The tension finally snapped on a Tuesday. Mark had installed a heavy-duty brass latch on the basement door, more to ease Sarah’s nerves than out of a real fear of what lay beyond. Yet, at 3:14 AM, a loud, metallic crack echoed through the house, waking them both instantly. The sound was followed by a long, slow creak that seemed to vibrate through the very mattress. Heart hammering, Sarah grabbed her phone for light and stepped into the hallway.
The basement door was standing wide open, the new latch sheared clean off its screws as if pushed by an immense, steady force from the other side. Luna was nowhere to be found. “Luna?” Sarah whispered, her voice trembling. There was no meow in response, only the heavy, cold draft rising from the stairs. The air smelled different now—thick, metallic, and strangely sweet, like a hospital room that hadn’t been aired out in decades.