THE LOCKED BASEMENT

The sharp, chemical stench of unleaded gasoline cascaded down the dark basement walls, instantly overpowering the smell of damp earth.

“Vanessa, stop!” Natalie screamed, pushing Sophie behind her, shielding her daughter with her own body.

From the top of the ten-foot drop where the stairs used to be, Vanessa stood illuminated by the harsh backscatter of her flashlight. She had a five-gallon red plastic jerrycan resting on her hip, tipping it lazily over the edge. The fuel poured down like a toxic waterfall, splashing over the concrete floor and pooling toward the cedar trunk.

“I told Owen we needed a fresh start,” Vanessa said, her voice echoing with a chilling, detached calm. “I told him this old house held too many bad memories. He agreed. He said a fire would be tragic, but sometimes tragedy brings a family closer together.”

“Owen would never agree to kill us!” Natalie yelled, coughing as the fumes began to burn her lungs.

“Oh, he doesn't know you’re down here, sweetheart,” Vanessa laughed softly. “He’s upstairs, packing the car in the garage. He thinks you’re in Seattle, and he thinks Sophie is fast asleep in her bed. When the smoke alarms go off, he’ll run to her room, find it empty, and realize the fire must have started in the basement.”

Vanessa tilted the can further, emptying the last of the fuel.

“It will be a horrible accident,” Vanessa continued, dropping the empty plastic can down into the dark. It clattered against the concrete. “A faulty boiler. A tragic loss of a child. And Owen and I will have to comfort each other. We’ll move away. We’ll start over. A perfect, clean slate.”

“You’re insane,” Natalie breathed, backing away from the spreading puddle of gasoline, pulling Sophie with her toward the far corner where the old coal chute used to be.

“I am pragmatic,” Vanessa corrected. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a long wooden match. She struck it against the doorframe.

The small flame flared to life, casting demonic, dancing shadows across Vanessa’s face.

Sophie gripped her mother’s hand, terrified. There was no way out. The windows were barred, the stairs were gone, and the laundry chute was surrounded by gasoline.

Vanessa held the match over the drop.

“Goodbye, Natalie.”

She opened her fingers.

The match fell in slow motion, tumbling end over end toward the volatile puddle of fuel.

Suddenly, a massive, heavy object swung violently out of the darkness of the hallway, slamming directly into the side of Vanessa’s head.

Vanessa shrieked, her body violently jerking sideways. The match deflected off her shoulder and landed harmlessly on the top wooden landing, extinguishing instantly.

Vanessa crumpled to the floor, dropping the flashlight.

Standing in the doorway, breathing heavily, was Owen.

He held a heavy bronze bookend in his hand. His face was pale, twisted with a mixture of horror, betrayal, and absolute rage.

He had heard everything.

“Daddy!” Sophie screamed from below.

Owen dropped to his knees, shining the flashlight down into the dark. When he saw Natalie holding Sophie, both of them alive, a sob tore from his throat.

“Natalie... I’m so sorry,” Owen choked out. “I didn't know. I swear to God, I didn't know.”

“Owen, get us out of here!” Natalie yelled, covering Sophie’s mouth as the fumes grew thicker. “The fumes are going to suffocate us!”

Owen scrambled to his feet. “Hold on! I’m getting the emergency ladder from the garage!”

He turned to run, but his foot caught on something.

Vanessa.

She wasn't unconscious. The blow had only stunned her. As Owen turned, she lunged upward like a striking snake, wrapping her hands around his ankle and pulling hard.

Owen crashed to the hardwood floor, the heavy flashlight skittering away.

Vanessa crawled on top of him, her face smeared with blood from the bookend strike. The mask was completely gone now. She was Clara, the black widow, fighting for her survival.

She pulled the heavy kitchen knife from her robe pocket and drove it downward.

Owen caught her wrist just in time. The tip of the blade stopped inches from his eye. They struggled violently, rolling across the narrow hallway, grunting with exertion.

Down in the basement, Natalie and Sophie were trapped in darkness, listening to the terrifying sounds of a life-or-death struggle above them.

“Mommy, the smell is making me dizzy,” Sophie whined, her knees buckling slightly.

“I know, baby, I know,” Natalie said frantically. She looked around the pitch-black basement. They couldn't wait for Owen. They had to get air.

Natalie dragged Sophie toward the old coal chute in the back corner of the foundation. It was a narrow, angled brick tunnel leading up to a heavy iron grate at ground level in the backyard. It had been bolted shut from the outside for decades.

“Climb up there, Sophie,” Natalie ordered, boosting the small girl onto her shoulders. “Push against the grate. Push as hard as you can!”

Sophie reached up into the dirty, cobweb-filled chute and pressed her hands against the rusted iron grate. She pushed with all her might, but it wouldn't budge. The iron bolts were fused with eighty years of rust.

“It’s stuck!” Sophie cried, coughing.

Above them, the struggle in the hallway reached a terrifying crescendo.

There was a sickening thud, followed by a sharp gasp of pain.

Then, silence.

Absolute, heavy silence.

Natalie froze, her heart hammering against her ribs. She lowered Sophie to the ground and stared up at the faint rectangle of light from the open doorway.

“Owen?” Natalie called out, her voice trembling.

For a long moment, there was no answer.

Then, a shadow moved across the light.

A figure slowly stepped to the edge of the drop.

It was Vanessa.

She was breathing heavily, wiping a smear of blood from her cheek. In her right hand, she held the flashlight.

In her left, she held the bloody kitchen knife.

She looked down at them with eyes as dead and cold as a shark’s.