the house is freezing (7)

The air down here is damp and heavy, the smell of mildew overpowering. Her flashlight beam dances across the walls, illuminating shelves lined with jars of God-knows-what. There’s an old boiler in the corner, and next to it, something that makes her freeze.

It’s a chair. A simple wooden chair with a high back. But there are ropes tied to the arms and legs, and the seat is stained dark. Ellie swallows hard, her breath coming in short gasps. She steps closer, her flashlight trembling in her hand. On the floor beneath the chair is a scattering of photographs.

She kneels down, picking one up. It’s her. But not her. The girl in the photograph looks like her, but her expression is blank, her eyes wide and empty.