TERROR IN THE CRYPT (Chapter 4): Days merged into weeks as the novelist balanced his life. Apart from a long weekend spent with a client and his wife at their home in Wiltshire, the writer’s days were spent weaving webs of marketing speel

He found such tasks tiresome, but the real world ran on real money. During Julian’s weekend away, his thoughts occasionally flew home. Fondly, he pictured the large drawing room where he spent most of his working and leisure hours.

An ideally situated room, it allowed for sprawling on the bed-sized leather settee and drifting off to sleep whilst basking in the sun that bathed the south-facing room.

Gazing out at the panorama behind the garden’s fencing and border shrubs, Julian could catch glimpses of the parklands. He was glad that St John’s Park was not your typical urban park for children and playgrounds.

The woodlands to the rear of the villa were one of England’s oldest parks. Apart from deforestation, the area was little changed since 12th-century kings and their courtiers hunted deer and other wild creatures in these same estates.

His was a charming existence. He constantly blessed his good fortune for guiding him to Sunnyside Manor. It often crossed Julian’s mind that he would happily live to the end of his days at the semi-secluded retreat.

In a corner section of the large drawing room was situated a small and cosy side room that he liked to use when writing. Having been told that there was an unused cellar-like room beneath the side room the writer’s only misgiving was his unease at what lay beneath his feet as he tapped away at his keyboard.

Soon after he had become aware of it, he had pulled back the Persian rug covering much of the small room’s wooden flooring. On doing so he was intrigued to discover a 2-metre by 1-metre trapdoor. Julian’s curiosity tempted him to raise the hatch to see what might be waiting to be discovered beneath his writing den.

After raising the trapdoor, Julian dropped to his knees and found himself peering into an unlit cellar. He did notice an unpleasant aroma. Descent into the vault for any who dared to investigate had to be by ladder.

Admittedly edgy, the writer stretched out on his stomach after raising the trap door. Then, using his flashlight, he moved its beam around the underground basement.

There wasn’t much for him to see. It did cross the writer’s mind to use the underground room to store several cartons containing part of his library of books, DVDs, and various items that he had accumulated over time.

But, for reasons such as poor accessibility the mysterious vault could serve no practical purpose. He decided against the idea.

But the incurably inquisitive Julian did pluck up enough courage to descend the ladder with his flashlight. Swinging the torch’s beam here and there he slowly descended into the gloomy crypt.

Julian occasionally raised his eyes to see the reassuring square of light revealing the open trap above him.

After cautiously avoiding the dust-shrouded debris on the floor of the vault the inquisitive writer might decide that there wasn’t anything of interest and he could put the matter to rest.

After finding himself at the far end of a small underground corridor leading from the 6-metre x 8-metre basement, the jumpy writer turned to make his way back to the ladder leading to the trapdoor. 

Alarmingly, he almost lost his balance after tripping over something unseen. It was at that moment that his flashlight inexplicably turned off. Plunged into eerie darkness and attempting to rationalise the situation rather than panic, Julian urgently pushed forward and backwards the switch of the torch.

His attempts to make the flashlight work came to nothing. Fighting an urge to panic, he tried twisting tighter the cap enclosing the battery compartment.

This didn’t cause the flashlight to respond either. He had no choice but to face reality. Cursing himself for his mindless escapade Julian searched in the darkness for the light from the cellar’s overhead hatch. Lost in the pitch darkness he had now lost his bearings.

Although his eyes by now had adjusted to the murky darkness, he couldn’t make out the ladder but he could see the light from the ceiling hatch.

Whilst gripping his useless torch Julian began to feel his way around the cellar’s dank walls hoping he would eventually bump into the escape ladder leading to the trap above.

At some point in his short but terrifying journey, the cellar’s temperature inexplicably dropped alarmingly.

Trying desperately not to lose a grip on the chilling situation it crossed Julian’s mind that if an unseen force could control his flashlight and the vault’s temperature then it could cause the disappearance of the ladder and trapdoor. No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than he heard a slight thump. The trapdoor over his head had slammed shut.

With his heart beating wildly Julian continued feeling his way along the unseen wall until finally, he stumbled into the ladder leading to where the now unseen hatch should be. Placing his foot on the first rung and then the second and the third he soon afterwards reached the closed trapdoor.

As far as he could recall there was no bolt on the hatch of the trapdoor. Julian’s relief was overwhelming as having reached the trap he pushed it up and over.

Clambering through and into the fresh air of his drawing room he viciously kicked the trap shut behind him. Then with his heart pounding, he fell to the floor and fervently kissed the sides of his writing desk.

The shocking experience in the crypt-like cellar had completely unnerved him. It didn’t help matters when minutes later he again tried his flashlight. As soon as he pushed the switch the torch came on full beam.

At this point, he accepted that the cellar was to be strictly out of bounds. Vowing to never again lift the rug that concealed the trapdoor was a promise he would keep. PLEASE SHARE OUR STORIES

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