Under The Dreamhouse

Dark Lore Digest Prompt #52 — The basement and the mirror

image generated by Gamini AI

This story is the follow-up to the previous story I submitted, “The Dreamhouse”. You can read it as a standalone story or check out the previous one.

https://medium.com/dark-lore-digest/the-dreamhouse-8e2f6b49132c?sharedUserId=kshitizatmoon

With the help of the kitchen exhaust, the open windows drew out the lingering smoke and char, ushering in the crisp freshness of the icy wind. Roshan stood frozen in his place, the photo-frame stuck in his stiff hands. Staring at his wife’s smiling face, he blinked rapidly. Thinking he must be really tired, he tossed the frame back onto the shelf. He optimistically looked at the door, expecting his wife to walk in, probably with a justifiable excuse for her carelessness.

Upon closing all the windows, a dry groan pulled his attention towards the staircase, a sudden relief spread across his face, he rushed in the direction calling his wife’s name. Instead, he met with an old wooden door swaying in the wind. There was something in the air; Roshan sniffed to make sure — the putrid air made him choke on his own breath. Grudgingly, he inspected the dark opening with his phone torch– among the wooden planks covered in dust, there were fresh footprints leading to a few splintered edges surrounding a big hole.

“Seema!” he shouted in panic. Carefully, he leaped over the broken planks, his face swept by the dense, sticky spider web, making his skin crawl. Clearing out the web, he slowly reached the solid floor. Under the stairs, there were pieces of broken wood and a layer of dust. He traced the beam of light around the damp forest of web and snow. In the farthest corner appeared a dim light and a silhouette of the shape he was restlessly searching.

“Seema!” He screamed as he pushed past the reeking webs. His wife didn’t react to the call, her face rested still on her folded knees, she was staring at the beam of light coming from a rectangular object. Roshan wrapped her in his arms. Snow rested on Seema’s eyelids, brows and upper lip; a line of tears froze her cheeks. There was no warmth left in her body, no sign of life except for the occasional blink of her eyes. Her wretched countenance was unlike anything Roshan had seen before. His touch had no effect on her, no reaction, as if the person in his embrace was no longer his wife.

Roshan followed her gaze — the carvings on the edges were old, covered in webs and dust, bordering an old mirror. He saw his reflection. A sudden hypothermia began to take over his entire body as if the terror itself was condensed into a cryogenic liquid and poured into his throat, drowning his lungs, his heart and all the arteries and veins connected to it. Unlike the rotten, bleak basement, the reflection was radiating with warmth and cheers, none of which seemed to cross the solid membrane of glass.

Roshan was hugging her wife; their smiles complemented the absolute joy in their eyes. They gently stood up; he kissed below Seema’s ear as his hands hugged the glowing motherly bloom on her stomach. They slowly turned away as if to say their final goodbyes and joined the group of people cheering and raising toasts, faces Roshan had seen in the photo.

Facing the mirror, Roshan finally understood the expression on Seema’s frozen face; he quite had the same expression on his– like all the happiness he ever felt or happiness he ever hoped to feel was stripped out of his heart and captured across the smooth silver he was facing, drawing an impenetrable border between them. The couple sat there motionless.

The frost began to take over the bodies, their limbs getting numb inch by inch, yet the pain did not compare to the unfathomable melancholy, the abysmal hopelessness they felt in their bones.

Days later, when the police came to investigate the missing couple, all they found was the scattered cartoons still wrapped in duct tape. They did not find the wooden door leading to the basement, and, hopefully, they did not see the photo frame in the middle of the bookshelf, now complete, with all the smiling faces.

I hope you had fun reading this part. I felt the first part left some stones unturned and we had three prompts so I couldn’t resist making good use of all three. Let me know your thoughts in the comments, I welcome all the suggestions which can help me improve my skills as a story teller. Thanking all of you readers in advance.