Chiller | Historical | Prompt Story
The Cellar’s Dark Secret
A young woman has a disturbing dream, which seems too real to shake
Viv studied the page the Robinsons had left.
Care of Bobbie:
2 walks a day — harness and lead by back door
feed 2 x a day — kibble (1.5 scoops) mixed with water
He likes a tartan blanket at night, leave hall light on
Extra kibble stored in the cellar
Vet : (01279) 557821
It was all pretty straightforward. Viv had been Bobbie’s walker for a couple of months. Now the Robinsons were away for the weekend, so Bobbie needed a dog sitter. Viv was the obvious choice as the little Scottie dog was used to her company.
It was a sweet gig for Viv, who had the run of the house, a widescreen TV with a subscription for every channel she could possibly want. To be paid to spend a chilled weekend with a furry friend for company posed no problem at all.
The Robinsons’ house was a rambling, period property, although they’d fitted the kitchen and bathrooms with all the mod cons. Viv watched Bobbie sniff happily round the pretty walled garden. His wagging tail disturbed a couple of bees enjoying the lavender bush, when he brushed past.
“C’mon boy, time for your supper.”
Supper was a golden word for Bobby, like biscuit and walk, so he trotted eagerly indoors with his ears pricked. She took up his bowl, but discovered there wasn’t enough food in the cupboard for his 1.5 scoops. No worries, there’d be more in the cellar.
“Wait a minute boy,” she told the small dog.
Bobbie was quivering with anticipation, but sat obediently while she took the plastic tub into the dining room and lifted the latch to access the cellar. She thought the door was probably an original feature, made of thick rough wood. When it swung open, a draft of cool air swirled around Viv’s legs. She found the light switch but was surprised when only a bare bulb existed for illumination.
Viv stepped down into the below-ground space, stunned by how cobwebby and neglected it was. The Robinsons’ house was pristine and designed to a high spec, so this seemed out of character. The sack of dog food stood near the bottom of the stairs, beside a stepladder, so she filled the plastic tub with kibble.
Viv retraced her steps, not wanting to keep Bobbie waiting, but the cellar gave her a creepy feeling and, if she was honest, she was glad to shut and re-latch the door.
Bobbie and Viv spent a companionable evening — she watched a Netflix historical drama and he sat alongside her on the sofa. When it was time to sleep, Bobbie lay happily in his quilted bed, with a tartan blanket pulled over his head. Viv secured the house for the night before she prepared for bed.
The spare room was comfortable, but without the blackout blinds she was used to at home, Viv lay awake for a while. Lying still, with her eyes closed, she pondered the empty space of the cellar, mentally “furnishing” it as a gym. She’d put a rack for weights against one brick wall, a running machine and a bench on a stripped wood floor. She didn’t get further with planning before she fell asleep.
The next day started off sunny. She and Bobbie enjoyed a long walk before coming home and flopping in front of the television. Viv chose a drama set around the time of the civil war and settled down to watch, only taking a break to fix herself food. Soon, Viv began to feel drowsy, she couldn’t keep her eyes open, but her dreams were pervaded by the characters from the show.
“Tell us where your husband is!”
“I’ve told you, I don’t know,”
“He is wanted for treason. You and your servants will come to no harm if you tell us.”
The woman cried into a lace handkerchief, showing genuine distress. Her maidservant was sobbing too, she blotted her red face with her apron.
The soldier, in his distinctive ‘roundhead’ helmet, commanded three men to search the stables and outhouses, while the heavy boots of two more soldiers could be heard looking for hiding places in the upstairs rooms.
After some time passed, the woman challenged the soldier again.
“You’ve searched my house and you can see he is not here. I demand that you leave.”
“All in good time. We have witnesses who saw your husband riding this way.”
The woman bit down her anguish, knowing it was futile to protest. This war had turned neighbours and family against one another. In order to displace blame or suspicion, many would resort to bearing witness against people they’d formerly called friends.
She sat on her hands so that she wouldn’t wring them fretfully, while casting a quelling glance at Dory, her maid. Her hysteria would surely raise questions in the soldier’s mind.
A clattering in the hall heralded the return of the soldiers, who’d been searching upstairs.
“I found this sir –”
A surly roundhead brandished a wide-brimmed hat trimmed with feathers, which his superior examined.
Ice ran through the woman’s veins, but she immediately stood and held out her hand imperiously.
“And what do you want with my hat, pray tell?”
“Yours?” the soldier and the captain said in unison.
“Yes mine,” she crossed the room, decisively snatching up the hat, then arranging it on her head at a jaunty angle. “‘Tis my riding hat.”
It certainly suited her, but with her handsome face and thick mahogany hair arranged in fashionable curls, most things did. Several ostentatious feathers draped from the hat’s brim in a dandy style made popular by the cavaliers. Had she convinced the dubious captain?
“Saddle up men, we will keep searching,” he commanded, tersely.
The soldiers strode from the room, but only when they heard the sounds of their horses riding away from the house, did the woman and her maidservant dare to relax.
“I thought we was done for ma’am,” Dory sniffed, “when they found ‘is ‘at.”
“So did I Dory,” the woman responded.
She flung her husband’s feathered hat on a stool and sank into the chair before her wobbling legs could collapse.
Viv sat up and rubbed her eyes. The credits had rolled on the show she’d been watching. Bobbie was still snoring. Her dream had been so vivid — it had also made a lot more sense than most dreams she had.
The room that the lady and her maid had stood in resembled the Robinson’s dining room, so Viv went to investigate. The window looked the same and she thought the oak dresser might possibly be original, being built in with slightly dated craftsmanship. But the wooden door to the cellar puzzled her, it had been absent in her dream, however the fireplace in her dream, to which it was adjacent, had been flanked with wood panelling.
