The Old Brownstone Door

There was only one rule: don’t open the door. Not like they could. The doorknob was welded shut; the key was broken off in the deadbolt; and a slide latch was secured with a rusty padlock. As far as Sarah knew, nobody had been to the basement for four generations, not since her great granddaddy died in a distillery explosion under the house in the steam plant tunnels.

An embossed tin cross hung on the old rustic door, while the rest of the 1880 brownstone was immaculately maintained in period style. The teens never paid much attention to the door at the back of the kitchen, as the rest of the house had enough curiosities spread over four stories to keep them occupied.

They were used to the banging from below the house echoing up through the radiators, but this Halloween night the steam lines were especially active as the teens began their annual game of Blind Man’s Bluff – a game of tag played in a darkened house.

“10…9…8…7…” James stood in the middle of the kitchen and counted down slowly and rhythmically while the others ran to hide.

“…6…5…4…” The counting stopped. The house went deathly silent as the friends held their breath straining to hear something…anything. Then it came: A slow creaking sound, followed by a ‘SLAM!’

Sarah, Jess, and Jonathan reached the kitchen at the same time. Jess flipped on the lights. “Where’s James?” she asked breathlessly. They looked down in unvoiced disbelief. An open padlock lay between two red streaks trailing from the middle of the kitchen to the closed door. The cross swung back and forth on its nail. Sarah shivered as she felt a draft and caught a whiff of moonshine.