Chapter 12 - The Basement Workbench"Daddy, I'm scared," Maisie whimpered, tugging at my sleeve. "Is the bad lady coming back?"
"No, sweetie. Sloane is locked away where she can't hurt us," I said, trying to steady my breathing. "I need you to stay in this room, lock the door, and don't open it for anyone. Absolutely anyone—do you understand?"
"Even you?"
"Only if I say the secret password: Sunflower," I told her, kissing her forehead.
Equipped with a heavy tactical flashlight from my desk drawer, I headed toward the basement stairs. The air grew colder with every step down into the shadows. The wooden door leading to the workbench—the one Elena’s letter had mentioned—was slightly ajar, creaking rhythmically in the draft.
I pushed it open and swept the beam of light across the room.
The workbench was covered in sawdust and old tools. I pulled open the second drawer. It was filled with old screwdrivers and rusted nails. I yanked it harder, feeling for a release latch underneath.
With a metallic clack, the false bottom of the drawer popped upward.
Inside lay a heavy black ledger book and a sleek, modern digital voice recorder. My hands trembled as I pressed play on the recorder.
May you like
Static hissed for a second, followed by a crisp, chillingly familiar voice.
It was Sloane.
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