A Girl in the Basement

When her family moved into the old house at the end of Waverly Street, the real estate agent had laughed off her concerns. "Creaks, cold air — that's just character!" he said. But Anna felt it the moment she crossed the threshold: the heavy, sour feeling clinging to the walls.

The basement door was sealed with three locks. "Just junk down there," her mother said when Anna asked. "We’ll deal with it later." But at night, Anna would hear something scratching under the floorboards. Sometimes faint humming floated up the vents — a lullaby, slow and broken.

One evening, curiosity gnawed at her harder than fear. When her parents left for dinner, Anna dug through the kitchen drawers until she found the basement keys. The locks came off one by one, each click louder than the last.

The door creaked open. A rush of cold air spilled out, carrying the smell of wet earth and old wood. Anna clicked on her flashlight and stepped down the crumbling stairs.

The basement was huge — larger than the house should have allowed. Dust floated in the beam of her light. At the far end of the room, she saw her:

A girl. Sitting cross-legged. Pale, dirty, wearing a tattered white dress. Her face was hidden behind long, matted hair.

"Hello?" Anna whispered.

The girl didn't move.

Anna took another step. The wooden floor groaned.

The girl lifted her head. Her eyes were wide open but wrong — pupils too large, too dark. A smile crept slowly across her face, too slow, like she was remembering how to use her muscles.

"Play with me," the girl whispered. Her voice was dry, like paper scraping against stone.

Anna stumbled backward, but the basement door slammed shut. She ran up the stairs, pounding on the door, screaming for help. From below, she heard the girl's footsteps, slow but steady, coming closer.

When Anna turned, the girl was standing at the bottom step, smiling up at her with cracked lips.

"You unlocked it," she said. "Now you stay."

Something cold grabbed Anna’s ankle. Invisible fingers pulled hard. She fell, crashing down the steps, pain exploding in her knees and elbows. The flashlight skidded across the floor, spinning madly before dying out.

The darkness swallowed her.

Anna tried to crawl, but the girl was already beside her, breathing against her ear.

"I was lonely," she said. "You came."

Anna's screams were cut short as icy hands wrapped around her throat. The last thing she saw before everything faded was the girl’s broken smile.

Weeks later, Anna’s parents returned to find the house abandoned. No signs of forced entry. No blood. Just a basement door, slightly ajar.

And from the darkness below, if you listened very closely, you could hear two voices now.

Singing a lullaby in the dark.


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Wait for the second twist...

Thanks for reading!
Lock your basement doors... and maybe don't answer if someone whispers from the dark.