Secrets of Basement 1890

My name is Stuart Harrington, and I'm 16 years old. We just moved this morning to an old mansion that was offered to us by a relative. It had been in our family for generations, but it had remained unused for years.

We were going through a really rough time, and my parents didn't hesitate to accept the offer, considering it didn't cost us any money. Besides, the opportunity to save on monthly rents was too good to pass up. Sure, it meant a longer commute to school for me and for my father to his workplace, but the cost savings outweighed the inconvenience. After all, even if I calculated the bus fares for a month for both of us, it still paled in comparison to the thousands we were paying in rent.

Lost in my thoughts, I unpacked my luggage in the room assigned to me. It wasn't the most impressive room, with cracks running through the walls, and I couldn't help but notice the presence of bugs and cockroaches scuttling across the floor. Surprisingly, the number of termites infesting the furniture was lower than I had anticipated.

I ventured out of my room to explore the rest of the mansion. The bathrooms were surprisingly well maintained, but to my disappointment, there was no water flowing from the taps. It seemed that the tankers hadn't delivered water to the mansion yet.

As I contemplated the pros and cons of our new living situation, my mother's voice suddenly echoed through the halls, jolting me out of my reverie.

My mother called me urgently, and I quickly made my way to where my father was conversing with Mr. Andreas. They seemed deep in discussion about the repairs and construction work that needed to be done, including fixing the water supply lines. As their conversation concluded, my father turned to me with a serious expression.

"Stuart, I need your help to gather the materials we need to fix the kitchen," he said, his voice laden with a sense of urgency.

I sighed inwardly, not in the mood for any tasks, but I couldn't refuse. Besides, with the holiday break from school, I had the whole day ahead of me to rest. I agreed to assist my father, albeit with a half-hearted acceptance.

"Just give me a moment, Dad. Let me change into something suitable before we go," I replied, trying to muster some enthusiasm.

As I hurriedly got dressed, I was about to leave my room when I heard my sister, Beny, running towards our father with a mixture of excitement and distress. Beny was always the adventurous and easily excitable member of our family, and her presence often injected energy into our lives.

"Father, you have to see this! There's blood coming out of the tap!" Beny exclaimed, her voice filled with panic and tears streaming down her face.

I froze in shock. Blood? That couldn't be right. I had just checked the taps, and there was no water flowing from them. How could it be possible? At first, my father seemed incredulous, dismissing it as a mere exaggeration. But as Beny persisted, her distress evident, he finally relented and agreed to investigate.

My curiosity mingled with unease as we made our way to the bathroom, with me trailing behind them. The air was heavy with tension as my heart raced in anticipation. My father cautiously turned the faucet, and we held our breath, awaiting what would emerge.

At first, only a faint trickle of water appeared, and for a moment, we almost breathed a sigh of relief. But that relief was short-lived, as the trickle soon turned into a horrifying flow of redly-brownish liquid. It cascaded from the tap, staining the pristine white sink. The metallic scent of that liquid permeated the air, sending shivers down my spine.

My father seemed unfazed by the disturbing sight of blood flowing from the tap. He loudly called Mr. Andreas while walking outside, the person responsible for repairs, to inquire about the situation. Amidst the commotion, my mother arrived, sensing the tension in the air. After having a talk with him for a minute he returned back.

My father let out a sarcastic laugh, trying to ease the tension as he continued.

"It's just rust in the tanker causing the water to change color," he explained, his voice tinged with amusement. "They're cleaning the tanker right now."

My mother let out a frustrated sigh, slapping her hand against her forehead in exasperation. She returned to her work in the kitchen, clearly annoyed at the false alarm caused by the rusty water. I couldn't help but feel embarrassed standing there, realizing that I had taken my 5-year-old sister's statement at face value. How could I have been so gullible? I had even started conjuring up my own frightening scenarios in my mind.

As these thoughts raced through my mind, my father called me to follow him, reminding me that there were still many tasks to be completed. Reluctantly, I tore myself away from the confusion and embarrassment, realizing that there was no time to dwell on my foolishness.

