Chapter 5 - The Floor Beneath the Floor
We didn't leave. We couldn't—not with our head spinning from a mix of dread and an overpowering need for answers. Mark moved the king-sized bed aside, exposing the polished wooden floorboards.
Rada began pawing furiously at a section near the baseboard, whimpering in high-pitched distress.
Mark counted twelve boards from the north wall. He levered a crowbar beneath the edge. With a loud groan of protesting nails, the plank lifted away, revealing a keyhole hidden flush against the subfloor joist.
He inserted the brass key. It turned with a heavy, satisfying THUNK.
A heavy square hatch—disguised perfectly as part of the original flooring—popped open an inch. A blast of ice-cold, metallic-smelling air surged up into the bedroom.
"Mark, no! Please!" I begged, holding our daughter Chloe, who had woken up from the commotion and was trembling by the doorway.
"I have to know who I am, Sarah," Mark said, his jaw set firm. He grabbed a heavy flashlight and shone it down into the dark opening.
A steep set of rusted iron rungs led down into total darkness.
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As the beam cut through the gloom below, it illuminated something resting at the bottom of the ladder:
A pristine, modern laptop plugged into an active power line, its screen glowing brightly with a live camera feed of our daughter's bedroom.
