00:00Every family has boundaries, right? Places you don't go, questions you don't ask,
00:04rules that hang in the air even if nobody says them out loud. Some families keep it simple.
00:10Don't touch dad's beer. Don't snoop in mom's purse. Don't mention Aunt Carol's third divorce.
00:15In my house, the rule was much darker. It was the basement. That single, heavy door at the
00:22bottom of the hallway had its own gravity. You felt it when you walked by, a pull in your stomach.
00:26The rule was simple. Don't open it. Not that you could. The lock on that thing wasn't the kind
00:32you get at Home Depot. It was steel, industrial, like something meant for a storage unit or a prison
00:38cell. That door belonged to my stepfather, Tom. Tom came into our lives after my real dad split.
00:45My mom remarried fast, and I was 13 when Tom moved in. At first, he seemed fine. Normal, even. Too
00:52normal. Like a man who had studied sitcom fathers and was trying to imitate one. He smiled when you
00:59expected it. Told jokes like they were pulled from a manual. Touched my shoulder too lightly when he
01:05wanted to seem caring. But his timing was always wrong. His laugh came too late. His stare lingered
01:11too long. He wasn't a bad man, not openly. Just uncanny. But it wasn't his weirdness that scared me.
01:18It was the basement. From day one, it was off limits. That's just my workshop, he told me the
01:25first week, ruffling my hair with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. Lots of dangerous tools
01:30down there. You don't want to lose a finger, sweetheart. At 13, I believed him. At 15, I
01:37doubted him. At 16, I started hearing things. The noises came late at night, when the house was supposed
01:43to be dead quiet. At first, it was faint scraping, like metal dragged across concrete. Then came
01:50thuds. Muffled clinks. Once, I heard what I swear was sobbing. Thin and muffled, like someone crying
01:57through fabric. The next morning, I told my mom. She froze mid-step, spatula still in her hand, and gave
02:04me this look I'll never forget. Not anger. Not disbelief. Fear. Pure, paralyzing fear. Then,
02:12without a word, she shook her head sharply. Like, she was warning me to never bring it up again.
02:18So I didn't. But I noticed other things. Tom never carried tools down there. No saws, no drills,
02:25no boxes of nails. He never built anything, never fixed a damn thing around the house. The only thing
02:31he did with that basement was guard it. If I lingered near the door too long, he appeared behind me,
02:37smiling too wide, saying, Curious little cat, aren't you? I learned to avoid it. But avoidance
02:43doesn't kill curiosity. It makes it fester. That door became the center of my thoughts. I dreamed about
02:49it. I'd imagine what was behind it when I was at school, when I was brushing my teeth, when I was
02:55trying to fall asleep. And then one night, I found out. I was 16, walking home from a friend's
03:01place. It was late, later than I was allowed to be out, so I crept inside, shoes in hand,
03:08careful not to wake anyone. The house was quiet, except something was different. The basement
03:13door. It was cracked open. Not just unlocked. Open. Just a sliver. Enough for a faint, jaundiced
03:21glow to leak out, like a single bulb swaying from the ceiling. My first instinct was to run
03:27upstairs, lock my door, and forget I'd ever seen it. But I'd waited years for this. That door had
03:34ruled my childhood like some unspoken god. And now it was open. I could not go in. The hinges groaned
03:40as I pushed it wider. My foot hit the first step, and the air grew colder immediately. With each
03:46creak of the staircase, the smell intensified. Damp, moldy, metallic. Like rust. Like pennies on your
03:54tongue. Like blood. By the time I reached the bottom, I was shaking. The light came from a
04:00single bulb dangling above, its chains swaying slightly. The basement was wrong. Not a workshop.
04:06Not storage. Something else entirely. Shelves lined the walls, metal racks from floor to ceiling.
04:13And stacked on those shelves were glass jars. Dozens. Maybe hundreds. Each one filled with liquid.
04:19And inside the liquid, things floated. At first, I told myself they were animals.
04:25Maybe Tom had a biology hobby. Maybe he preserved specimens. My brain clung to that idea like a
04:31lifeline. But when I stepped closer, I saw the truth. They weren't animals. They were human.
04:37A jar held a hand, pale and shriveled. Fingers curled like it was reaching for me. Another had a foot,
04:44toenails cloudy but intact. Smaller jars contained ears, fingers. Eyeballs with milky irises that seemed
04:51to follow me no matter where I moved. Some jars looked ancient. Liquid yellowing. Flesh barely
04:57recognizable. Others were fresh. Fresh enough that veins still clung to ragged stumps of skin.
