The flashlight was dead.
The dark around me wasn't just black — it was thick.
Like fog soaked in ink.
But I didn't turn back.
I couldn't.
The air down here smelled strange.
Not just rot.
Not just mold.
Something chemical.
Something sweet.
Like candy left in a dead mouth.
My hands brushed along the wall until I felt it: cold metal.
A cage.
Small.
Too small.
Inside was a doll.
Its head was missing.
Its arms tied in string.
I stepped back.
And bumped into something else.
Another cage.
There were five in total.
Only one was empty.
The rest had things inside:
A pair of children's shoes, one red, one brown.
A blanket stitched with the name "Emilia."
A notebook filled with drawings of suns, torn and bloodied.
A stuffed dog missing both eyes.
The last cage had no object.
Only scratch marks.
Dozens. Hundreds.
Tiny fingernails, now broken, still stuck in the metal.
I felt sick.
I wanted to scream.
But the silence was too deep.
Screaming would feel like waking up the house.
Or something worse.
I stepped away, trembling, and found the wall with the drawings.
Dozens of them.
Crayons, paint, even charcoal.
Children's art. All chaotic.
Happy homes. Then burned ones.
Smiling faces. Then faces crossed out in red.
One caught my eye.
A picture of me — or Daniel — standing at a window.
Smiling.
Behind him: a woman in black, holding a knife.
The date on the corner: 6 years ago.
I was 3.
That was when she took me.
I turned away from the wall and saw the mirror.
Yes. There was a mirror down here too.
Cracked.
Covered in dust.
But my reflection was clear.
I stared into it.
I didn't see a boy.
I saw all the drawings at once.
All the pain.
All the lies.
All the cages.
Inside me.
Then I heard her voice.
From behind.
"Mama?"
No.
Not Mama anymore.
The voice came from the top of the stairs.
Hoarse.
Whispering.
"Daniel… you weren't supposed to find this…"
I turned.
She was there.
Pale. Blood on her hands. Her dress torn.
But her eyes still soft.
Still hers.
"Please," she said. "I saved you."
"You stole me," I said.
My voice was flat.
Cold.
Hers cracked.
"They were going to sell you. I heard them. Your real parents. I took you away. I gave you the attic. I gave you stories. I gave you love."
I stepped backward.
Into the cage room.
She followed.
"I gave you everything," she said. "They never even wanted you."
Tears streamed down her face.
"I'm the only one who ever loved you."
I looked around.
At the cages.
The dead toys.
The scratch marks.
The broken dreams pinned to the walls.
And I said:
"Then why did you keep the others?"
She stopped.
Her face twisted.
For the first time, she looked small.
Weak.
She opened her mouth.
But no words came.
I didn't wait.
I ran past her.
Up the stairs.
Through the hallway.
Past the shattered mirror.
Through the front door — open now, for the first time in years.
The wind hit me like a slap.
Cold.
Real.
Full of things that weren't lies.
I ran into the dark.
No shoes.
No jacket.
Just me.
And the name in my head.
Daniel Reese.
Behind me, the house groaned.
Like it knew.
Like it was letting go.