Chapter 6: A: Cellar Trap Preparation

👉 [Previous choice]: You chose Option A – Trap Kincaid inside the house’s ancestral cellar using Clara’s counter-binding.

Silas’s information about Kincaid’s kit and his midnight ritual was everything. I had spent hours poring over Clara’s journal again, focusing on her more desperate entries. She had detailed a counter-binding ritual, a way to seal the entity, rather than awaken it. It involved a specific incantation and the use of iron.

My old ancestral home had a sprawling, damp cellar. Deep beneath the main floor, it was the perfect place. It was isolated, rarely used, and more importantly, it was where my father had stored many of Clara’s odd curios, including a heavy iron talisman.

Silas called me at 11:30 PM. “He’s on his way. And he’s got your Uncle Arthur with him.”

My stomach clenched. Uncle Arthur. Kincaid was using him as leverage, a legal shield.

“Is the kit accessible?” I asked, my voice low.

“Yes. The code worked. I ‘accidentally’ left the van unlocked in the alley behind the house. He’ll send me to retrieve it.” Silas’s voice trembled. “What do I do about your uncle?”

“Delay him,” I instructed. “Tell him you need help carrying something. Distract him long enough for me to get into the cellar unseen.”

I positioned myself behind a large oak tree across the street from my house, watching Kincaid’s black van pull up. Uncle Arthur, looking far too pleased with himself, stepped out with Kincaid.

“This is it, Arthur,” Kincaid said, his voice carrying in the quiet night. “The Holloway House’s true legacy. Soon to be mine.”

Uncle Arthur grunted, puffing out his chest. “Just make sure my cut is on time, Kincaid. A man’s got expenses.”

Silas emerged from the van, looking pale. “Mr. Kincaid, the kit! It’s heavier than usual. And the old cellar door, it’s jammed. Uncle Arthur, could you give me a hand?”

Uncle Arthur, always keen to look important, strode towards the cellar door. “Jam? Nonsense. A little elbow grease is all it needs.”

As Silas and Uncle Arthur struggled with the rusty cellar entrance at the side of the house, Kincaid walked straight to the front door, oblivious. He pulled out a slim, silver tool, and in seconds, the lock clicked open.

This was my moment. While Arthur and Silas were preoccupied, and Kincaid thought he had the run of the main house, I slipped into the shadows, making my way to the separate, smaller cellar entrance at the very back of the house, a heavy wooden door that led directly downstairs.

It groaned open. A cold, damp smell rose to meet me. The darkness was absolute. I clutched Clara’s journal, its pages marked with her frantic drawings of the mirror and the counter-binding ritual.

Down in the black.