Exorcism

Chapter 2: The Basement

The morning after their first night in the house, Jack woke early, the events of the previous night already fading into the fog of half-remembered dreams. He stretched and looked over at Emily, who was still curled up under the covers, her face peaceful. Not wanting to wake her, he quietly slipped out of bed, threw on a T-shirt, and headed downstairs.

Sunlight streamed through the large windows, illuminating the still-cluttered living room. Boxes were stacked haphazardly, their labels scrawled in Emily’s neat handwriting. Jack sighed, already feeling the weight of the day ahead. Moving in was always more work than you planned.

He was halfway through unpacking a box of kitchen supplies when he noticed it: a narrow seam in the wall near the pantry, partially concealed by layers of peeling wallpaper. At first, he thought it was just part of the house’s old-world charm, another quirk of its construction. But the longer he stared, the more it nagged at him.

Curiosity got the better of him. Setting down a stack of plates, Jack ran his fingers along the seam. It was subtle, but there—an outline of a door. He pressed experimentally against the wall, and to his surprise, it gave way with a faint creak. A hidden door swung open, revealing a narrow staircase descending into darkness.

“What the hell?” Jack muttered to himself.

“Jack?” Emily’s voice startled him, and he turned to see her standing in the kitchen doorway, her hair a mess from sleep. She rubbed her eyes and frowned. “What are you doing?”

“I found a basement,” Jack said, gesturing toward the open door. “It’s not on the floor plan. Did you see this when we toured the house?”

Emily stepped closer, peering cautiously into the darkness. “No, I didn’t. That’s... weird. Maybe it was a storm cellar or something?”

Jack shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”

Emily grabbed his arm before he could take the first step. “Jack, wait. It’s probably nothing but cobwebs and junk. Let’s just leave it for now, okay? This place is old. Who knows what kind of creepy stuff is down there?”

But Jack’s curiosity had already taken hold. He smiled at her reassuringly. “Relax, Em. I’ll just take a quick look. It’s probably just storage.”

Before she could protest further, he flicked on his phone’s flashlight and descended the creaking wooden stairs. The air grew colder with each step, carrying a faint, musty odor that made his nose wrinkle. The light from his phone barely penetrated the darkness, revealing little more than unfinished stone walls and a dirt floor.

The basement was larger than he expected, stretching farther into the shadows than the house’s footprint above suggested. Jack moved cautiously, scanning the space. A few broken chairs and rusted tools were piled in one corner, along with what looked like an old trunk.

And then he saw it.

In the center of the room stood a pedestal, crudely carved from dark stone. Atop it lay a large, leather-bound book, its cover cracked and faded with age. Strange symbols were etched into the leather, their designs twisting in ways that made Jack’s eyes ache if he stared too long.

“What is this?” he muttered, stepping closer.

The air seemed heavier now, almost oppressive, as though the room itself were watching him. Jack hesitated, but his hand moved almost involuntarily, reaching for the book.

The moment his fingers touched the leather, a sharp chill shot through him, like ice water running through his veins. He gasped, yanking his hand back, but the sensation lingered, prickling at his skin. His phone’s flashlight flickered, casting erratic shadows that danced across the walls.

“Jack? Are you okay?” Emily’s voice called from the top of the stairs, her tone edged with worry.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he lied, his voice trembling slightly. He forced himself to pick up the book, ignoring the lingering cold, and carried it upstairs.

Emily’s eyes widened when she saw it. “What is that?”

“I don’t know. It was on a pedestal down there. Looks like some kind of old journal or something.”

She backed away instinctively, her unease evident. “Jack, that thing gives me the creeps. Maybe we should just put it back where you found it.”

Jack smirked, trying to lighten the mood. “Come on, Em. It’s just a book. Probably left behind by the last owner.”

But as he set it on the kitchen table and flipped it open, his smirk faded. The pages were filled with the same strange symbols as the cover, their patterns chaotic and unsettling. Some of the writing was smeared, as though the ink had bled long after it dried.

Emily hovered at the edge of the room, her arms crossed. “Can you even read any of that?”

“No,” Jack admitted, flipping through the pages. “But someone went to a lot of trouble to write it. Look at this.”

He pointed to an illustration: a circular symbol surrounded by jagged shapes, with a central figure that looked almost humanoid, but distorted. Its eyes were hollow, its limbs elongated, and its mouth stretched into a grotesque grin.

Emily shuddered. “I don’t like this, Jack. Put it back. Please.”

He hesitated, his gaze lingering on the drawing. Something about it drew him in, like a puzzle begging to be solved. But Emily’s voice snapped him out of his trance.

“Fine,” he said, closing the book and tucking it under his arm. “I’ll put it back.”

As he descended the stairs again, Jack couldn’t shake the feeling that the symbols on the page had been watching him.

And as he placed the book back on the pedestal and turned to leave, he could have sworn he heard a whisper.

This time, it spoke his name.

“Jack...”