The Space Below Us

Jack and Erin had spent six years together. It seemed fateful when they discovered the old Victorian house on the outskirts of a sleepy, deserted town. Erin fell in love with the house's creaky personality and antique charm despite its suspiciously low price.

The day they moved in, she embraced Jack and said, "This is our forever place," while he gazed up at the towering gables.

Like an old man sighing, the house moaned and settled. It did not appeal to Jack. Not initially.

Renovations and unpacking dominated the first month. They didn't notice the room until week five.

Jack's crowbar hit something solid under the floorboards in the dining room as they were removing the discolored carpet. They found a wooden hatch that had been painted more than a dozen times and sealed with rusted iron latches after a few hard hits.

"A storm cellar?" Erin recommended.

Jack scowled, "None of them was ever mentioned by the realtor."

Curiosity prevailed over caution. A narrow staircase leading down into darkness was visible when the hatch creaked open. The escaping air was damp and old, with a hint of sourness.

Erin reached for a torch. "Let's take a look."

Jack paused. "Perhaps we ought to wait until daybreak."

She smiled and said, "Oh come on." "Don't act like a scary movie husband right now."

They went down together.

The basement was... incorrect.

The walls were oddly tilted, and the room was small. As they descended farther, the air became colder and the floor felt uneven underfoot. There was a door at the far end of the room, but it wasn't made of metal or wood. Slick with some sort of black residue, it resembled cracked bone.

"Jesus," Jack said in a whisper.

Erin's hand went to the handle.

He grabbed her by the wrist and said, "Don't." "I don't feel right about this."

However, it was too late. Something woke up as the door creaked open with a moan that reverberated throughout the basement.

Things changed after that night.

Erin grew aloof and preoccupied. She would gaze at the hatch for hours while seated at the dining table. Jack could see that something had changed in her, despite her insistence that nothing was wrong.

She spoke in her sleep at night. Words in a language Jack didn't understand were whispered. Sometimes she laughed, cold and soft, like someone in the shadows telling her a joke.

Long after midnight, Jack began to hear footsteps under the floorboards. He hammered the hatch shut and locked it, but each morning it was open once more.

Then the dreams started.

The door appeared in his dream. Of Erin standing in the room beyond it, her eyes black pits of ink, her skin pale. "Jack," she would say with a smile, "it's better down here. Come take a look.

Erin was gone when Jack woke up one night.

Panic rising in his throat, he looked around the house until he heard a faint creak of wood coming from under the dining room.

There was an open hatch.

Jack went down, heart racing, flashlight in hand.

Once more, she stood before the door. Her back was to him. She cocked her head.

"Erin," he said in a trembling voice. "Return upstairs."

Her eyes were no longer hers as she turned to look at him.

Her voice echoed oddly as she said, "You ought to have let me open it that first night."

Jack said, stepping back, "I'm calling someone." "We require assistance."

She grinned broadly. "No one is available to call. The door is now open.

Something crawled out of the shadows behind her. Something tall that was dripping with glistening red and joined like an insect. It had dozens of fingers extending from its head like antennae, but no face.

Jack took off running.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he dragged the refrigerator over the hatch and slammed it shut. Then he snatched up his keys, ran to his car, and bolted out the front door.

However, the vehicle refused to start.

"You can't leave me, Jack," Erin said in a whisper over the static as the radio turned on by itself. We are now a part of the house.

The neighbors discovered him sitting on the porch the following morning, mumbling incoherently while rocking slowly.

The house was deserted when the police arrived. Erin was nowhere to be seen. Not a hatch. No basement.

A simple Victorian home with immaculate hardwood floors.

Two days later, Jack was committed to an institution. Every time someone attempted to question him, he would mutter a single phrase but otherwise refused to speak:

"The door is open. The door is open. The door is open.