I tap her on the nose. “Are you sure that’s what it is?”
She smirks. “Go on now.”
She shakes her head as I wander outside to the old, rusted cellar doors leading into the ground. The kids are playing around the corner, I can hear them running after Scooter, the old rooster, Billy, crowing in irritation. Through the window, I can see Jamie frowning down at the soup, adding a bit more salt.
Everything is normal. It’s a beautiful night.
Except…
I stare at the cellar doors. I knew they were here. How could I not? I walk past them every day. But when I do, I try my best to ignore them, because they give me that feeling a kid gets late at night, when he does his best not to look at the monsters hiding in his closet.
I shake my head. “Pull it together.”
The hinges creak, and flakes of rust fall from the doors as I swing them wide. A puff of cold, dirt-scented air whooshes upward. I peer down into the dark. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, and I look back at Jamie through the window to see if she’s laughing or waiting to see my reaction to the cellar. But no. She’s at the counter, cutting up a pan of cornbread, completely at ease.
Didn’t I ever tell her my phobia?
Is it new?
The cold air from the cellar swirls around my ankles and the darkness makes my chest tight. The dusky light spills over the stone steps, and I can make out an uneven dirt floor. There are potatoes down there, I can smell them.
A trickle of sweat runs down the back of my neck.
What in the world?
“It’s not a big deal. It’s just a dark, closed-in, creepy tater hole. No big deal.” I grit my teeth, and even though my heart pounds against my chest, I listen to my reasoning and step down into the cellar.
The cold wraps around me, and the air is stagnant and filled with the scent of root vegetables. The stone steps are uneven and let out onto the packed dirt. The cellar is only four feet by six feet at most, and my head nearly reaches the ceiling. Wire bins of potatoes, turnips, and carrots line the wall. I’ve stopped breathing, but it’s not a big deal, I’ll just grab a handful of potatoes and run up the stairs. I hurry forward and grasp two cold, rough, dirt-covered potatoes.
Then, without warning, my mind splits open. Except that’s backwards. Because for a moment, there’s light, it’s bright, and it illuminates the crack of a door held open. The light floods my mind, and I see the door, a tiny, gray room, and the outline of a man. And then, my mind slams shut, and I’m in the dark, in that room, and I can’t get out.
The potatoes fall from my hands, thump, and roll across the dirt. I claw at my neck. I can’t breathe, there’s no air. I can’t see. It’s dark. Rushing, pounding, yelling, hopeless dark consumes me. The room smothers me and I can’t get out. I can’t see anything. The door’s closed, there’s no light and I can’t get out.
Someone closed the cellar door. Someone locked me in. I can’t get out.
Spots flash across my eyes and the room goes darker. I can’t hear the kids anymore, I can’t hear Scooter barking, I can’t hear Jamie in the kitchen. They’re gone and I can’t get out.
I claw at my throat again.
They locked the door. The door’s locked.
I can’t breathe.
The door’s locked.
“Hey. Hey. It’s open. Look. It’s open. It’s just there. Hey.” Jamie grabs my arms, her voice penetrating the darkness.
I stare blindly ahead, trying to find her. Her fingers dig into my arms, the pain pulling me back to the present. I still can’t breathe, I still can’t see. She’s here but it’s still dark.
“Hey. I’m here. The door’s open. You can leave. You can leave anytime you want. Here.” She links her fingers through mine. “You can leave. You can get out.”
She squeezes my fingers and tugs at my hand. I stumble across the dirt floor. It seems impossible that she’s here. In that memory, no one was ever in the room with me.
“I’m here. You can leave.” She pulls me up the stairs and I trip over the steps, until finally, she pulls me over the lip of the doors and I’m bathed in the light of dusk.
I yank in a painful breath. The fresh, woodsy air burns my starved lungs and spots swim in front of my eyes. I drag in another breath. My skin is cold and covered in a sheen of sweat. Slowly, the light reaches my mind, and then other sensations, the grass under my feet, the sound of the kids, the ever-present crickets singing, the smell of the pea soup bubbling on the stove, Jamie’s hand clasping mine. Her fingers are small but strong. She’s gripping me like she’ll never let go.
I shiver and look down at our linked hands.