Exploring the townhouse

It was a beautiful little house that Don Halbert had tucked away, even at night you could appreciate the care and effort that had gone into maintaining the front lawn and garden. You crept forward, careful not to disturb anything or alert anyone to your presence. Maddy had told you that her brother largely operating on the assumption that people would be too afraid to approach the house, and that the two little security cameras were entirely to bluff would-be thrives. Still, you had worn a hoody and pulled it down to obscure your face as you approached the house.

Breaking into the house was a dicey prospect, but Maddy had promised that her brother always kept one of his window’s slightly ajar ‘to air it out’. Whatever that meant. You stalked around the house, checking the windows until you came to one at the eastern side, near the back. A half dozen little gnomes watched you jiggle the window up a little bit and climb inside.

Once you entered into the tiny spare room you were immediately hit with a pungent odour that you recognised as the musk of recent sex. It put you on guard and made you clenched your hand around the flashlight a little tighter. You weren’t about to turn it on right away, but it would make a decent club if things got dangerous.

Tiptoeing through the dark, silent house, you got out your phone and used the shine from that to create a less obvious glow of light. The interior of the house was fairly old fashioned, and the few photos that were displayed showed a man that you presumed was the deceased patriarch of the Halbert family.

The kitchen was standard, boring, as was the living room. You hesitated a beat when it came to Halbert’s bedroom. Maddy had assured you her brother wouldn’t be using the place, but there was still a sick feeling in your gut that gave you pause. You looked down at the ring on your finger, and all the supernatural power it held. ‘If things fuck up’, you told it silently, ‘I’m counting on you to save my ass…”

Taking a breath, you pushed the bedroom door open and walked in. Right away you felt relief seeing that the master bed was empty, but that relief quickly shifted into confusion. At first glance everything was normal. Kingsized bed, bedside table, a closet of clothes that hung half-opened revealing a rack of shirts….but then you looked at the foot of the bed. Attached to its frame was a ring, one that looked like it could be connected to a chain. Alarm bells went off in your head.

You next came to the study, which was a small space comprising a single computer, desk, and two rows of neatly placed books. Some of them were familiar, popular fiction. Tom Clancy, Le Carre, Terry Brooks. But others were older, and one in particular caught your eye. Jutting out a bit more than the others was Justine, by Marquis de Sade. You took another step, and heard a squeak in the floorboards as you tripped on the rug. You winced, but when you shone your phone down at it, you felt a jolt of surprise when you noticed that the rub your were standing on had crinkled enough to reveal that it was covering a trap door.

Heart pounding, you knelt down, grabbed the latch, and lifted the little door to reveal a square of absolute darkness. You stared down, debating whether to venture into the hidden cellar, but something shifted in the darkness, and there came a rattle of chains being moved. You felt the breath stop in your throat. Part of you wanted to slam that trapdoor shut, but you were paralysed with fear and deep curiosity.

In the darkness two eyes emerged, peering up at you. A soft feminine voice called out, “Master, is that you?”