The Door Within Read Free

them.
    Aidan scuttled over to a workbench up against the far wall where, to his great relief, he found a small lamp that still worked. In the new light he made many discoveries: an old radio with large wooden knobs, a stack of newspapers from the 1950s, and half of an old baseball card of a player named Gil somebody. Thinking that there might be more old baseball cards, hopefully intact, Aidan began to search meticulously through other boxes nearby. No luck. The boxes were filled with musty smells, wads of tissue paper, or other smaller boxes. No ’52 Mantle, no ’81 Ripken.
    Aidan sighed and furrowed his eyebrows. He marched over to the far corner of the basement but stopped abruptly when he heard something. It was faint and might ordinarily have gone unnoticed, but because of Aidan’s nerves and the unearthly quiet of the basement, it was as bone jarring as an explosion.
    Aidan stood still as a tombstone, but his eyes strained in wide arcs. The noise clearly came from the angular nook beneath the steps, but there was nothing there. No bike with a rotting, leaking tire. No box with a mouse family within. No tipped paper cup with a roach clicking about in search of food. There was just bare cement floor. The sound continued, a raspy, whispering sound like wind disturbing a pile of dead leaves. It was getting louder. Aidan thought suddenly of the thing watching him from the pine outside his window.
    His heart now lodged somewhere in his throat, Aidan lunged toward the stairs—for there was no other way out of the basement. Just a few more steps, and he’d be . . . But on Aidan’s very next step, the lamp on the workbench flickered, dimmed, and with an audible pfffft , died.
    The darkness was almost total. Even the green light from the basement windows had been blotted out. Aidan stood frozen again, his eyes darting. He opened his mouth to scream, but his voice chose not to cooperate. He thought humorously that even if he had screamed, the only one in the house was Grampin. What could the old guy do?
    The noises continued to get louder and sounded less like wind and more like deep breaths being exhaled. There was an especially loud breath and something sparkled on the floor beneath the stairs.
    It was like blue electricity—flickering and powerful. There was a pause and the sparkles faded. Another breath, and the sparkles rekindled and began to swirl as if rapidly climbing a spiral staircase. Another pause-fade and then another breath-sparkle. This time two more electric spirals appeared directly behind the first. All three pulsed with energy and then dimmed. Suddenly, the electric sparkles glowed fiercely, bathing the basement in blue. Then, they waned and disappeared.
    Just an electrical arc of some sort, Aidan thought, trying to calm himself.
    Then the lamp on the workbench came back on just as suddenly as it had gone out, and there on the floor beneath the stairs were three tall clay pots.
    Aidan shook his head. Were they there before?
    Aidan took a few tentative steps closer. Each pot was dusty gray and at least two and a half feet tall. There was no writing or decoration of any kind on them. They had lids that made them look like huge, ancient cookie jars.
    His mind whirled with ideas. His heartbeat raced off the charts. Only a moment ago he had been terrified, but now all he could think about was what could be inside! Gold and silver coins? A treasure of emeralds, rubies, and diamonds? Aidan smiled, his mind already imagining what he would buy with his newfound riches.
    Then again , Aidan thought , each jar could be filled with something less pleasant, like cobras or—yuck—somebody’s ashes!
    Either way, Aidan had to find out, so he reached slowly toward the clay pots.
    There was no blistering heat and no biting electric shock, but the moment Aidan’s finger touched the first pot, all three of the pots shattered. Aidan flinched and pulled back, feeling very much in trouble for breaking something so valuable.