Episode Three: The Second Footprint
627 Words
Maya stared at the two sets of footprints.
Rain fell heavily around her, but the footprints remained strangely clear.
The first set belonged to the little girl.
The second set…
Maya couldn’t explain.
They were larger.
Much larger.
And they began at the front door.
But instead of leading toward the house, they led into the woods.
Maya took a step backward.
The footprints stopped.
She looked over her shoulder.
The woods were completely black.
“Ellie?”
The name escaped her lips before she could stop herself.
A branch snapped somewhere among the trees.
Maya froze.
Then came a whisper.
“Maya.”
She turned.
Nothing.
She pulled out her phone and switched on the flashlight.
The beam disappeared into the darkness between the trees.
She should have gone back to town.
She should have called the police.
But there was one thing she couldn’t ignore.
Her mother had said:
I’m underneath you.
And the basement was still inside the house.
Maya turned back toward Number 27.
The front door was open.
She hadn’t left it open.
She slowly walked inside.
The moment she crossed the threshold, the door slammed behind her.
Maya jumped.
“Stop doing that.”
The house didn’t answer.
She walked toward the basement.
The black door waited at the end of the hallway.
REMEMBER.
Maya touched the handle.
It was freezing.
She pulled.
The door opened.
A staircase descended into darkness.
Maya switched on her flashlight.
The stairs seemed to go much deeper than they should have.
She counted.
One.
Two.
Three.
Ten.
Twenty.
“That’s impossible.”
The basement should have ended after six steps.
But the staircase continued.
Maya’s hand tightened around the railing.
Then she heard something below.
A woman humming.
An old lullaby.
Maya knew that song.
Her mother used to sing it to her every night.
Tears filled her eyes.
“Mom?”
The humming stopped.
Then a voice answered from the darkness.
“You finally remembered the song.”
Maya descended another step.
“Where are you?”
“Keep coming.”
She continued down.
At the bottom was a narrow corridor.
Old photographs covered the walls.
Maya lifted her flashlight.
There were dozens of them.
Then hundreds.
All photographs of her.
Maya as a baby.
Maya at five.
Maya at eight.
Maya sleeping.
Maya eating.
Maya playing in the garden.
But some photographs showed moments she didn’t remember.
One showed Maya standing in the basement.
She was eight years old.
Beside her stood Ellie.
Both girls were crying.
Maya’s flashlight trembled.
She moved to the next photograph.
Her mother stood behind them.
She looked terrified.
And in her hands was a key.
Maya looked at the date.
October 14, 2009.
The night her mother disappeared.
A cold breeze moved through the corridor.
Then Maya heard footsteps behind her.
She turned.
Nothing.
She looked forward again.
One of the photographs had changed.
Ellie was no longer standing beside her.
She was standing directly behind Maya.
Maya dropped the flashlight.
The corridor went dark.
A child’s hand touched hers.
Maya screamed.
The flashlight rolled across the floor and stopped beneath a wooden door.
She could see the little girl’s face in the darkness.
Ellie whispered:
“Open it.”
Maya stared at the door.
“What is inside?”
Ellie smiled sadly.
“Your mother.”
Maya’s heart pounded.
She reached for the door handle.
Before she could turn it, Ellie grabbed her wrist.
“But don’t trust what she tells you.”
Maya stared at her.
“Why?”
Ellie’s eyes filled with tears.
“Because she’s been dead for seventeen years.”
The door slowly opened by itself.
And from inside came her mother’s voice.
“Maya… I have been waiting for you.”
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