05:03I gagged, hand clamped over my mouth while burning my throat. My shoulder knocked into the table in the
05:09center of the room, scattering papers across the floor. Not papers. Diagrams. Pages filled with
05:16anatomical sketches. Human bodies drawn and dissected, labeled with notes in a jagged hand.
05:23Dates filled the margins, some recent, some decades old. A few had names scrawled on them,
05:28but each one was slashed through violently, the paper torn where the ink had cut too deep.
05:33And then I saw it. The jar at the very front, placed like a trophy. Inside was a face. Or most
05:41of one. Lips shriveled. Teeth bared in a grotesque grin. Eyelids half-closed, lashes still clinging.
05:48Skin pale and tight, stretched like parchment. I stumbled back, knocking into a shelf. The jars
05:54rattled dangerously, liquid sloshing, eyes and hands pressing against glass as if trying to escape.
06:01That's when I heard it. The creak of the basement door. Slow, deliberate footsteps descending the
06:07stairs. Sweetheart. His voice. Tom's voice. Calm. Almost tender. What are you doing down here?
06:15My breath caught. My heart screamed at me to run, but my legs locked in place. I turned,
06:20and there he was, at the bottom step, bathed in the sickly glow. He wasn't angry. He wasn't surprised.
06:27He was smiling. And in that moment, I realized something I wish I never had. The door hadn't
06:33been left open by mistake. He wanted me to come down here. When I saw Tom at the bottom of those
06:38stairs, I swear the whole world froze. His smile stretched in that strange, too wide way he had.
06:45Not angry. Not shocked. Just pleased. Like a magician about to reveal his trick to the audience
06:51he'd been waiting years for. I tried to speak, but my throat was sandpaper. My mouth worked soundlessly,
06:58my brain screaming at me to say something, anything. But he beat me to it.
07:02You weren't supposed to see this, he said softly, walking toward me, his shoes clicking against the
07:08concrete. His voice wasn't scolding. It was calm. Too calm. Not yet, anyway. I stumbled backward until
07:16the table dug into my hips. Jars rattled as my hand brushed them, and I forced myself not to look at
07:22the floating contents. My eyes stayed locked on him. What? What is this? My voice cracked, thin as
07:29glass. He tilted his head, like a teacher amused by a naive question. A collection, he said simply.
07:36My life's work. Proof of discipline, of patience. Every man needs a hobby. A hobby. He said it like he
07:43was talking about stamp collecting. My stomach twisted. Those are people, I hissed. My legs
07:49trembled so badly I thought they might buckle. Tom's smile widened. They were people. Now they're
07:55mine. He gestured toward the shelves proudly, like he was showing off art. Some of these go back
08:01decades. Before you were even born. Before your mother ever knew me. Horror gripped me. That meant mom
08:07knew, she had to know. But then I remembered the look on her face when I'd mentioned the noises.
08:12That sharp, terrified silence. She knew something, but not everything. You're sick,
08:18I whispered. His eyes darkened, but his grin never faltered. Sick? No, sweetheart. Sick is sloppy.
08:26Sick gets caught. I am careful. I preserve. I honor. Do you know how much effort it takes to make sure
08:32flesh doesn't rot? To keep an eye intact for years. I shook my head violently. My hands groped blindly at
08:38the table behind me, searching for anything sharp, anything heavy. My fingers brushed cold metal,
08:45a scalpel. Thin. Small. Better than nothing. Tom saw. Of course he saw. But instead of lunging,
08:52he chuckled. You think you're the first to try that? That single sentence dropped like a stone in my gut.
08:58The first. Meaning others had stood here before me. Others had tried. Others had failed. My grip
09:05tightened around the scalpel anyway. He moved closer, step by step, his eyes locked on mine.
09:11You remind me of one, he said softly. She fought too. Made it. Exciting. His smile quivered,
09:18as if savoring a memory. She's here somewhere. Want me to show you? I thought I'd faint.
09:24My knees buckled, but adrenaline shoved me upright. I darted around the table, my shoulder slamming into
09:30his chest as I shoved past. He staggered, but his laughter chased me as I bolted for the stairs.
