Patient A-3

Chapter 3: The Basement

 I didn't sleep much after last night's scare. I chose not to share this unsettling finding with Sophie, not wishing to further alarm her. Instead, we spent the day shopping for decor and home supplies. This place feels too reminiscent of my parent's home, and I yearn to infuse it with things that feel like me. With the newfound wealth, I figure I might as well indulge in these changes, even if I ultimately decide to sell it and find a new place. Sophie left me to decorate alone, explaining that she needed her "alone time," as she puts it. I completely understand, as I also crave moments of solitude after prolonged social interactions. No hard feelings, it's something we both have in common.

 It's around midnight when I finish setting up the living room. Instead of purchasing all-new seating, I rearranged the existing furniture my parents had, even if it's not the most comfortable. To enhance the coziness, I invested in decorative pillows and fluffy throw blankets to drape over the backrests. A ginormous, soft white rug now replaces the stubbly gray one my parents had. I took the liberty of clearing most of the shelves, leaving only those with books, and filled them with little trinkets I collected along the way. It might not be much, but it's a promising start.

 Walking into the kitchen, I admire the new items I splurged on. The place felt soulless before, but now the white hues are accentuated by the pretty green decor, injecting life and personality into the space. I move into the dining room, taking in the new setup. I admit, with not many friends to host, it might have been a bit extravagant to invest in all-new dining, but the aesthetic is undeniably pleasing, and it brings me joy. Letting my hair down from my falling bun, I turn to head upstairs for the night. But just as I begin to make my way, I hear a creaking sound coming from the back hallway. Paranoid, I retrieve a large knife from the kitchen before cautiously heading towards the offices and basement door. Peering down the hallway, I don't spot anything out of the ordinary, but a nagging gut feeling urges me to inspect the basement. Although I had left the keys in my room, an inexplicable certainty convinces me that they won't be necessary. Wearily, I approach the door, reaching for the handle.

 You're being paranoid. It's not going to turn. It's locked.

 And somehow, it does. I freeze, not being able to do anything but lock eyes on the turned handle. A rush of fear courses through me at an ungodly speed. I hold the knife firmly, slowly pulling the door towards me. The darkness shrouding the staircase engulfs me, intensifying my anxiety to the point where my entire body trembles uncontrollably. I flick the light switch up, allowing my eyes to adjust before I take in the finished basement. From what I could see, there were bookshelves filled to the brim with dark green seating spaced around a coffee table. I don't know what I was expecting but I breathe out a sigh of relief before flicking the light back off and shutting the door. I turn, only making it a few steps when I hear the door creak back open. I whip around, my eyes fixed on the now-open door to the basement. To my astonishment and growing unease, the light flickers back on, reigniting the fear that had momentarily subsided. A chilling sense of foreboding grips me as I confront the possibility that I am not alone in this dimly lit space.

 "Hello?" I quake.

 So help me god, if someone replies I will jab this knife into my neck.

 I repeat myself, pushing my feet to move forward. Peeking down the staircase, I observe nothing that appears different. I cautiously take a few steps down before my common sense kicks in.

 This is how people die in the movies, Avalyn. Don't be the stupid bimbo that wanders downstairs.

 I slam the door shut, not bothering to turn off the lights. My heart pounding, I race down the hallway and propel myself up the steps. As soon as I reach my bedroom, I hastily lock the door, seeking safety within its confines. I jump into bed, wrapping my large fluffy blanket around me for comfort. The lights remain on, and I turn the TV volume to its highest setting, desperately trying to drown out my racing thoughts. Exhausted and overwhelmed, I eventually drift into an uneasy sleep, my mind preoccupied with one nagging question: How in the world did the basement door end up unlocked?