Lonely Hollow

Secrets

I staggered into the basement, breathing hard and my pulse racing, frantically looking for a place to hide. Something was very wrong here, and I couldn't leave; the person upstairs had just entered. The blaze of flames reached out desperately from the fireplace, jumping and crackling without warning. Footsteps crept along the ceiling until they reached the stairs, and a shadow poured down the staircase. They were coming down.

I forced myself to hold my breath, afraid they would hear me, panicking. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, it was just an empty room with a fireplace. My gaze flew back to the stairs, the shadow starting to move. Suddenly, the glint of something shiny caught my eye next to the stairs: a doorknob! There was a tiny room under the stairs, the door hanging open by one hinge, it couldn't close it without being noticed, but the room was dark and out of the way. it was my only hope.

I darted across the basement, almost throwing myself through the tiny door, into the cramped room. I felt my way into a position where I could hide, and took a deep breath as the footsteps creaked down the old staircase towards the basement, the roaring fire seeming to grow as the figure approached. My pulse quickened; my heart felt like it might jump out of my chest as I watched the mysterious person. It had broad shoulders, and was wearing a rough trench coat and a fedora. It seemed to be male, by the bold way its silhouette strode across the room. I couldn't believe my eyes. This couldn't be possible. Something just felt off, dreadfully off. Chills ran up and down my spine as I tried not to breathe. My arms trembled uncontrollably and a hard lump formed in my throat. The figure slowly stepped toward the fireplace. Clomp...Clomp...I felt my heart sink with every, hesitant step. The figure stopped at a small, uneven desk in the corner of the room, piled in small papers and photographs.

My foot slipped from its hold suddenly, and I panicked. The figure must have heard it, because they whirled around, and scanned the room. I pulled myself even deeper inside, now touching the dusty walls and praying silently that he wouldn't find me. I couldn't breathe, I stayed as still as I could, petrified by the haunting character as his darkened face stared into me.  He can see me. I thought, my body refusing to move an inch. The figure just stood there, staring into my soul. There was something disturbing about his shadow...his very outline of him was just an image of obscurity.Then, out of nowhere the figure simply turned back around and resumed his business as if he had never heard anything at all. After a few moments of observing the pile of photographs, the man reached into his coat pocket and pulled out something small, and flipped open the top. My eyes widened and something cold hit me and traveled down to my feet. It was a lighter. 

Immediately he set the pile alight, and started kicking the burning wood from the fireplace onto the dry wood floor, spilling embers and flames everywhere. The old, rotting wood ignited, and the whole ground lit up with scorching light, and it was spreading towards me fast. I watched in horror as the figure shifted his gaze...to me. He saw me. It was certain. My heart skipped a beat. He was walking towards me, he had something in his hand. The man threw open the door. I could do nothing but stare at his shadowy silhouette.

"What's this about!!" I screamed.

In an instant I was thrown against the wall, dust exploding into the smokey air. I prepared myself for a gruesome death. To my surprise I didn't feel a razor stick into my chest and gut me. The man had a singed piece of paper in his hands. He slapped it into me and knocked out my breath, then lifted me up by my shirt onto the wall. He opened his mouth.

"Trust no one."

Just as quick as he had come, he left up the stairs and shut the door. I was traumatized, I was burning. I had been left with a useless piece of paper in a burning building. His words echoed in my mind. I limped through the burning house, watching as the countless documents and photographs were consumed by the flames. The house moaned as I shut the door. It was all a blur after the room underneath the stairs.

As I stood, shaking uncontrollably on the street, I looked at the burnt paper he had given me. It was a photograph. A picture of a man and a woman holding a small child between them. It was the Moore family. So there I stood in front of their burning house as sirens started to blare from the fire station, staring at the picture. I was left only thinking about one thing.

Trust no one.