09:36Run, little cat. Run. I scrambled upward, my palms slipping on the banister. I could hear him behind me,
09:43not rushing, not panicking, just climbing steadily, confidently, like he knew I couldn't escape.
09:49I reached the door and shoved. Locked. I screamed, slamming my shoulder against it,
09:56clawing at the knob until my nails bent back. Locked from the outside. Tom's laugh floated up
10:01the steps, slow and patient. You think I'd leave the door open without a plan? His voice was almost
10:07tender, like he was explaining something to a child. You were supposed to find it. Curiosity always wins
10:14in the end. You lasted longer than most, though. I'll give you that. My heart nearly exploded.
10:20He'd wanted this. He wanted me to come down here, to see, to panic. I spun around, the scalpel shaking
10:27in my fist. Stay the hell away from me. For the first time, he stopped smiling. His face went slack,
10:33his eyes cold. Or what? You'll cut me. He took a step closer, spreading his arms. Go on. Try.
10:41I gripped the blade tighter, my arm trembling. He wanted me to strike. He wanted the fight.
10:47I wasn't giving him that. Instead, I hurled the scalpel at his face and bolted sideways,
10:53deeper into the basement. His snarl followed me as the blade clattered harmlessly across the floor.
10:59The shelves loomed, endless jars watching me with cloudy eyes. I ran blind, my shoulder slamming into cold
11:06steel, liquid slashing dangerously. My lungs burned, panic clawing at my chest. At the far wall,
11:14something caught my eye. A second door. Smaller, metal, bolted shut. I threw myself at it,
11:21rattling the handle, slamming my fists against it. Nothing. Behind me, Tom's footsteps grew louder,
11:27slower. He was savoring this. No one gets out, he said. No one. Desperate,
11:33I grabbed one of the jars and hurled it at him. Glass shattered, liquid splashing across the floor.
11:39A hand, an actual human hand, flopped out, fingers twitching as if alive. Tom's grin faltered.
11:46That gave me strength. I grabbed another jar, then another, smashing them one after the other.
11:52Shards flew, rotten flesh spilling across the concrete, the stench choking the air.
11:56Stop. Tom roared, his voice finally cracking. His precious collection, his trophies, were being
12:03destroyed. For the first time, he looked afraid. I grabbed the largest jar I could find, arms straining
12:10under its weight, and raised it high. His scream tore through the basement as I smashed it against
12:15the lightbulb overhead. Glass exploded. The bulb shattered. The room plunged into darkness.
12:21Silence. My chest heaved. I crouched low, frozen, listening to his ragged breath somewhere in the
12:28black. My ears rang. My hands cut and slick with blood and preservative fluid. Then, his whisper.
12:36Right next to me. You're mine now. Something slammed into my side. Pain exploded through my ribs as I hit
12:42the floor. His weight pressed down, his hands groping in the dark. I thrashed, kicking, biting, screaming,
12:49until my hand landed on something sharp, a shard of glass. I didn't think. I drove it upward with
12:55everything I had. His scream tore through the dark, high-pitched and animal. The weight shifted.
13:01I scrambled free, crawling blindly until my fingers hit the staircase. I dragged myself up,
13:07clawing each step, blood slicking the wood. At the top, my hand found the knob again, and this time,
13:13it turned. The door swung open. I stumbled into the hallway, gasping, eyes blinded by the sudden
13:20light. Behind me, the basement roared with chaos, tom thrashing, jars shattering, screams echoing up
13:27the stairs. And then silence. I slammed the door shut and twisted the lock, my whole body shaking.
13:33I don't remember running. I don't remember bursting into the street barefoot, neighbors' lights flicking
13:39on as they heard my screams. I don't remember the police dragging me into their car while others
13:43stormed the house. What I do remember is the officer who sat with me afterward. His pale face.
13:49His trembling hands as he said. The basement. It goes back decades. Maybe longer. We don't even know
13:56how many. They never found Tom's body. The basement was covered in blood and glass, his collection destroyed,
14:02but him? Gone. Like he dissolved into the dark. It's been years since then.
14:08I don't live in that house anymore. I don't live anywhere near it. But sometimes, at night,
14:14when everything is quiet, I hear it again. That slow creak of a door. That patient laugh.
14:20And a voice, soft as silk, whispering right behind me. Sweetheart.
14:24And a voice, sweetheart.
14:41And a voice, soft as silk, whispering right behind me.
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