Tim.

The night air was still in the narrow hallway. Moonlight shone weakly through the tiny window, adorned with an empty flowerpot. Tim made a miniscule movement towards the foreboding door. His heart was steadily growing faster, his breathing becoming shorter. I have to know, Tim decided. I have to find out what's down there. Steeling himself, the six-year-old clutched his favorite possession a little tighter- a worn blue sweatshirt with white lettering, spelling TAMPA. It was his only gift from his parents, who had put him up for adoption as a baby. Just yesterday Tim was sent here, to a foster mom. When he arrived, a sweet older lady greeted Tim, and read him the rules. There were the normal things, like don't stay up after bedtime, don't talk back, and listen to Mrs. Wither. However, Tim clearly remembered the last rule.

"Now, Tim," Mrs. Wither spoke deliberately. "You've been a good boy so far, but there's one final rule." With expectant eyes, Tim nodded, eager to eat dinner after she was done with the rules. Leading Tim out of the mudroom, Mrs. Wither took the little boy past the kitchen and stopped in front of a normal-looking white door. The brass handle seemed to gleam, and it made Tim shiver. Mrs. Wither put a hand on Tim's shoulder, and bent down to whisper in his ear. "Don't go in the basement." Instantly, Tim's mind went into overdrive, conjuring horrible ideas of what could be down there. Tim recoiled from the door, and quickly shrugged off her hand. Glancing between the old lady and the stark white wood, Tim tried to speak. "W-wh-," Mrs. Wither cut him off with a glance. "You are to listen to me, remember? It's the most important rule." Tim nodded, and gave the door one last silent stare.

Warnings flashed in Tim's mind, trying to sway him to go back to bed. It's only your first night here! It screamed. Don't get in trouble! The boy nervously chewed on his lip as he thought back to his call with Jonathan, his older friend at the orphanage. The 12 year old had tried to persuade him not to explore the basement. "Haven't you seen any horror movies?!" Tim had said no, and an exasperated Jonathan sighed. "The point is, nothing good will come from going down there. Even if there is nothing in the basement, do you really want to get into trouble on your first day?" Jonathan's words echoed in Tim's head. He was dying to know what was down in the basement, but was the outcome worth the possible consequences? Tim had no idea what he was walking into.

Shaking his head to clear his mind, Tim eyed the round handle. It seemed to call to him, reach him, giving Tim the final courage needed to go to it. He was entranced by how the metal shone in the faint moonlight. Curiosity won out, and Tim let another moment pass to collect himself. Then it was time.

Tim's hand seemed to move on its own closer and closer to the doorknob, until his small fingers encompassed it. He slowly shifted his hand, feeling the cold metal on his warm skin. An almost inaudible click seemed to fill the entire air with energy. With shaking hands, Tim rubbed his arms. The warnings of his mind had been silenced by something else, something stronger. In its place was an urge, a need, to go into the basement. Tim felt overwhelmed- what was in this forbidden place? Sweaty hands once again clasped the chilled knob, and with a final surge of determination, Tim pulled.

The door was heavy, and opened soundlessly. An inky abyss greeted Tim, and he couldn't see any farther then two wooden steps leading down. The black was so thick, it was almost a solid. Tim expected a musty smell, but to his surprise it was odorless. The stairs looked old and used, which unnerved Tim for reasons he couldn't explain, as did the absence of a light switch. Tim got the sense that nothing could alleviate the darkness that seemed to pull him closer. As scared as he was, Tim wanted to go inside. His mind exclaimed a feeble warning, (the rules!), but they fell on empty ears.

Tim's right foot stepped forward. Then his left. He stood at the head of the stairs, unsure of what to do next. Suddenly, the heavy door swung shut. Tim jumped, and he heard a muffled cackle. Instantly, Tim's eyes widened as blinding terror overtook him. He spun around and tried to pound on the door, but instead fell forward. The door just simply wasn't there. Tim frantically extended his arms, searching for a door that didn't exist. "HELP ME!" Tim sobbed as hot tears raced down his plump cheeks. "SOMEBODY! HELP ME PLEASE!"

"Oh dear," A condescending voice echoed in the basement. "Looks like someone got themselves in a bit of a pickle, hm?" Tim would know that voice anywhere. "MRS. WITHERS! HELP! I CAN'T FIND THE DOOR AND-"

The old lady cut him off with a cool laugh that made Tim shudder. "Now now, no need to make a fuss. Instead, how about we list the numerous rules you've broken tonight?" Tim couldn't believe what he was hearing. Yes it was wrong that he went into the basement, but here he was, trapped! Couldn't she rescue him and then scold him? She continued. "Let's see... staying up after curfew, sneaking around, yelling in the house. Oh, and of course, going into the basement." She said the last rule with such force, Tim instinctively backed away. However, the voice appeared even louder, and this time from behind him. Tim leapt away only to find that the voice followed him.

"Silly Tim!" Mrs. Withers spoke, her voice changing, becoming deeper and raspier. "I AM EVERYWHERE." Tim shrieked when something grabbed his ankle. Mrs. Withers was chuckling darkly, but she sounded farther and farther away. Tim thrashed, trying to get the thing to release him. "L-LET GO!" Tim huffed. He was growing increasingly tired with every kick. The dark turned oppressive, weighing the little boy down. His movements felt sluggish, almost like he was underwater. Tim screamed, but it got caught in his throat. Choking, Tim tried to breathe, but suddenly there was no air. More unknown beings gripped onto the boy, pulling him this way and that. NOOOOOOOOOO! Tim thought, completely engulfed with horror. AGHHHHHHH! Tim's thoughts slowly became more scrambled from the lack of oxygen. Going numb, Tim faded from consciousness.

A small smile spread on the wrinkled face of Mrs. Withers. "You didn't respect me or my rules." She quietly says as a shadow passes over her skin. Her voice changes, becomes darker. It's everywhere yet nowhere all at once. "Say hello to my husband while you're down there, dearie."