Leaving the washroom, I could see my sister still attempting to convince our father that what she had seen was real. Irritated by the delay and eager to rest, I scolded her one last time before reluctantly following my father.

"Beny, stop making up stories! We have work to do. You shouldn't be wasting our time with these silly ideas," I chided her, my voice laced with frustration.

With a heavy heart and a lingering sense of embarrassment, I reluctantly joined my father in attending to the tasks at hand. Little did I know that dismissing my sister's claims so easily would come back to haunt me.

Time seemed to pass quickly as my family finished lunch, and my parents decided to take a well-deserved break before continuing with the daunting task of moving our remaining supplies into the old mansion.

It was evening, and I was already awake because I had taken enough rest from the time I have arrived.

As I lay on my bed, eyes closed, seeking a moment of respite, I became aware of faint, rhythmic knocks originating from the ground floor. At first, I dismissed it as my sister, unable to sleep and creating the noise. However, as the knocking persisted, it transformed into a chorus of sounds, resembling not just a single person but a multitude of voices merging together.

Startled, I hastily sat up in bed, straining to catch the elusive sound. But by the time I fully regained my senses, the knocks had ceased, leaving me with a sense of frustration. Determined to unravel the mystery, I leaned over the edge of the bed and pressed my ear against the cool wooden floor, hoping to capture even the faintest echo. To my dismay, there was nothing—just an eerie and unsettling silence that permeated the room.

Seeking reassurance and hoping to dispel the growing unease, I decided to glance out the window. Being situated on the bottom floor, my room provided a clear view of the outside surroundings. Peering through the glass, I scanned the area, desperately searching for any signs of movement or activity. However, to my dismay, the world beyond the windowpane appeared tranquil and undisturbed. There was no indication of any source for the enigmatic knocks that had just echoed through the house.

The incident had robbed me of my precious sleep, leaving me restless and on edge. Determined to unravel the mystery that plagued the mansion, I made a decision to take a walk through its dimly lit corridors. My intuition led me to believe that some wild creatures might have sought refuge within our newfound residence, venturing out during the day and returning under the cover of nightfall.

Before embarking on my exploration, I felt compelled to check on my sister. She lay peacefully in her room, undisturbed by the enigmatic events that unfolded around us. Assured of her safety, I made my way downstairs, guided by the flickering glow of an oil lamp I retrieved from the kitchen. The warm light cast delicate shadows as I carefully combed through every nook and cranny of the ground floor, seeking any signs of intrusion.

As the sun sank below the horizon, the mansion's interiors grew dim, enveloped in a fading twilight. The presence of a sturdy door, securely sealing off the upper floors, alleviated any concerns of creatures finding their way to higher realms. Nevertheless, my meticulous search persisted, as I meticulously inspected each room and corridor, determined to uncover any hidden secrets.

Suddenly, as I bent down to peer beneath the staircase, a sound reached my ears—an ominous rustling of footsteps behind me. My heart skipped a beat as I spun around, only to witness the door to my own room swing open with a forceful crash, as though someone had forcefully invaded my sanctuary. Panic surged through me, propelling me forward with a primal instinct to protect myself. I sprinted towards my room, the echo of a resounding wooden bang emanating from within my wardrobe, intensifying my fear.

It was a disconcerting and unsettling occurrence—an inexplicable knock originating from within the wardrobe, defying the logical expectation of an external impact. Reluctantly, I approached the wardrobe, my trembling hand flinging open its doors. To my surprise and confusion, emptiness greeted me. My clothes lay scattered, tossed aside in my haste, but there was no hidden entity, no concealed threat lurking within.

Perplexed and unnerved, I found myself ensnared in a whirlwind of thoughts, questioning the very nature of reality within these haunted walls. And then, as if the mansion itself sought to punctuate my disquietude, a sudden gunshot shattered the oppressive silence, its deafening sound reverberating from outside, originating from the direction of my own room. Fear gripped my heart, and my mind raced with unsettling possibilities. What could be happening? Who or what had unleashed that shot?