Claire coughed as dust rose in thick curls. The hinges resisted, metal rasping against wood, but eventually the door gave way and folded back to reveal a narrow staircase. Wooden. Uneven. Fading into darkness. Claire clicked on her flashlight and aimed it down.
The beam illuminated old steps—some bowed, some cracked—leading into what looked like a cellar, maybe ten or twelve feet down. The air rising from below smelled stale and damp, like wet stone and mildew. She hesitated. But then she descended.