The kitchen always smelled of pancakes or grilled cheese sandwiches.
There were crayons in the refrigerator.
Little shoes near the front door.
Toys were always hidden under the furniture, no matter how much I cleaned.
She seemed alive.
Then I noticed the basement door.
It was always locked up.
Always.
Just to illustrate. The locked basement started to bother me.
One evening, while we were cleaning up the kitchen after dinner, I casually asked:
Why is the basement always locked?
Daniel didn't even look up.
"It's a place to store things," he said. "Tools, paint cans, old odds and ends. I don't want the girls to get hurt."
It seemed reasonable.
So I dropped the subject.
But after that, I started noticing strange things.
Sometimes Grace would stop in the hallway and stare intently at the basement door.
Emily also passed by there, but always ran away afterwards, as if she shouldn't be there.
One afternoon, I found Grace sitting silently in front of the door.
"What are you doing?", I asked.
"Thinking," she replied.
"In what way?"
She stood up immediately.
"Nothing."
And he ran away.
Something didn't seem right. But not enough for me to confront Daniel.
At least not yet.
Then Grace asked me the question that changed everything.
One day, the two girls were sick at home while Daniel went to work.
At first, they seemed sad.
Then, suddenly, they recovered enough to cause real chaos in the house, like small tornadoes.
I was making soup when Grace came into the kitchen and tugged at my sleeve.
His expression was strangely serious.
"What was it?" I asked.
She repeated it carefully.
"Do you want to see where she lives?"
