In 500 Words Or Less

Buried Memories

"I can't believe the stories we used to tell about this place."

Martha looked up the gravel drive, towards the derelict house at the end, then turned back to her companion. "I mean," she continued, "we used to be scared of this place."

Natalia laughed. "What was it we called this place? The witch house, or something like that?"

"That's it! We thought a witch lived here, and she kept the souls of children in her basement."

The two women fell silent and turned their attention back to the house. It's stern, Victorian facade was cracked, the plaster falling away to reveal the brickwork underneath. Lace curtains, dappled with mildew, hung in the jagged remains of the windows.

"Shall we go in?" Natalia asked. "Confront those old fears?"

"Let's!"

They climbed the steps to the front door and pushed it open. The door grated across the linoleum, leaving behind grey scuff marks. Inside, the hall was a collection of neglect and decay. The floorboards had warped and lifted, while bare wires hung down between chunks of broken plaster. A breeze blew along the passage, lifting the women's coats and scattering grit and rubbish in its path.

"How long has it been like this?" Martha asked, dubbing her finger into the layer of dust on top of the hall table.

"Forever?" Natalia grimaced. "Certainly since before we were born." She made her way down the hall, pausing to look into the rooms on either side.

Martha headed for the staircase. "I'm going to find the witch's room!" she called out as she mounted the creaking steps.

Natalia nodded in acknowledgement and continued to investigate the rooms on the ground floor. One door, hidden at the end of the passage, was shut. The doorframe was warped with age, and was only just holding the door in place. There was something about the door that fascinated Natalia - something familiar. She put her shoulder against the wooden panels and pushed.

The door gave way and opened. Natalia could see a set of stone steps, making their way down into the darkness. An aroma of wet clay and rotten fungus rose up from the cellar, rattling chains of memories. Somehow, Natalia knew there was something down there - something that she had forgotten. Instinctively, Natalia took a step back, away from the door. She collided with something soft behind her.

"Ow! 'Talia! Watch it! You could have crushed my toes." Martha peered around her friend's shoulders, trying to see what was at the bottom of the steps.

Natalia pulled the door shut and turned around. She took a deep breath and looked Martha in the eyes. "There's nothing down there." She tried to smile. "Nothing down there at all."