Into the house

“I think this was for like coal or something, you know, back in the day before electricity and stuff,” Charles said, watching on.

“Like a chute?” John asked.

“Exactly,” Charles nodded.

“Storm cellar,” Dustin said, opening his door as far as the rusted hinges would permit.

“Blake, shine your light in there, see what’s down there,” encouraged John, holding his door most of the way open.

“Fucking stinks in there,” complained Blake, wrinkling his face, pulling out his phone and leaning in to illuminate the darkened cellar. A broad set of stairs descended down into the cellar, the floor vanishing into the gloom beyond the light.

“Charles go in,” John said, nodding his head toward the stairs

“No fucking way, you go in, I’ll hold your door,” Charles replied, voice low.

John snickered. Passing the door to Charles, he stepped down onto the first step, wood creaking under his weight. Reaching back, Blake handed him the phone and John took another step down. Slowly John took each step, until he came to the floor, light spilling out over all manner of ancient furniture and linen covered objects.

Turning to look back up the steps, “C’mon, you guys got to come down and see some of this shit,” he whispered.

“We should just close the doors and lock him in,” suggested Charles.

Testing the door, satisfied that it wouldn’t fall, Dustin followed John down the rickety stairs into the cellar.

Blake and Charles exchanged looks, before Charles stepped in and as he descended the stairs, he allowed the door to close behind him, Blake followed suit once Charles was clear. The cellar was spacious, the air musty and cooler than outside. Thick wooden beams ran overhead supporting the floor above.

Reaching out, John pulled one of the sheets off a covered object, dust dancing through the light as it fell away from an ornate wooden table with what looked like a central hand carved pedestal.

All manner of other possessions were stacked against the walls. There was a large painting leaning against the wall, six feet tall by ten feet long. Charles pulled the cloth away and let it drop to the floor.

“Hey I know that one, like Venus on a clam shell,” Blake said, pointing at the painting.

“Venus on a half shell, The Birth of Venus, by Botticelli,” Dustin clarified.

“Really?” asked John, turning to look at the taller youth.

“What?” Dustin asked.

John shook his head.

“I think the original is in a gallery in Florence,” Dustin added. “It was a question on Jeopardy.”

It didn’t matter where the boys looked, everywhere there was an objet d’art.

“No way somebody doesn’t live in this house. There’s just way too many fancy things down here for someone to just leave them all behind,” Charles said. “I think we should get the hell out of here.”

John nodded. “As much as it pains me, I got to agree with Charlie.”

Walking back over to the steps leading to the outside, John pressed his forearm up against the door, but it didn’t budge. Handing Blake back his phone, John braced himself and tried to push with both hands. Still the door did not move.

“What the fuck?” he said, heaving from effort. Looking back at Blake and Charles, he asked, “Did you guys lock it or something?”

Both shook their heads no. “I just lowered it down when I came in,” explained Blake. “I didn’t hear a click or the sound of a latch catching.”

Dustin stepped up beside John. “Here, let me help,” he said. Together they pushed but the result was the same, the doors refused to move. They both pushed at the same door, nothing.

“That is just straight up weird,” commented Blake.

Charles starting getting fidgety. “There was nothing holding it down when we opened it,” he said, eye darting around the darkness in the cellar.

“Don’t start up with the ghost shit,” John cautioned, stepping down. “We’ll just need to find another way out upstairs. There were some stairs leading up to the main floor over there,” he said, pointing back out into the darkness.

The stairs did indeed lead up to main floor, though they were much narrow and steeper, allowing only one at a time. Opening the door at the top of the stairs, John stepped into a kitchen area. Old fashioned appliances hummed in the darkness as the other filed in.

“Shhh,” whispered Charles.

“You shhh,” countered Blake.

Moving into an adjoining hall, rich red runner carpets stretched down over the polished hardwood floor. The walls appeared to be expensive wood paneling and paintings hung along the wall. Although cluttered, everything was meticulously clean.

Stopping at one of the paintings, “It looks like the same chick from the Venus painting downstairs,” Blake said, holding his light on the painting. The others gathered around to see.

“Who’s the model Dustin? Riddle me that? Ha, found something you don’t know,” said John triumphant but hushed.

