Welcome to Chapter 3—where things start to turn. If you’ve made it this far, you’re already brave… but what’s coming next? It’s heavier. Darker. And once you go down into the cellar with Vera, you won’t come back the same.
Thank you for walking through this story with me.
🖤
—Skelly
Chapter 3 — Into the Cellar
Chapter 3 — Into the Cellar
Vera awoke with a jolt.
She was being carried—her father’s arms wrapped tightly around her as they moved through the woods. Light filtered through the trees, soft and golden, like watercolor leaking into a page. Her body ached. Her ribs throbbed. Her arms and legs felt stiff, swollen, like they didn’t belong to her anymore.
She tried to move, to speak.
“Rest, sweet Vera,” Wallace whispered into her hair.
But the pain was too much. Sharp, stabbing, electric pain. Her limbs were bruised and trembling. She tried to lift her head, but her neck resisted. Even the effort made her nauseous.
And then—flashes.
Not dreams.
Memories.
The night was thick with fog and bats. She had been running—yes, that part she remembered. But what came after was worse.
The cellar.
The bags.
Her father’s voice: “Grab it by the end. There you go. No questions, girl.”
Down the stairs. Slippery. Cold. Her small hands wrapped around damp fabric, heavy and awkward, the shape shifting with every step. She didn’t want to look. She didn’t want to know.
She slipped. Fell. The bag landed beside her with a thud that echoed like thunder in that dark hole. Something inside the bag made a sickening crack.
“Again,” her mother’s voice called from above. “There’s more.”
Back up. Another bag. Then another. Her arms screamed. Her fingers bled from splinters and stone.
Up and down. 2,333 steps—she had counted them in her mind to survive it. Her tears blurred the lantern light. Her knees gave out, but they didn’t let her stop.
Not until the last bag.
The one with golden curls peeking out.
She stared too long.
And the next thing she remembered was blackness.
Now, waking in her father’s arms, it all came rushing back.
She opened her mouth to cry for help—and vomited down her front.
“Help! I can’t move!” she screamed.
Her voice sounded like someone else’s. Raw. Torn.
Alice rushed in.
Just like always—warm, soothing, soft.
“Here, drink this,” she said, handing her a mug of chamomile tea and honey. “It’ll calm and soothe you, my sweet girl.”
She began to wash Vera gently with lavender and warm water. Her hands were soft again. Her voice was the one Vera remembered.
“It’s okay, my girl. I’m here.”
But Vera’s body betrayed her. Her ribs throbbed. Her back stung. She could barely lift her arms. Her legs were unmovable. Even her neck ached with every breath.
Alice wiped away the sickness, the dirt, the dried blood. She spoke sweetly, as if Vera had simply fallen from a tree or caught a fever—not helped clean up something no child should ever have seen.
After she finished washing Vera, she brushed her hair into a bun and massaged lavender oil into her neck and spine.
“You took quite a fall, girl,” Alice said lightly.
Vera turned her head weakly. “What do you mean? I… don’t remember falling.”
Alice laughed. “Of course you did. You ran through the woods, remember? You tripped over roots and stones. You scared the life out of us.”
Vera nodded slowly, though her mind reeled. “Oh. Yes. I guess I did fall…”
She tried to piece it together, but everything blurred—memory and nightmare tangled too tightly.
“Mother,” she asked quietly, “why was I in the woods at all? It feels like a strange dream. I don’t know what’s real anymore.”
Alice’s hands didn’t stop moving as she rubbed the oil into Vera’s sore legs.
“You were in the woods because we asked you to be,” she said calmly. “We called for you, and you came. You got scared. You got lost. You fell. That’s all, dear.”
Vera blinked. “But… why did you need me in the barn? What was I helping with?”
Alice froze for the briefest second.
Then, with a soft smile but a cold, unreadable stare, she said, “Vera, you said you understood. I suggest you drink your tea.”
That chill ran down Vera’s spine again.
Still, she nodded. “I do understand,” she whispered. “It’s just us now. I won’t say anything. But… it wasn’t a dream, was it? I was really in the cellar… wasn’t I?”
Alice stood and began putting away her herbs and oils.
“You’re not well,” she said. “You’ve been asleep for days. Your mind is fuzzy. You need rest. I’ll make you some soup.”
And with that, she walked away.
Vera lay still, unable to move, the scent of lavender thick in the air, her thoughts spinning like leaves in a storm.
She had been in that cellar.
She had carried those bags.
And she was never going to be the same again.
To be continued… Chapter 4
SK-
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