“Mom, I'm here!” I shouted. I heard the heavy footsteps and the smell of fresh cookies wafting toward me. “How was your day, Charlotte?” My mother covered me with warm kisses. My mom had just bought a new house, with a strange history. The family before us was a bit strange. The daughter, Kate, had gone missing. Causing the mother to die of heartbreak, and the dad became a raging alcoholic and left to who knows where. Leaving the house empty and ready for sale. My mom has always loved houses with frightening history, and this house had that and was adorable! Perfect for my widowed mother. I entered the house and kicked off my uncomfortable high heels. I had just gotten back from a shooting for my latest short film. It was hard work for such little money. I was saving up for my own house, but for now I still lived with my mom. I looked around at the small living room. Oh. Who ever lived here before us had terrible taste. The walls were covered in yellow-brown wallpaper with white floral decal,and dozens of paintings of a strange tool. I did not recognize it, it looked like a wrench and a scythe combined. “Honey won’t you look at your new room?” I nodded to my mother and headed down the short hallway to a small room. The room was charming, if you were five. I looked around, disgusted and grabbed my clothes to do some laundry. “Does this toilet bowl have a washer and dryer?” I teased. My mother scoffed. “Down stairs, and at least I don’t still live with my mother. You're 22 years old, you should have a good job and a house right now.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m going to go do laundry.” I scoffed. She was always mad about me not having my own house yet. I was working really hard to get there, but I just wasn’t there yet. “At least you know how to do that yourself.” she sassed. I glanced toward the stairway leading to the basement. Creepy. I crept down cautiously to the washer and dryer. When I was loading my clothes, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a small door. “Hey Mom what’s this door for?” “Oh, it’s locked,” I heard her calling from upstairs. “It has a really weird lock, and I can’t find a key that fits.” Odd. I continued loading my clothes when I first saw it. My heart stopped, I swear I had seen the door knob turn. I was frozen in fear. Seconds later impatient banging struck the door, nonstop. I heard a blood curdling female scream from behind the door. Whoever this woman was, she wanted to get out of wherever she was trapped, and it seemed like she had been in there for a while. I ran to the door and cupped my ear to it. I could almost hear her labored breathing. “Calm down, I'm going to get you out of here!” I yelled “Mom! There’s a girl trapped behind the door, I need your help!” No response. I decided she couldn’t hear me because of her old age, but when I got upstairs there was a note informing me she had gone to the grocery store. I looked frantically for a wall phone and dialed 911. No response. I searched for a bookshelf, hoping it might contain a phone book for the city sheriff. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted a large, rustic bookshelf, and started frantically clearing books off of shelves. As I  was hauling books over my shoulder, one caught my eye. It was dark purple and very dusty. I caressed its spine cautiously and attempted to remove it from the shelf. Click. I heard a strange clicking sound, then the bookshelf started to open. It revealed a small hole in the wall, and in the middle of it was a small wooden chest. I walked in cautiously, looking around at my surroundings. I arrived at the small chest as tall as my knee and opened the top. I coughed the dust away and it left a strange tool. It was the object in the paintings. I immediately grabbed it, thinking I could use it to pry the door open. I flew down the stairs to save the woman, but the screaming had stopped. The only sound left was the humming of the wash machine. I looked at the small door curiously, how would a person even fit in there. While I was studying the strange piece of wood the jiggling of the door knob began again. I jumped back, but quickly came to my senses and tried to pry the door open with the mysterious…key? I noticed the slot in the door handle was the exact size of the tool. I shoved the key in and twisted, hard. The door popped open. Inside the door was not what I hoped for, instead an empty, dark, crawlspace. Barely enough space for me or a mysterious girl to climb into. Nonetheless, I had to save her. Whoever this girl was, she needed my help. She needed me. So I lowered myself onto my hands and knees and army-crawled into the small opening.

“I don’t know! She was going to change the laundry and then I left to go to the grocery store, and when I came back she was gone!” I whimpered, resting my head in my hands. My beautiful daughter had gone missing 3 days ago and I haven’t seen her sense. I don’t even remember the last thing I said to her. I bit my nails and looked around helplessly at the police officers helping me with my investigation. The chief stumbled over to me, glancing at his colleagues. “We found struggle marks near a small door in the basement. We forced the door open, and we… we found human remains.” My eyes filled to the brim with tears when I heard the news. “The door led into a small crawl space and I guess she suffocated. I’m so sorry.” he uttered. I sobbed into my palms. “I hate to ask you this right now, but do you know why she would do anything like this?” he asked. I pulled myself together and said. “She has trauma. Her older sister was trapped in a car after it crashed, and she couldn’t get out. She had to watch her die. She tried so hard to save her, but she couldn’t. She was just a little girl at that time. It has haunted her her entire life. Sometimes she has illusions that someone is trapped and she thinks it's always her responsibility to save them. No matter the consequences.She was clinically insane when she was 15. She has imagined her sister's voice begging to be let out of the car in basically anything you could get stuck in. I can usually calm her down , but I guess I wasn’t there that time.” I cried and cried. If I had been there, she would still be here. I cried myself to sleep every night. Regretting, imagining what would happen if I was there. Until I could cry no more. I died there, in that house along with so many others. That house is cursed with heartbreak. Cursed with death. Cursed with a mothers love.