“I don’t know,” Dustin replied, studying the painting and shaking his head. “It looks like another Botticelli though,” he opined.

“Primavera, by Botticelli,” said an old raspy female voice from behind them.

Charles screamed, tone shrill and high pitched.

“Jesus fuck!” yelled John jumping away from the voice, grabbing an equally startled Dustin.

Blake dropped his phone, light flashing around as it tumbled to the floor before landing light facing upward, casting strange shadows on everyone’s faces.

In the bottom lighting, the woman seemed positively ancient, very small and withered, face a veritable road map of deeply etched wrinkles, a faded shawl wrapped around stooped shoulders. A flannel nightshirt hung to the floor. Long white hair spilled from her head and onto her back, patches of liver spotted scalp visible through the extremely fine hair. Her rheumy eyes were a faded hazel, one looked covered over by a milky colored cataract. “There is no money in the house,” she said, voice like dry leaves. A dark blood colored teardrop shaped stone dangling from a delicate gold chain visible where the shawl opened at her neck.

“Relax lady,” John said, raising his hands in a soothing manner, his own heart still pounding from the adrenalin surge.

“We didn’t think there was anyone here,” Charles added, panic still evident on his face.

“So you thought maybe to rob my house?” she asked, pulling her shawl tighter about her. “I am an old woman.”

“No, no,” said John in his best reassuring tone. “We just wanted to look and see, there are all sorts of rumors in our school about this house and we all thought it was abandoned, that’s all. We’re not here to rob anybody.”

“There is only me and my great granddaughter Simone here,” she said. Still looking at John, she pointed to the painting, “Simonetta Vespucci is the model for this piece,” she added.

“If you just point us to the way out, we’ll be out of your hair,” Blake said. “We didn’t mean to intrude and we’re very sorry to disturb you.”

The old lady nodded, fixing Blake with her good eye before she slowly turned and looked up the stairs. Turning back she smiled, a half dozen discolored teeth visible in her mouth. “I’ll see if she’s awake, it is rather late though,” she said before ambling toward the staircase.

“Wait, lady,” John said, taking a step toward her, “We just want to go.”

She paused, stopping by a push switch on the wall near the bottom of the stairs, “Nettie, my name is Nettie,” she said, clicking on electric light. Nodding to herself, she resumed her journey to the stairs.

“We’re very sorry, Nettie,” Charles added, but she seemed as if she did not hear.

Blake bent down to pick up his phone, checking it to see if it had been broken in the fall to the unyielding floor.

She smiled, “It won’t take a minute,” she said without turning, supporting herself by leaning on the bannister as she lifted her foot onto the first stair.

The boys exchanged glances with each other.

“We’ll just let ourselves out,” Dustin said, taking a step toward the entryway and speaking loudly to make sure she heard.

Another step, then another, she was muttering to herself as she ascended the wide stairs, “Been so long since we’ve had guests here, so long.”

Blake turned to John, “Dude, she is like a thousand years old,” he whispered.

“She looks like Yoda’s mom or something,” Charles added. “Or like one of those singing raisins on TV.”

“Scared the shit out of me,” John said with a nervous chuckle. “I think I might have left a rosebud in my ginch.”

They all laughed.

“There’s the door over there,” said Dustin, pointing at the double doors in the entry way.

Walking over, John tested the handle. Turning back, “Locked,” he said.

“No lever?” asked Blake, making a turning motion with his hand.

John shook his head. “Deadbolt,” he said.

“I guess we got to wait for Grandma Moses to come back,” Charles said.

“Sure looks different on the inside,” commented John, giving the entryway the once over.

“Pretty fancy,” agreed Dustin.

“Some this stuff looks really expensive,” John said picking up a brass ornamental figurine of a nude woman stretching off the small curio table and examining it.

“The old gal is lucky somebody hasn’t come out here and stolen a bunch of these things. I mean some of them look almost as old as her,” Blake said, “And have some serious value.”

“How was Julius Caesar in real life?” Charles asked

They all chortled, John set the figurine back where he found it.

Dustin walked to the door and tested it, shaking it slightly when it didn’t open

“I know how to open a door,” John quipped indignantly.

“Can’t hurt to double check,” Dustin replied, finding the door still locked.