I’m awoken some hours later by a loud thud from somewhere in the house. I jump into a crouch position, quickly scanning the room around me, empty, save for a sleeping Jordan on my left.
“Sorry.” Annabelle stage-whispers from the kitchen. I creep along, trying my best to not wake Jordan up. Annabelle stands by a hole in the floor, but an intentional one this time. Her opening the trapdoor had been the bang that woke me up.
“A cellar?” I say, straining my eyes to try and see into the gloom.
“Yeah, that’s what it looks like, it’s pretty dark down there, though.” She replies, also gazing into the abyss. Fancying myself a hero, I confidently hop onto the dusty old ladder, and slide down into the dark cellar. My eyes take a moment to adjust to the darkness, and it’s then that I realize just how stupid of an idea this was. I’m able to barely make out the shapes of a few shelves and boxes, and I start rummaging through moth-eaten blankets and tattered books, searching for food.
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“Holy crap…” I breathe.
The previous owners of this house had a hobby farm, and kept a few boxes of bees to pollinate their crops. They also seemed to really like preserves. I found a couple dozen jars of pickles, jams, and even one of honey.
“You finding anything down there?” Annabelle calls, from the mouth of the cellar.
“Oh yeah, we’ve hit the jackpot with this!” I reply, stuffing a musty sack full of food.
As I start back up the ladder, I realize that, between the weight of the sack, and only having one hand on the ladder, I’m rather unbalanced. I’m suddenly very aware of how little traction my worn-out sneakers have on the dusty ladder rungs, and I find myself slipping on every step. Since I had just slid down the ladder before, the thick layer of grime is still entirely undisturbed. I’m almost to the top of the ladder when my foot completely slides out from under me, and time seems to stop as I lose my grip on the ladder, my one arm not strong enough to carry both myself and my sack of cans. I feel myself fall, as if in slow motion, unsure what I should do. I stop falling with a jerk, though I haven’t hit the floor. Annabelle has come to my rescue yet again, catching me by the front of my t-shirt, the fabric straining against my weight.