Viv didn’t want to go all ‘amateur detective’, but she wondered if the house had a concealed hiding place.
She retrieved her iPad from the TV lounge to do some research. She was proved right, that at this time in history religious persecution was rife. The result was that many homes had what were called ‘priest holes’ built into the architecture. They were places to hide evidence of their catholic faith, and perhaps even the clergyman involved, if the house was ever searched. With this exciting discovery, Viv wanted to explore the space where, centuries ago, a person might have hidden.
She unlatched the heavy cellar door and it swung wide. The cool air raised goosebumps on her skin, but she was determined not to be afraid. The steps were constructed from the same bricks as the walls, but edged with wood. The space used the foundations of the house to make up three of its walls, but the furthest, which was under the edge of the front drive, was shored up with laid beams of wood. A metal grill allowed her to see a strip of blue sky, but the rest of the room’s ceiling was wood, rafters supporting the floorboards above, with some large iron hooks for hanging meat or game.
Almost nothing had been done to modernise the space. Again Viv questioned why the Robinsons had not added shelves or storage. The coolness could be turned to advantage if the area was used for racks of wine. With her design experience she could easily draw up some plans, she decided to broach the subject with the Robinsons when they came home that evening.
Suddenly her hackles went up, the fine hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood like stalks.
As she mounted the stairs, the creepy feeling built. If she looked over her shoulder, would she see something unpleasant? Viv forced herself to turn at the top of the stairs and look down into the cellar, but it was just as vacant and lifeless as it should have been. She shut and latched the door with a little shudder that she couldn’t explain.
“Hello Vivienne,” called Mrs Robinson.
“Helloooo my darling! Did you miss me? Has Bobbie missed Mummy? You have, haven’t you, gorgeous boy?” Mrs Robinson spoke to her dog in a high pitched voice.
Viv stood in the hall while Mrs Robinson crouched down, to make a huge fuss of Bobbie, who became a wriggling, kicking bundle of black fur. He alternately lay for a tummy rub and jumped at her knees, trying to lick her cheeks. She got the full canine welcome.
“Hello Viv,” said Mr Robinson as he crossed the threshold and put down their luggage.
“Hi, did you have a good journey?” Viv answered.
“Very good thank you, only one hold up.”
“How’s my baby been?”
Mrs Robinson had picked up Bobbie, who squirmed excitedly in her arms, lapping her neck with his pink tongue. Mr Robinson scratched the dog affectionately on the head, then bent to unlace his shoes.
“He’s been fine, we’ve had some great walks, played fetch in the park and strolled by the river.”
“Lovely,” Mrs Robinson set the dog down and shooed him out to the garden, where he ran around excitedly.
“Shall I put the kettle on? Make you both tea?” Viv offered.
She busied herself in the kitchen making mugs of tea, then took them out to the patio where Mr Robinson had joined his wife, to enjoy the early evening sunshine. They chatted about their weekend, while watching Bobbie gambol about.
“Did you have everything you needed Vivienne?” Mrs Robinson asked, as she got out her purse to pay Viv.
“Oh yes thanks. I had to top up Bobbie’s food, but there was plenty in the sack in the cellar. On that topic,” she stopped and bit her lip. “I hope you won’t think me rude, but I wondered why you haven’t made use of the cellar space. It’s crying out to be turned into something useful.”
She looked at Mrs Robinson, but the older woman’s eyes slid away. She turned to Mr Robinson, hoping she hadn’t overstepped the mark. He looked troubled.
“I’ll feed Bobbie,” Mrs Robinson excused herself.
“Have I said something wrong?” Viv hated to upset them.
“Not at all. It’s just the cellar… it has… it was where somebody died. Not recently!” Mr Robinson added hurriedly as Viv’s face became pinched with shock.
“Hundreds of years ago, at the time of the civil war; when the cavaliers fought the roundheads.”
Viv realised her skin was prickling. She didn’t like where this was going.
“A couple lived here, who were loyal to the King. That’s the cavaliers,” he added. He had no idea Viv was addicted to historical novels and dramas. “Anyway he’d been in a skirmish and rode home. But the roundhead soldiers tracked and followed him. His wife hid him.”
“In the cellar?”
“Yes, in those days it was accessed by a concealed panel in the fireplace.”
“So the door’s not original?”
Mr Robinson looked confused by Viv’s question, so she said “Sorry, carry on with your story.”
“The soldiers left, but they laid in wait. When her husband rode out again, towards London, they ambushed him. They brought him back to this house, and he was hanged, without a trial.”
Viv felt like her body had been packed in ice, but she had to ask, “where?”
“In the cellar.”
“That’s horrible,” she choked.
“I agree.”
“Is it haunted?”
“You tell me,” he looked at her steadily.
“It felt off, like I was being watched.”
Mr Robinson nodded. “Yes, and it’s cold all the time.”
Vivienne shuddered. An image of the hanging was forming in her head, and it was taking extreme concentration to block it.
“He’s buried in the churchyard.” Mr Robinson inclined his head towards the church spire, visible over the garden wall. “But to us, and others who lived here before, it seemed as if the cellar should be undisturbed, out of respect.”
“D’you know his name?”
“Arthur Jarvis. Come inside Viv, you look quite pale. Please don’t say anything to my wife, she hates thinking about it.”
Viv stood, and realised she was rather shaky, but knew what she had to do. After saying farewell to the Robinsons, she rode her bike towards the churchyard. She searched for Arthur’s grave, and found it among the older, more crooked, headstones. His wife Flora was later laid to rest alongside him. Viv stood respectfully, reading the dates of his short life. There was no mention of the tragedy in the inscription.
“I hope I don’t see you again,” she whispered, before turning to walk away.
Read another chilling story from Jacinta here.
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