The Curious Cellar

I remembered that Friday as a dreary afternoon in a fetid autumn rot on the day of October 13th, —18. I could see the abscission of trees piling along the cobbled roadside. Red Maples, dead Elms, and Red Oaks loomed overhead. Hemlocks and White Pines remained untouched by nature's wrath. I passed through, unhindered.

I drove in my newly delivered Ford Model T. The car came fresh from my friend William in Buffalo, New York. Sadly, the hood of the new automobile disappeared in transit, much like the population of cicadas for katydids. Salem's nature acclimated to hardier creatures of Massachusetts, unlike the warm, bustling city of Boston.

I learned in my return to Boston yesterday that Madeline beggared my pockets of any saved coin. The wretch purchased a diminutive yet quaint American hovel in the deep reaches of the Salem Woods from the damnable city's clutches. For this very reason, I decided to personally investigate what coerced my unfeeling and avaricious sister to simper at the innocuous paper of proprietorship.

My interrogation revealed a preposterous unwillingness to explain her curious shift in attitude. Madeline's demeanor became soft and her features became sunken since I last sighted her months ago. Her few sly words at our first reunion birthed meaning beyond explicable verbiage.

"Ponder perplexities proposing penchant for prayers no longer, dearest John," spake she. "Fools follow faith for fortune yonder."

I awoke to wary thoughts of my voluntary isolation in these secluded woodlands. I was alone at that moment of my travels. The sounds accompanying me shifted from the cries of the commonplace white-tailed deer, foxes, and cottontails. An unwelcome draft chilled me through my overcoat that fateful day. Wearing a sack suit to a rendezvous felt formal; I let such trivial etiquette dictate my fate and regretted dearly. Luckily, I wore hardy gloves.

I fingered my Smith and Wesson, .44 Hand Ejector, 1st Model in my pocket. Fine as any revolver was, it surely served duly as protection from perils lurking beyond my comprehension since I was an incompetent prodigal of my family name. Travel enlightened my mind yet left me unprepared for the absence of servants around the crumbling building when I arrived.

I curtly perched my vehicle in front of dilapidated fences, which were coated in mossy overgrowth. A single, strangely living, Elm tree stood prim and proper beside the crumbling building. I knew not a reason why it remained unaffected by the Dutch Elm Disease.

The wooden perennial plant lazed, vibrantly verdant— its leaves lush with pigments of active chlorophyll. Fascinating, how its hardiness ignored the incoming winter.

Conversely, the shattered windowpanes, decomposing walls, tile-less rooftop, and fecund chickweed, dandelion, and finger-grass populations conveyed an appearance akin to a neglected coffin.

I slipped off my leather seat. I adjusted my bowler cap and vermillion tie before gripping my walking cane tightly. Clearly, I made a mistake in traversing to this remote region. I desired my departure more than the assessment of my new estate.

Yet, when I availed myself of the hand crank, not a whirl of the engine began! I checked the confounded contraption, yet again found no altercations or faults in its system.

Worriedly, I called out, "Hello? Are there any fine gents or madams?"

Nothing.

I tried the crank again. Then, I called out once more.

"This is Sir John Smith! I hail from Boston to lay my sights on these lands as my unexpected... acquisition. Surely you must know of my sister, Madeline?"

Nothing.

I feared the damning silence and my accursed sister. I kept cranking, hoping the engine would start.

Still, nothing.

I swiftly suspected my sister of devious plotting but, as quickly, rejected the notion. Her manic craze over her purchase and her miserly nature undoubtedly confirmed some form of value in this squalid place.

It remained regardless that I was left on my lonesome in the Salem Woods, devoid of luncheon or dinner. As nightfall drew imminently on my heels, I fervently searched my luggage. I uncovered a half-full lantern and a new model of a flashlight. I pocketed the flashlight.

Twilight started overtaking my sights. Darkness began encroaching me on all sides. The Salem Woods devoured my means to escape. Phantom tendrils and clawing shades ate at my sanity. In the silence, I decided to enter the foreboding structure for shelter.

I lit the lantern to light my way and held my suitcase in my other hand. I left my unwieldy cane behind. My hands shook and my legs trembled. This maddening curiosity must have consumed me like my sister. Taking upkeep in a tattered Victorian home stayed beyond my liking, yet I had no other option. I sent a cursory prayer for protection but felt more damned afterwards.

