The pantry was darker than Chizzy remembered. Shadows clung to the corners like cobwebs, and the single bulb overhead flickered once before giving out completely. She stood in the doorway for a moment, letting her eyes adjust, flashlight in hand, her breath short and quick.
Her mother's words repeated like a mantra: Find the red key. It's hidden beneath the floor in the pantry.
She stepped in, her shoes creaking against the old boards. The shelves were lined with forgotten jars—pickled vegetables, expired herbs, dusty bottles of vinegar. A faint scent of mildew clung to the air, mixed with something older, like dried blood and ash. It made her stomach turn.
Chizzy dropped to her knees and began to search.
The floor was uneven beneath the shelves. She dragged them aside, coughing as dust spiraled into the air. Her fingers scraped against the edges of the boards, checking for loose panels, warped wood—anything.
She almost missed it. A faint groove beneath the shelf closest to the wall. Her nails caught it, and with effort, she pried up the board.
A shallow compartment lay beneath it, layered in dust and spiderwebs.
Inside was a small brass key, painted red, the color chipped and worn with age. It lay on a folded scrap of cloth, as though someone had placed it there carefully and deliberately. Chizzy picked it up, turning it in her palm. It was colder than she expected.
She didn't realize she was holding her breath until she exhaled.
The red key. Her mother had left it for her.
Behind the pantry shelves, she noticed a panel in the wall—barely visible unless you were looking for it. Her fingers ran over the edge and pushed. With a groan, it gave way, revealing a narrow, spiraling staircase that descended into darkness.
A sick feeling settled in her gut.
She took a step forward, flashlight cutting through the thick air. The walls were stone, damp with moisture, and the air was heavy with earth. Her fingers brushed the cold iron of a rusted door at the bottom.
A lock. She inserted the key.
It turned with a click.
As the door creaked open, a wave of frigid air escaped—and with it, something else.
A whisper, soft and terrible.
"Chizzy."