The vents in the house carried noise everywhere. Normally just my parent’s voices or the television set. But that night there was a presence in the house, and it crept through the vents. It filled the house with sorrow and fear and for some reason that made me angry. Something was happening to my family and I was being left out. That made me even angrier.
Beneath the basement door was a thin sliver of light from the stairwell. There were no shadows moving by the door. I wrapped my fingers, one by one, around the door handle and pulled down, pushing the door slightly open. The stairwell was clear.
Very carefully I made my way down those steps, taking in every breath slowly, and easing it out on each step down. At the bottom of the stairs were two paths. One led to the laundry room, which was dark and damp. The other led to a closed door. It was my dad’s space. His room. We were never allowed in that room. I heard a voice from behind the closed door. Then another. It was my dad and grandpa whispering.
To be continued.