Reflection on the Hidden Cellar
Craig
McArthur
You can imagine my surprise when I discovered a cellar hidden beneath the floorboards of the
hallway and will no doubt realise how I came upon this discovery, when it was so well hidden. In
order to fully appreciate what we have discovered I need to go back to the beginning.
The house I was working at was built by our Great Grandfather and had sat empty for the
past fifteen years. Back in the 1960s they used to call it Rookery farm; I know you wouldn’t have
known that until now. I was starting out my day shifting mould-covered furniture in the hallway to try
and clear some space so that I might start chopping in the cable chases for the rewire. I stumbled
across (literally) an old mirror that had seen better days, especially after I’d accidentally cracked it.
Leaning it against the wall I glanced in the dusty reflection and by chance noticed the start
of a staircase going down toward a cellar. Startled, I turned to face the corner of the room where I’d
seen it only to find nothing but a wooden floor. I was confused. How can a reflection be different to
that of reality? Grabbing the mirror I began to tilt it this way and that, to see if it was just an image
stuck onto the glass, but it moved with the room. I placed the mirror back down and went to grab a
crow bar from my tool box. Then I set about ripping up the floor boards to see if there was indeed a
concealed entrance.
To my amazement I discovered stairs leading down. On the stairs was a letter that
appeared to have been sat there for many years. Deciding to read it later I put it in my pocket
and rushed to my tool box to grab my torch. Shining it down the steps I couldn’t really make out
anything, but I heard a noise, a muffled sound. I believed it to be field mice because this was the
countryside. I attempted to slip my body between the floor beams to go and investigate. I will not
tell a lie, I had put on a few pounds during the holidays so it was a squeeze, but you can relate to
that I’m sure.
Finally I’d broken through, and slowly but steadily descended into the darkened depths
of the house. The torch although working never seemed to illuminate anything. I put this down to
using cheap batteries and soon I became surrounded by nothing but blackness. Occasionally I’d
get a cobweb or two in my face which I don’t have to tell you is not a pleasant experience.
Suddenly I saw light ahead, and intrigued by this I picked up the pace. Before I had realised I was
now ascending rather than descending. I’d reached my destination. I was in the same room as
before.
“But how could this be?” I asked myself.
Looking around the room I noticed it had changed. To start with, the mirror was no longer
leaning against the wall … it had been hung on the wall and it showed no sign of any damage. A
ticking noise was also quite audible, I turned my head to identify it only to spot a Grandfather clock
stood next to the front door. The walls seemed to be freshly painted and I could feel a warmth
within the house, as though there was a fire lit. I began to panic. What was happening to me?
Approaching voices startled me. I quickly descended back down the stairwell into the
darkness, but as the darkness enveloped me I realised that I recognised one of the voices. It
sounded like me! I peered back up the staircase to look … I was indeed looking upon myself, only,
I was dressed differently, more of a period attire.
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