Chapter 4
Chapter 4
Basement Number Seven
Grace remained hidden inside the wardrobe long after Jonathan Blackwood and Isabella left the room.
The silence that followed felt heavier than their conversation.
"You're getting careless, Isabella."
"I don't think I'm the one who's running out of time."
Those words replayed in her mind as she waited, barely daring to breathe. Five minutes passed. Then ten. Only when she was certain the hallway was empty did she slowly open the wardrobe door.
The bedroom was exactly as she had left it, except for one thing.
The bundle of letters was gone.
Jonathan had taken them.
Grace searched the desk once more, hoping she had overlooked something. Most of the drawers contained ordinary items—receipts, stationery, old photographs, and architectural sketches of the mansion.
Then she noticed a folded blueprint tucked inside a leather portfolio.
The paper was yellow with age.
Across the top, in faded ink, were the words:
BLACKWOOD ESTATE – ORIGINAL FOUNDATION PLAN
Grace spread the blueprint across the desk.
Her eyes followed the outlines of the mansion she knew so well.
The ballroom.
The library.
The servants' quarters.
The wine cellar.
The underground storage rooms.
Everything matched the estate she had memorized over the years.
Everything except one section.
Near the northern foundation was a circular mark surrounded by thick red lines.
Below it, someone had handwritten two words.
Basement 7.
Grace frowned.
She had never heard anyone mention a seventh basement.
According to every employee, the estate had only two underground levels.
Yet the blueprint clearly showed another chamber buried far deeper beneath the house.
Someone had crossed it out with black ink, as if trying to erase its existence.
The following morning, Grace arrived early at the staff kitchen.
Walter was already there, quietly drinking coffee before beginning his work in the gardens.
She slipped the folded blueprint onto the table.
His weathered face instantly lost its color.
"Where did you find this?" he whispered.
"In Isabella's room."
Walter glanced nervously toward the door before lowering his voice.
"You should burn it."
"Why?"
"Because Basement Seven was never supposed to exist."
Grace sat across from him.
"Tell me."
Walter hesitated.
For nearly a minute he said nothing.
Finally, he sighed.
"When I first came here thirty years ago, construction crews were still finishing the lower foundations. They worked day and night for almost six months."
"What were they building?"
"I never knew."
"You saw nothing?"
"I saw trucks arrive after midnight."
"What did they unload?"
Walter looked directly into Grace's eyes.
"They didn't unload."
"They loaded."
"Loaded what?"
He swallowed.
"People."
A cold shiver ran through Grace.
"What do you mean?"
"I saw workers helping frightened children into unmarked vans."
Grace stared at him in disbelief.
"Did you tell anyone?"
"I tried."
"What happened?"
Walter looked away.
"The next day every construction worker disappeared."
"Disappeared?"
"They were replaced."
"And no one ever spoke about Basement Seven again."
Grace spent the afternoon searching the estate archives.
Hidden inside decades of maintenance records she found something unusual.
Several pages had been carefully removed.
But one page remained.
The document was dated twenty-three years earlier.
It listed scheduled inspections for every underground level.
Basement One.
Basement Two.
Storage Tunnel.
Boiler Room.
Emergency Shelter.
Then one final line.
Level Seven – Authorized Personnel Only
Every name on the inspection list had been blacked out.
Every name except one.
Architect: Eleanor Hastings
Grace had never heard of her.
She hurried to the mansion's computer room and searched through old newspaper archives.
After nearly an hour, a single article appeared.
Award-Winning Architect Eleanor Hastings Reported Missing During Blackwood Estate Project.
The article ended abruptly.
No body had ever been found.
No suspects were charged.
The investigation remained unsolved.
Grace felt her pulse quicken.
The woman who designed Basement Seven had vanished before the mansion was completed.
That evening, Grace returned to the hidden iron door.
This time she carried the blueprint.
Beyond the narrow staircase, the underground passage stretched into darkness.
She moved quietly, counting each step exactly as shown on the map.
The tunnel divided into two corridors.
One led toward the room where she had heard Daniel's voice.
The other descended even deeper.
There was no lighting.
Only damp stone walls and the distant sound of dripping water.
Grace followed the second passage.
After several minutes she reached a rusted steel gate.
A large number was welded onto its center.
7
Her flashlight trembled in her hands.
Basement Seven.
It was real.
The gate was secured by a heavy electronic lock that looked far newer than the surrounding walls.
Someone still used this place.
As Grace examined the control panel, she noticed faint scratches near the bottom of the door.
Not scratches.
Messages.
Someone had carved words into the metal with a sharp object.
She knelt and brushed away years of dust.
One sentence became visible.
WE ARE STILL HERE.
Her heart pounded.
She shined the flashlight farther down.
More messages appeared.
Hundreds of them.
Names.
Dates.
Short pleas for help.
Tiny handprints stained the concrete wall beside the gate.
Some looked decades old.
Others seemed disturbingly recent.
Grace covered her mouth.
This wasn't a forgotten basement.
It had been a prison.
A prison for children.
Suddenly, a metallic click echoed from somewhere behind her.
She spun around.
The passage was empty.
Then the lights flickered on one by one, illuminating the tunnel with harsh white light.
A calm male voice echoed through hidden speakers.
"Good evening, Grace."
She froze.
The voice continued.
"I've been wondering how long it would take you to find Basement Seven."
Grace slowly looked upward.
A black security camera was mounted high in the corner of the ceiling.
Its small red light blinked steadily.
Someone had been watching her the entire time.
Then the speaker crackled once more.
"I think it's time we finally met."
The steel gate unlocked with a deafening clang.
May you like
Slowly... it began to swing open on its own.
Behind the darkness beyond the doorway, footsteps echoed toward her.