Eerie quiet hung heavy in the air. Its oppressiveness bore on me with each step towards the decaying porch. When I stood at the door, several unyielding boards prevented my entreatment for any refuge.

The uncountable boards refused my entrance. The darkness creeped closer and closer. I ran around the house, trying to find any openings to stay the night. No doubt in my mind that the lack of hospitality dealt directly with the seclusive nature of the building.

My search uncovered only the cellar doors as a viable shelter. They opened easily, almost... welcoming in manner. A flight of steps led downwards into darkness but behind me, formless apparitions sought to entangle me. I could not survive in the open Salem Woods. I felt an unknown menace would rend my flesh from my bones if I did not hide.

I descended cautiously. The red oak planks shifted soundlessly underfoot, surprisingly supple and strong. My lantern burned away the shadows as I moved up. Moved up?

I looked behind me at the steps, looking for the entrance to the cellar. They slowly curved downwards, like when I first set my eyes on them. How could I be moving upwards when I took steps down?

I turned around and stepped down one at a time. I made sure I went properly and saw similar walls. The beams looked readily the same as well. Yet again I somehow arranged myself to move up the stairs, without my knowing?

I left my calling card slotted in the cracked timber at my side. Then I descended the stairs thrice more. Every instance resulted in my reunion with my calling card! Such a strange phenomenon made the hair raise on my nape.

I tossed a few calling cards below me but, by inexplicable properties, forever lost them to whatever mechanism that drove me upwards. Something unknown, likely magical in nature, prevented my departure. It permeated my senses, rendering me nearly imperceptible to its influence.

A strange notion surfaced in my mind that it was protective rather than restrictive. I had no means to confirm the extent of my lucidity. I found myself following the steps to my dismay. My stupor once more clouded my senses.

I already stood in a clearing of paltry size. It was a forest, not unlike the Salem Woods. Moreover, the forest teemed with life and noise. Using my limited entomology, I identified Bark Centipedes skittering about. Carpenter ants swarmed the door I exited and blocked my sole means of escape. Fireflies faintly glowed, lighting up the inexplicable size of this room.

Quandary struck me. What archaic powers manifested this isolated region? How had my sister been led to this mystic finding? Why was the occult entangled deeply in the Salem Woods?

I knew my explanation laid deep within. I had to keep moving. A single dirt pathway winded through the forest. I followed it, like a lost duckling. I had no intentions to stray from the path and lose myself in a realm far removed from secular understanding.

My faith waned in my God. What pagan sorcery was this that reconstructed His miracles as a perverse parody? The silver Cross on my necklace cracked, as if submitting to the external forces around me.

My breathing harried in my thick clothing from fatigue and fear. The forest felt too alive. I was monitored by some ancient force of nature, far removed from ecclesiastical worship, shamanistic spiritualism, or tribally psychedelic transcendence. My palms dampened and I sweated up a feverish pace.

I soon learned each step I trotted gave way to a murky, muddy depth unlike the first steps on solid soil at the beginning. A humidity visible to my very eyes rolled in the form of a light and pervading mist.

Deeper I went, slogging my boots along. I no longer felt hesitation. I was compelled to move forward, to run at a heated pace lest I be left behind, forever lost in the forest. My heart pounded in terror at the unnerving compulsion.

If I wholeheartedly wanted to stop, I dare not say I had the willpower to overcome my bodily instincts. In time, the ground changed consistency. It became porous, like a spongy elasticity. I could not see in the thickening fog that threatened to deprive me of breath.

I burst through an unseen thicket. I broke the ensnaring and thick vines in my way. The fog thinned up ahead, so I redoubled my efforts.

Finally, I broached a clear field of vision. I saw a young lady resting atop a smoothed stone. The meadow was green and adorned in floral beauty. I took a moment heaving in exhaustion. Still, my queries necessitated an explanation. Alas, I went to disturb the melancholy of the maiden in a snowy-white shirtwaist and skirt.

"Miss?" said I, politely. "May I ask what purpose does this place serve? I am at a loss."

She stayed unresponsive. I did not falter in my speech.

"Miss?" I asked once more, this time closer. "Have you happenstance to come across this place, as did I? Do not worry, for I am a gent looking for his leave."

She did not even move.

