The Locked Door or My Mothers Urn

“The basement is dark, very dark, with no natural light whatsoever, even though there’s a window down there, on the far wall. But it’ s covered in five feet of dirt. But don’t worry, we don’t keep bodies down there. Well, unless you count mothers urn. But it’s not down there anymore. In fact it went missing a few years ago. Before we ever got the chance to spread her ashes, it just ‘poof’ disappeared.

But that’s okay, weird things like that happen to everyone, I think. It could just be me. But now since I live in the house alone I keep that door locked. No one goes in the basement and no one comes out, because no one goes in of course. Unless I need something from down there, but I try not to store much in the dark abyss.

That’s what me and my brother used to call it. Come to think of it, what happened to him? I think he fell down the basement stairs and broke an arm. Did he die? No he didn’t. That was before he moved out after grade school, oh no I mean high school. That was before they installed the window in the basement, no it was always there. My memory’s not as good as it used to be. But maybe it will be again, I'm not sure how that works. But that’s alright, me and my sister live here. My younger sister, we’re Irish twins. So the age gap’s not much, but she doesn’t mind the basement. I mean she’s not afraid of it, like me. Unlike me she’s afraid of the attic. I can’t wrap my mind around her irrational fear. So the attic door is locked too. The only similarity between the attic and the basement is the attic has a window too. And like the one in the basement it’s closed off, but not by dirt of course. No it looks like a piece of wood, but we’ve never tried to open that window. We’ve never tried to open the basement window. They both stay shut and the doors locked.

But this afternoon some relatives are coming for the funeral service. We’ll have to look for mothers urn again. Everyone will pitch in, but I’ll help look in the attic. And I’m sure my sister will help look in the basement. The relatives will probably blame me for losing the urn, they'll probably say I spread the ashes without them. And I didn’t of course because I hate the basement. But I’m sure it will turn up somewhere.

Ding~dong

 The doorbell rang through the almost completely empty house.

‘I’ll get it,’ said my sister, quietly walking towards the door.

‘Is everyone here?’ I asked, stepping towards the window slowly peeking through the curtain. ‘I think so,’ she said looking through the eye hole in the door, ‘I guess I should let them in.’ She unlatched the lock, and turned the handle. Slowly pulling the door open. “Good evening Aunt Clarissa, Uncle Dave.”

‘Hello,’ they said in unison. Everyone said some sort of hello or hi as they walked through the open door, walking straight to the living room.

After everyone was in the house my sister shut and bolted the door and walked to the living room. And I followed. By the time we got there everyone was already starting to divide up into groups. One to search the basement and the other the attic. I was about to volunteer for the attic group, but somehow got dragged into the ones going to the basement.

We searched for hours, even though the basement isn’t particularly large. The entire time the window...there was something about the window that I couldn’t get over. I stayed away from it, and I was the first one up the stairs when I heard my sister say ‘we found it!’ from the attic.

When we all got up there, the window was open, and the wooden plank had been ripped out. And instead of the scene of grey clouds floating in the sky, it was a wooden cupboard with mother’s urn sitting there. No one else seemed to find that odd but me.

They took it outside and spread her ashes around her old flower garden. Then everyone left. Me and my sister barely spoke to one another that evening, but before she went to bed my sister looked at me and said, ‘I don’t know what it is, but I’m not scared of the attic anymore.’ I was surprised, she had been afraid of the attic since we adopted her, I mean since we were kids. I don’t think she was adopted, but I can’t remember.

That night I couldn’t fall asleep, I had been laying there kept up by what my sister had said, by the weird conditions in which we found the urn, and the window in the basement. I couldn’t understand why I was so awake, but I stared at the dark ceiling, hoping counting sheep would send me to sleep. But it did not, at least I don’t think it did. My curiosity was so sparked about what happened in the attic earlier that evening, I decided to investigate. I sat up, put on my shoes and slowly stepped into the hall.

I could hear my sister snoring in the other room. I tip-toed to the attic stairs and unlocked the door. It sounded very loud for some reason. As I walked up the stairs, they all creaked underfoot. When I reached the top, the window was still open and the wooden plank removed.

A humidity hung in the air making it hard to breathe. I walked over to the window. The urn was gone, just as expected. But in its place was a piece of aged paper. On it was written, ‘Open the window in the basement Cory.’

Cory, Cory, Cory, Cory, Cory, where had I heard that name before? Oh yes, that was my mothers name, I think. Weird, I thought to myself. This is very strange, why would this note be here when no one else saw it earlier, overlooked I suppose. Then like a weight in the back of my head I remembered that it said open the window in the basement... open the window in the basement, open the window in the basement! What a splendid idea!

I walked without thinking, all the way to the basement door. Then hesitated before unlocking it, but when I did it was loud. It rang in my ears. I walked down the stairs, each step was quiet until the last step. It cracked so loud I thought it would break underneath me, I took a breath and put my bare feet on the cold cement floor.

What happened to my shoes? I thought I put them on, they must’ve fallen off in my run to the basement. That’s fine, I might catch cold but I’ll be fine. I crept to the window, pausing before reaching for the latch. It clicked open, surprisingly the window slid open with no resistance.

The dirt slightly breathed in and out, I slid my hand across it. It was damp, but it crumpled off slowly. I reached into it, and it practically blew away. Once all the dirt was gone, in front of me was a hole in the dirt carefully cut out in the shape of a square, or a tunnel, I couldn’t decide which.

Inside of it sat an urn. I picked it up. It was beautiful, and it was heavy. I opened it, it was full of ashes. On the base there was something engraved. I looked closer, it said Terra White. Terra White? I dropped it in surprise. It shattered, ash scattering everywhere, shards of glass cutting into my feet. I jumped up and crawled into the tunnel, finding another old note, a pen and a blank piece of paper.”

***

“And Miss White you said this note was on top of all that?” said the police officer, looking at the shattered glass, bloody footprints, and pile of ash that sat below an opened window blocked off by dirt.

“Yes sir, I found it like that this morning. I heard something shatter last night but I thought it was my imagination, so I went back to sleep.” She said.

“And do you know a Cory?” He said

“Yes, that’s my mothers name.”

“And you have a brother like mentioned in the note?”

“Yes sir, but what’s so strange about this note is that it’s signed Terra White, my sister. And it’s written in her handwriting.”

“And is your sister here?”

“No sir, that’s the odd part. She disappeared when she was six. That was eighteen years ago.”