The Room Below (Complete)

The Room Below Part Four

Petunia makes it back to the door in almost no time at all. Surprisingly enough the door is still ajar, as if nothing had changed since she left it nearly hours ago. The thought that Mr. Porter might still be down there made her pause outside the doorway. Is this his study? Kind of dark for a study, she thought.

Just as Petunia was about to change her mind and leave the opened door be, she heard a soft whimpering sound come from the room below—followed by a grunting sound that resolves in a bubbly gargle. Fearing someone may be in trouble Petunia jumps into action. Skipping the first step altogether – to avoid the creak in the step – Petunia begins to descend into the room below.

Petunia’s eyes begin to adjust to the darkness and again the soft flicker of firelight can be seen. As she moved further down the stairs, deeper and deeper into the dark room, the more adjusted her eyes become to the darkness and the more the firelight seems to illuminate the stairs in front of her.

The stairs come to a stop nearly fifty steps later and Petunia places her feet on the cold, bare cement floor. A quick glance around the room and Petunia can see torches lit and hung along the wall about every four or five feet. The room, still, is oddly dim for the number of ignited torches hanging on the wall. The persistent sounds of water dripping echoes off the stale walls, creating a near metronome rhythm—like that of a ticking clock.

Petunia hears a shuffle and immediately turns to the source of the sound. A large, barred off tunnel is visible in the dim light. Periodically the flames of the room will flicker enough to shoot bands of light into the opening exposing the first few feet of the tunnel. Crouched near the gate is what appears to be a man. His skin is old, and peeling; looking as if it has been drained of all color. Bones are clearly visible through his nearly translucent skin. Black veins run the length of his body like cracks formed in poorly laid cement. His spine arched like a cat’s stretch. His breathing tossed in and out of his body in heavy gasps.

“Sir. Are you . . . are you ok?”

The man ceases his breathing, and silence fills the air.

“Should I fetch help for you, sir?”

“No protection is so sure, as that of innocence.” the old man whispers. His face is turned away from Petunia so she can’t quite make out any features.

“Pardon me? I . . . I’m not going to hurt you. Tell me, what’s your name?”

Petunia takes a few steps towards the gate and the man behind it.

The man tilts his head slightly to his side, peering at Petunia through the side of his face. Petunia freezes in her steps. She notices a large protrusion above his left eye that seems to be covered in a dry coat of blood.

“Have you been hurt? Are you in pain?” Petunia asks in concern for the man.

“Pain . . .” the man stops as if in contemplation of the word. “I feel . . . nothing. Nothing aside from which I have grown accustomed to.”

Petunia is confused by the man and realizes she has not understood a word he has said so far.

“Can you tell me your name?” asks Petunia a second time.

“Names hold power over us. They expose our weakness . . . I am a being not easily fooled by a little girls folly.” The old man snarls at Petunia. Grunting as he turns away from her.

Petunia stood in thought of what the man said. Power, from a name, she wondered, what is he talking about?

“I desire no power over you sir. My name, is Petunia.”

The man again twists his head around just enough to peer at her with his peripherals. His eyes squint into narrow slits as he continues to stare almost straight through Petunia. The bulge above his eye almost appears to pulse. Petunia begins to feel uneasiness settle over her and she starts to wish that Rosetta was here with her right now. 

Petunia begins to take small steps back towards the staircase, making sure to not take her eyes off of the man staring at her through metal bars. The discomfort of the moment quickly rises to an aching in her body. Petunia swiftly turns, quickening her pace to a sprint. Her footfalls echoing off the walls, filling the room with the sounds of a stampede.

“Moloch.”

Petunia stops just short of the base of the stairs. She pauses in place for a moment, her heart raced and her lungs panted for air. She turned to face him.

“My name . . . is Moloch.” the man says and seems to slouch even lower to the ground.

“Mol—,”

“NO! You mustn’t!” Moloch stands, before Petunia can even register what is going on, “Leave now! LEAVE!” Moloch grips the bars of the gate in a tight clamp and begins to shake them with a ferocious fury.

Petunia frightened nearly half-to-death, climbs the stairs. As she reaches about half way up she bumps into Mr. Porter. After a moment of registering what she had run into, Petunia leaped into the arms of Mr. Porter. Mr. Porter took her up the rest of the stairs and set her down in the hallway. His eyes focused intently on hers.

“Are you ok Petunia?”

Petunia’s eyes flashed back and forth from Mr. Porter’s eyes and the opened door. Mr. Porter must notice the divide in her attention and closed the door behind him, returning his gaze to her. 

“Petunia child, were you hurt? What did you see?” Mr. Porter asked.

“No I . . . I’m not hurt. I just thought . . . I thought I saw, something.” Petunia relented.

“Well you’re ok now. Come let’s have some food shall we.” Mr. Porter extends his hand out to Petunia and she grabs it. Her hands fitting inside his, much like a baseball in a glove. Petunia walks hand in hand with her father for the first time that she could remember in her life.

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