Beneath The Eighth Step

20251010

Written for Bradley Ramsey's "First Indulgence" event.

While Aunt Edna’s house was small, a bit pokey, and not conveniently placed for anything except a small village’s farmer market, it was a distinct improvement on Ellie’s old place. The mere fact of owning where she lived was heady.
And hey, where better to finally embrace her artistic side than the quaint rural cottage of a lifelong artist? One she was closely related to, no less. Aunt Edna even said as much in her will.
The main question - now that Ellie had unpacked and gotten the house clean - was what to do with Aunt Edna’s paintings. Their… signature, striking style really wasn’t Ellie’s taste in decor. She liked artworks with brighter colours and less eldritch spookiness. But she couldn’t just throw them out! That would be ungrateful.
Perhaps she could sell them? Or even give them away. Someone had to like such things. And surely Edna would rather her creations have loving, appreciative homes? Yes, that seemed best.
So Ellie started taking photos. A process which required combing every room, because Edna had filled any spare wall space with canvases of varying sizes. Some blended quite well into the shadows, startling you when you looked closer.
Ugh. Despite chiding herself, Ellie couldn’t help flinching away from the haunting art. It was just… they radiated bad vibes! She couldn’t fathom why auntie would not only paint these but stuff her house with them so there’s nowhere you could look without ghoulish eyes or seething misshapen faces glaring back at you.
Maybe it was silly that she looked under the stairs. She’d peeped in there while cleaning, having assumed that was where Edna kept such supplies, and been surprised to see it empty. Perhaps there’d been some half-formed thought that its shadowy depths might have been used for extra paintings.
Or perhaps something else entirely guided her hand to its unassuming little door.
This time she turned on her phone light and shone it into each corner. No, the space was empty. With how spotless and slick the stone flags were she doubted it had been used since the house was built.
How odd.
Then her eye caught a flicker. A strange shadow.
Above her, in the irregular ceiling formed by the underside of the carpeted wooden stairs, was a black metal handle. Cast iron? It looked like that sort of old decorative ironwork.
Perplexed, Ellie gripped it. Trying to figure out what it was for. To give you something to hold while digging stuff out of the cupboard, maybe?
When she put her weight on it with a testing jiggle it slid, sending her careening forwards into the thankfully empty closet. Must not be fastened right-
The floor to her left, furthest under the stairs, dropped away with a rumble which sounded disconcertingly like a pleased purr. Ellie, still unbalanced and dangling from the handle, instinctively swung her light into the darkness which had opened up.
More stairs. Stone ones, matching the floor, descending to a landing which looked like it was level with the front of the house. She could just see that the stairs doubled back and continued out of sight.
Nothing in the cottage paperwork had mentioned a basement.
Ellie released the handle and waited. Pulse beating against her chest. The steps didn’t rise again. The mysterious not-quite-trapdoor didn’t close.
So she slowly, one wary step at a time, ventured down the stone steps.
With the wall and floor being identical to the floor above you almost couldn’t tell you were now underground. The only difference was the ceiling (now stone matching the floor) and the lack of windows.
Once she reached the landing Ellie could see the bottom of the stairs, and the unassuming wooden door, a perfect match for the rest of the house.
There was an envelope stuck to it. A plain professional one, probably from the big drawer of them in the study. Ellie had to creep down a few more stairs before she could read the tidy cursive her aunt had left: “Well done, Elenor.”
Alright. This had been meant to happen. It was… a surprise? For her. Surely the letter would explain why there’d been nothing in the will, the paperwork, or the lawyer’s notes mentioning this.
So she opened it.
“Dear Elenor. I’m sorry to lay this responsibility on you, but the stars are clear. You are the only member of the family who can hope to carry my duty. I pray I’m not mistaken, and that you can one day forgive me. Perhaps, even, understand.”
There went all hope that the room just contained, oh, Edna’s scandalous diaries she wanted posthumously published. Ellie bit her lip and kept reading.
“Now that you have broken the seal above, the Reacher will be able to commune with you. The tools I’ve left in my workshop should help. Particularly the phone book - contact the other members of the Circle ASAP.
Thankfully your duty, while draining, is simple; record the Reacher’s ‘messages’ as best you can. My chosen medium was paint. Another of the circle uses music. Make full use of everything I’ve left and don’t be afraid to experiment until you find what works for you. But DO NOT allow any of the messages to linger unrecorded, or they may take shape themselves.
Preventing such manifestations must always be your foremost goal. Let NOTHING get between you and this task.
As I prepare to pay the final toll, I pray for your safety and success. May we meet again - though not soon.
All my love, Aunt Eddy.”
The letter slipped out of Ellie’s hand as she backed away. Unable to take her eyes off the looming door. It waited silently. Expectant.
She was sure that was her own breathing scraping at her ears.
“That’s not… this isn’t fair!” She told the shadows which wavered with her shaking hand. “W-why didn’t she put this upstairs?? She trapped me!”
Images were prickling her mind. Her fingers itched for charcoal.
Have. To. Let. Them. Out.

Prompt was “After inheriting the estate of a distant relative, you spend some time exploring your new home, only to discover a hidden room. It turns out your relative was part of a secret society.”