Downstairs

Flipping a mental coin you take a deep breath and turn to the stone steps. The bet was to visit every part of the house, and while the boys may not know about this sub-basement, you suspect they do and don't want to take any chances. You take a picture of the steps, your flash lighting them and showing that they're about twenty feet long. Biting hour lip and resting a hand against the wall, you carefully descend, your heels making you slightly unsteady on the rough stone.

At the bottom of the steps there's a sturdy looking wooden door with a old fashioned handle. Taking another deep breath and mentally scolding yourself for letting the creepy old house overstimulate your imagination, you take hold of the handle and turn it. To your slight surprise it turns easily in your hand and you push the door open, the feeble light of your cell phone showing that you're in a open space larger than your illumination reveals.

Tracing your hand along the wall you start to explore, biting your lip nervously at the creepiness of the place. The walls are stone, or concrete made to look like stone, rough and cold on your fingers. Reaching the corner of the room, you estimate you're about twenty feet from the door you came in. You've seen no signs of anything except stone, and you feel your heart beating fast. Part of you wants to turn back, and you look back uncertainly into the darkness behind you.

And at that moment you hear a soft, muffled noise from somewhere ahead in the darkness.