For a second, I just stood there.
Strange.
I had no doubt it was the yellow door to the basement, the one that Daniel and Hudson had told me about. But they’d also said the door was always locked. Always. Daniel made sure of it. Everyone did. It wasn’t just a habit. It was a safety rule.
I clutched the plate a little more tightly. A cold prickle ran across the back of my neck, like the air had shifted around me. I didn’t know why. The door was open. Big deal. Maybe Tara needed something from the basement.
But then . . . no one was supposed to go down there.
And someone just did.
I set the plate on an antique sideboard. My steps slowed as I moved forward. I had barely walked through the open connector door when I felt it: a faint breeze, cool and moist, pushed up from the basement. It carried the scent of old wood and damp stone—the odor of a cellar that hadn’t been touched in years.
The yellow door loomed just ahead, cracked wide open. Only darkness waited beyond it. No light. No window. Nothing.
“Tara?” My voice was steadier than I expected as I stopped in the doorway and stared into the black.
The hallway light behind me spilled just far enough to catch the top half of the endless staircase. The steps looked even worse than they’d told me: old wood with parts of the railing missing, others barely hanging on. One of the steps was cracked straight through, as if it had broken under someone’s foot.
“Hello?” I called, a bit louder this time.
No answer.
Then something thudded from above. It was a loud, solid bang, the kind that made your heart leap before your brain could catch up. It sounded muffled. Probably cushioned by thick rugs. But it had weight to it. Something had been dropped.
“Tara?” I called again, louder this time, aiming upward toward the second floor.
Nothing.
I pulled the yellow door shut and then closed the connector door behind me. The lock clicked softly into place.
Before heading upstairs to check on Tara, I peeked in on Mochi. His cage was still and quiet. He blinked at me once, adjusting his feet on the perch. No flapping or panic. No omen-like screech. No thrashing like a horror movie parrot sensing a demon in the walls. He just looked vaguely annoyed that I’d interrupted his date with a fresh slice of honey melon. Tara must have given it to him before heading upstairs.
Relief landed in my chest like a warm hand. Mochi had a weird sixth sense. Birds just did—like how they always seemed to flee before earthquakes or storms. If he was calm, so was I.
I stepped past the grand staircase, the railing cool beneath my fingertips, and headed toward the second floor.
The sound of running water came from Tara’s guest room, tucked next to Daniel’s parents’ suite. A warm light glowed beneath her door.
Just as I reached the top step, something made me stop.
His parents’ door stood wide open.
And the light was on.
I walked up to the room, curious but not overly suspicious. Maybe Tara stored things in there. Maybe it was used as overflow space.
But once I stepped inside, I could tell it hadn’t been touched in a long time.
Unlike the rest of the house, it felt like time had stopped in there.
A pair of red heels sat neatly on one side of the bed. They were glossy and sharp, looking like they’d just been slipped off. On the other side, a pair of worn men’s slippers rested slightly askew. A pair of men’s pajama pants was folded across one side of the mattress. Across from them, a pink silk nightgown shimmered faintly in the light. The nightstands were cluttered with old things: a yellowed tissue box, a dusty alarm clock, and a glass ashtray.
I moved farther into the room, careful not to brush against anything. The silence didn’t feel calm. It felt wrong.
Losing both parents at once. Being left behind. Then those awful fights over the inheritance. Daniel had been through a lot. Maybe that was why the room had stayed like this. Untouched. Pain preserved in clothes and shoes.
My steps carried me toward the elegant vanity.
