The Date #Storyteller #teawards

Chapter 1

~• Monsters are real, ghosts are real too. They live inside us and sometimes they win•~

21-10-10...

She wasn't so sure if the shrill clear sound she heard from a distance was the pines whistling as she descended the wooden steps gingerly with an average sized box made of old dusty remains of cartons in hand. The precarious woods creaked as the sole of her boots struck them simultaneously. The steps were leading the basement and the poorly illumined, obfuscated surrounding didn't help matters as she kept descending with caution.
There was a small torchlight in the box firmly held by her side but it was buried deep in the miscellany of old items contained in it. She wiped a cluster of sweat on her forehead and just below her nostrils wondering how long the steps to the basement were.

The door to the basement creaked open and she entered after taking out her torchlight as she got confronted by blanket of pitch darkness that embraced her. The light from the torch cut through the darkness projecting it rays to the wall with some old graffiti paintings.

She mistakenly kicked a box on the ground while trying to move around and gave out a muffled response to the pain she just received. The light fell again on a pack of books scattered on a small shelf. The first book she laid her eyes on was one written in the historical context of an Anglophobic man. The back of the book had been detached and had a Greek etymology script annexed to it.

She picked another and blew the dust off coughing. It was written in a foreign language, the whole of them. When she turned the back page, it had a hexagram drawn at the centre. "Satanism." She muttered to herself after staring at it immensely and went back to her carton. The eerie silence in the basement gave her bowels uneasy movements but she wasn't the type that was afraid of the dark. She was brave, strong. She wasn't like every other lady that will tremble at every slight sound.
A squeaking sound was heard coupled with a dripping sound, she turned swiftly to see if she could track it's direction. Unfortunately, she couldn't.

"Mouse. It's just a mouse." She assured herself. It was probably urinating or something. The dripping sound was less now. The stench of a dead animal coated with blood slowly marred the air causing her to press her nose tightly together. She was moving slowly to discover what caused the stench when she slipped off and fell hitting the small shelf with the torch falling off her hand.

"Are you okay?" A voice called out from the entrance of the basement. A couple of books fell with a heavy thud on her, she was able to give an almost silent reply, "Yes."
Cotton rushed in the basement, first picking up the torch and rushing to her while she dusted her jeans trouser with prints of dirt rubbing her head. A book had hit her there.

"Are you okay?" He asked again and she nodded in reply. The brevity of the pain on her head was surprising. She was on her feet few seconds later glaring at the mess she had created.

"What happened?" Cotton began putting the books back to the shelf. There were quite some mass with their thick covers and title printed with slanted ancient Roman writings that flourished in their bright gold colours and some silvery.
She was Roseline, she was busy flipping through a diary. Cotton took a glance at her, maybe she was too engrossed with the book in her hands to have heard his question. He let it slide rather than repeating himself a second time.

Rose stared at the handwriting written in thick black ink, it should be the journal of the previous occupant. She sniffed the air, the stench that led to her fall had reduced drastically. Uncanny, unlike it's usual longevity. She reasoned. Her sense of smell wasn't yet unreceptive.
Her mind drifted back to the conformable, elegant writing and she read imaginatively slowly,