Even the most eccentric person would not act in such a manner. Knowing so, I tried retreating from the bizarre encounter. No doubt, the woman played an integral part in my confinement. However, I couldn't control myself. It was a rampant obsession that reared its abhorrent head and finally became recognized to my conscious mind!

I continued to approach the woman from behind.

"Miss?" spoke I, yet I did not form these words. "Miss, do you know it is not well-mannered to ignore the words of a gentleman."

My hand found itself laying my suitcase at the stone's base. At first glance, it looked like smooth limestone, but it actually contained carvings of characters long forgotten, like cuneiform inscriptions.

"Miss? It is time to go."

The young lady straightened up. She tidied herself, brushing off dust and grass. Then, she turned around.

"John!" she said.

It was Madeline, my sister. But, it couldn't be, since my sister resided at our family home, in Boston? What madness was this?!

"John... it's time to provide tribute!"

She handed me a knife embossed in gold and engraved with creatures beyond my comprehension. They were repulsive, twisted, formless, and fleshy, with unsymmetrical exoskeletons. Truly too hideous to describe were these malformed and abominable creatures!

"John. You must do it."

Madeline gripped my wrist. The scene around us reformed, shattering the illusion that plagued my mind. My silver Cross shattered into a thin powder.

We stood in a pool of running blood. Fleshy growths lined our surroundings, like a living container that served as a room. Human bones rose up from the blood, stained red and childish in size. It was an offering to an existence surpassing God himself. An unspeakable specimen defying antiquarian records!

I delivered not a suitcase to discuss proprietorship but to bring a discarnate entity long forgotten into existence! On the sickening skeletal altar, a newborn babe and his placenta sat in a tub.

My hand grabbed the nauseating handle. Could I even resist anymore? It was clear I long since followed in an inebriated state of mind. My body stumbled forth, hanging the point directly above the newborn's face. He cried for his mother, whom I had no knowledge of meeting.

"Finally, John! Ub'rEth Nel will walk among the living! We will serve a master predating primordial gods!"

Madeline cackled in insanity.

I...

I could...

I couldn't do it!

In an impassioned fit of awareness, I stabbed my sister's throat! I tore her vocal chords out as she screamed and I pulled the knife through her jugular. Her eyes begged me for a reason why, but I could not reply. I kicked her down into the pool of blood, knife and all. Then, I smashed my lantern along the fleshy wall, setting it ablaze!

I swept the newborn in my arm, cradling it with my flashlight I barely managed to take out. In the shaking light, I sprinted through the fleshy overgrowth, leaving the accursed place! I shouldered through hairy stalks reaching my knees and dangling veins from the ceiling.

Smoke billowed from the depths, rising as the flames spread. I ran up steps and rounded curling corridors. It was practically a catacomb used for the storage of corpses and assembling the ritual.

I sputtered, lacking breath to inhale the noxious fumes from charred meat. I felt harried in a chase. Had an unmentionable survived and made its way after me?

I tarried not a moment longer. Finally, I reached the steps before I fell entranced. I could see my calling card still embedded in the wood. I lurched up the staircase before it could follow me!

An explosion rumbled deep inside. I made it to the top just as the door downstairs broke open.

"John... You cannot stop what has already been set in motion! Our master will rise again!"

An appalling fleshy growth with the outline of my sister had chased me! The flaps of sagging skin were singed but still whole. She rolled up the stairs, determined to catch me.

I fumbled my pockets and retrieved my revolver. It was still fully loaded. I aimed at the behemoth that once was my kin and readied the triple lock mechanism.

"I'm sorry, Madeline!"

I fired five rounds, one after another. They punctured her fat like a needle and burst her like a bloody water balloon.

I shut the cellar doors, not daring to look back.

I ambled over to my Model T and cranked the engine. It roared into life, surprising yet not surprising me at the same time. I drove off to Boston. I never wanted to speak of that incident ever again.

Since that day, I raised that boy on my own. I journaled my everyday activities to maintain my sanity and ensure my self-control. I never stayed alone or unsupervised. Who knew if my mind would lapse back to the vacuous and bedeviled state like before?

Still, I felt during every night a zephyr dance across my nape and whisper intelligible babble, most unchristian in origin.

I never knew if I could fully escape the cosmic struggles of deities lost in the annals of human history. My fellows labeled my tale as the ravings of a madman regardless. At least I know our fate rested beyond our control since our first conception.