The Flashback

And then it hit her — a wave of memory so strong it knocked her to the floor.

She was in a hospital room.
A child was screaming.
Doctors were holding her down.
A voice — her own — yelling:
“Give her back! She’s mine!”
And then the injection.

Blackness.

And silence.



The Final Decision

Hira stood in front of the trapdoor again.

If this was madness, so be it.

If she was wrong — if the child never existed — she’d find out once and for all.

But if she was right…

Then that girl had been trapped beneath the earth, forgotten, alone, for years — waiting for someone who promised she’d return.

And now… Hira was ready.

She took a deep breath, opened the trapdoor again, and began her descent — flashlight in one hand, the drawing in the other.


To Be Continued...

Next in Part 5: "The Girl Who Never Existed"
She searched for herself... and found a lie.