The Secrets of Dunharrow House

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  • Published: 14 May 2017
  • Updated: 20 Jun 2017
  • Status: Complete
When three siblings are called back by their eldest brother to their childhood home, a major family secret is revealed, and everyone is in danger.

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6. A Lot of People Are Walking On My Grave

We all groan in pain, the heavy beams trapping us.

"Is everyone all right?" asks Andrew. There's a chorus of "Yes" and more groans. "What happened to the stairs?"

"They're old," says James, but is cut off by Michaela.

"Why don't you ask Bea?" says Michaela, her words dripping venomously. "She broke them when she feel."

"And how is that my fault?!" I roar.

"SHUT IT! BOTH OF YOU!" roars Andrew back.

"Oh, just calm down," sighs James, exasperated. "We need to get the beams off and find a way out of his basement."

I squirm, but the beams crisscross across my stomach and right shoulder and legs. I'm pinned down. I'm helpless.

I can feel sixteen-year-old Bea inside me ready to break loose. The hurricane is gearing up. 

No. I can't go back to that state of mind. I can't go back to the blasted mental hospital. Michaela would stick me back in there if she had the chance.

With renewed effort and adrenaline, I'm able to shift the beams off of my legs. 

And hit Andrew in the head with it.

"Watch it, Bea!" 

"Sorry. I can't really aim pinned down like this," I say sarcastically.

"Yeah, well, whatever. Just don't move any more beams." He squirms, making the beams rustle. "Hey, James, what can you do."

"Not any more than the rest of you."

"Well, the area near your feet is clear, so try shoving some beams with your feet."

James complies, and moves a beam off of his legs, but says he can't even move his upper body because it's so laden with beams. It's a wonder none of us got impaled.

"Now, Michaela, use your hand and try to move the beam off of Bea's shoulder," instructs Andrew. 

Next to me, Michaela smiles wickedly. "My pleasure." She takes her free hand and shimmies a broken beam, "accidentally" hitting me in the face. I growl at her. "Oops, sorry!" The beam falls from my shoulder, which throbs in pain, and allow me to slide the beam off my chest. I sit up, rolling my shoulder.

"Great jobs, guys. Uh, Bea, could you help James now?"

I carefully move the beams away from James' chest. He groans in pain and tears prick his eyes.

"Stop whining," I say quietly as I remove the last beam. He moans and clutches his chest. 

"He might have a fractured rib," comments Michaela, still trapped. "Get me out and I'll look at him."

I uncover her next, but only so she can look at James. Then I uncover Andrew.

All in all, our injuries aren't as bad as they should be. James has taken the most injuries, which consists of two or more cracked ribs, assessed by Doctor Dunharrow-Levy.

She wraps his ribs up with a jacket and tells him to take slow breaths.

"Any ideas for us to get out of here?" asks Andrew, looking up at the entrance, twenty feet above us.

"Whose grand idea was it to make such a deep basement?" I grumble. She had fallen fifteen or twenty feet onto stone. 

I give another involuntary shiver, which looks more like a seizure.

James gives me a quizzical, worried look.

"Maybe we could stack boxes," suggests Michaela. I snort.

"Oh, yeah, let's just stack the flimsy boxes and climb twenty feet up. No problem!"

"At least I'm thinking of solutions!" yells Michaela.

"Yelling won't help right now," says Andrew, sliding his hands down in face. His haggard face reminds me of father after he had found out I was alive. Tired and stressed.

And I just struggled to look back into the damn mirror.

I give another shiver and, against all instinct, run my hands along the wall. 

"What are you doing, Bea?" asks Andrew. My siblings watch me as I scour the immediate walls of the room.

Finally, I climb over the broken beams into the little alcove beneath the stairs, a ten foot long hallway, pretty much. The perfect place for a secret passage. 

I feel along the left wall first, rounding to the back.

In the main room, Michaela nastily says, "Maybe she's lost it again and we need to put her back in the asylum."

"Don't even joke about that, Michaela," snaps Andrew. Fear laces his voice, like he can't verbally agree with her. Because maybe she has lost it.

Rounding on the right wall, my hand slips along the smooth, wet stone. 

There. One that pressed a bit too far in, about five feet up from the floor. The ceiling is actually low here, about six feet. My entire body trembles as I push the stone to active the passage into the basements.

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