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Then I heard it.
A faint sound.
Knock.
Pause.
Knock.
I froze.
It was coming from downstairs.
For a moment, I simply stood there listening.
Knock.
Knock.
My stomach tightened.
I moved toward the basement stairs.
The Locked Room
I descended slowly.
The basement was dim.
The air felt cooler than upstairs.
I called her name again.
“Dorothy?”
No answer.
Then I heard the knocking again.
It was coming from a locked storage room at the far end of the basement.
I rushed toward it.
“Dorothy!”
This time, I heard her voice.
“I’m here!”
I grabbed the handle.
It wouldn’t open.
“Are you hurt?”
“My ankle,” she called back. “I can’t get up.”
I pushed harder.
The old door finally gave way.
And there she was.
Dorothy was sitting on the floor beside several boxes, her face pale and one hand resting against her ankle.
