J Cooper

 Chapter 4: As above, so below.

            Matt’s scream cut off as he dropped into total darkness, air whipping past his ears. He hit something soft with a muted thud, dust exploding around him in a choking cloud.

            For a long moment, he lay still, dazed. Then, blinking through the gloom, he realized he wasn’t hurt. The floor beneath him was a mound of old, rotted clothes, mildewed and brittle, but enough to break his fall.

            He pushed himself upright and yanked off his mask, coughing.
            “Trent?” he called, voice cracking. “Trent! I’m okay—I think!”

            No answer. Only silence… and the faint, steady dripping of water somewhere in the dark.

            Heart hammering, Matt dug into his candy bag until he found his little flashlight. He flicked it on. The weak beam wavered in his shaking hand, slicing through the dust.

            He froze

            He wasn’t just in a basement.

            He was in a cage.

            Thick iron bars surrounded him on all sides, rusted but solid, reaching up into the shadows above. A heavy door hung open across from him, its hinges warped, the bars bent outward as if something inside had forced its way through.

            Matt’s throat went dry. “W-what is this place…?”

            He scrambled to his feet and aimed the flashlight upward. The ceiling loomed at least fifteen feet above him. The trapdoor he’d fallen through was now sealed shut, blending perfectly with the wood around it. No cracks. No seams. No way out.

            “Trent!” he shouted again, louder. His voice echoed, then died, swallowed by the dark.

            That’s when he heard it.

            A low, guttural groan.

            He whipped the flashlight toward the sound. The beam trembled over the stone… then caught movement.

            Something slumped against the far wall.

            No—someone.

            A man.

            Chains clinked as he shifted, wrists bound to the stone. His clothes were shredded, hanging off him in filthy strips. His skin looked pale beneath streaks of dirt and sweat. When the light hit his face, he flinched, raising a trembling hand to shield himself.

            But for a split second, Matt saw his eyes.

            They glinted with an unnatural amber glow.

            “You… really shouldn’t have come here, kid,” the man rasped. His voice was raw and torn, like every word scraped his throat bloody. “But for what it’s worth…” He grimaced, jaw clenching as he sucked in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry. You should really find a place to hide.”

            Matt’s mouth went dry. “Wh-why? What’s happening?”

            The man’s body seized. His chains rattled violently as his back arched, bones shifting beneath his skin with sickening, wet pops. He screamed, an awful, animal sound that echoed off the stone.

            “Run!” he choked out, just before his voice dissolved into another shriek of agony.

            Matt stumbled backward as the man’s fingers twisted, splitting and lengthening into claws. His teeth pushed forward, jagged and sharp. His eyes burned—bright molten gold.

            The flashlight jittered in Matt’s shaking hand, its beam jerking across the stone as the man, no, the thing, lunged forward against its restraints.

            The metal groaned.

            Then, with one final, shattering pull—

            SNAP.

            The chains broke.

            The crack hit Matt like a gunshot.
            Then came the growl—deep, guttural, vibrating through the floor and climbing straight into his bones.

            Matt staggered back as the creature stepped into the open, it towered over him, eight 7 or  feet in height. Fur rippled across its twisting frame, skin splitting as muscle swelled beneath it. Its face warped—part man, part wolf—slick with sweat and blood. Each breath was ragged… hungry.

            “Holy crap,” Matt whispered.

            The beast lifted its head.

            Its glowing eyes locked onto him.

             Then it lunged.

            The creature slammed into the bars of Matt’s cage, inches from the bent door hanging crooked and half-torn from its hinges.

            Matt screamed and bolted, diving through the twisted opening as the beast’s claws scraped the stone behind him, throwing sparks. He hit the ground hard. His flashlight skittered away, its beam spinning wildly across the walls.

            He scrambled on all fours, snatched the light up, and sprinted down a narrow tunnel lined with pipes and packed dirt. His sneakers slipped on the wet floor as he ran, breath ragged.

            Behind him came the sound of pursuit—thundering footsteps, claws shredding concrete.

            He turned a corner too sharply and clipped his shoulder against a jagged beam, pain flaring white-hot down his arm. He kept running anyway, ignoring the warmth of blood soaking through his sleeve.

            The tunnel opened into a wide chamber littered with broken crates and rusted tools. Matt darted behind a toppled shelf just as the beast crashed through the wall, scattering debris in every direction.

            He bit his tongue to keep from crying out. His flashlight flickered… sputtered… then died.

            “Come on, come on…” he whispered, smacking it uselessly.

            The only light now came from the creature’s burning eyes as it sniffed the air, head slowly turning toward him.

            Matt’s pulse pounded in his ears. He ducked lower, inching backward.

            His hand pressed down on a patch of loose, rotted boards—

            —and they gave way with a soft crack.

            The sound was enough.

            The beast roared; a sound so violent it felt like the air itself tore apart. It charged, smashing through crates as Matt scrambled away, splinters biting into his palms and knees.

            He dove beneath a set of rusted stairs, curling tight, breath held. The beast’s claws raked across the steps above him, sending showers of rust and dust down over his head.

            Then—silence.

            Matt clamped a trembling hand over his mouth.
The creature sniffed… growled low… then slowly turned, padding back into the dark. Its breathing faded into nothing.

            Matt didn’t move.

            His whole body trembled. His arm throbbed where he’d been cut. His knees burned from the fall. Dust stuck to the sweat on his skin.

            He took one shuddering breath.
            Then another

            “Trent…” Matt whispered, barely audible. “Please find me.”

                                                            *

            Trent froze by the candy table the moment he heard it, a deep, unearthly roar ripping through the house, so loud it rattled the windows. A second later came a scream.

            Matt’s scream.

            Trent’s heart seized. “Matt?! Matty!”

            He lunged forward without thinking, mimicking what Matt had done, grabbing handfuls of candy from the bowl—hoping the trapdoor would open again.

            Nothing happened.

            Panic surged through him. Trent cursed, flipped the entire table over, sending candy skidding across the floor.

            “LOGAN! CHRIS!” he shouted, voice cracking. “MATT’S IN TROUBLE!”

            He didn’t wait to hear if they answered.

            Trent spun and sprinted down the hallway, desperate to find stairs, any stairs—that led to a basement. Chairs toppled as he barreled through the dark, nearly tripping over a loose rug. His heart hammered in his ears, echoing the last sound he’d heard from his brother.

            Ahead, the hallway opened into a dimly lit kitchen. Cabinets hung crooked. Dust coated the counters. Something smelled sour, old.

            Trent skidded to a stop, scanning frantically and then he saw it.

            Almost hidden behind a stack of old boxes near the pantry was a narrow door set into the floor. Its edges were worn and splintered. A faint breath of cold, damp earth seeped through the crack beneath it.

            “Matty…” he whispered.

            He lunged for the door handle, fumbling as sweat stung his eyes. With a loud creak, the door opened, revealing a steep spine of narrow wooden stairs descending into darkness.

            “Matty!” Trent shouted, voice raw and breaking. “I’m coming! Hold on!”

            A chill wafted up from the stairs, carrying the faint metallic scent of blood… and something else. Something wild. Animalistic. The deep growls Trent had heard earlier had stopped, replaced now by low, guttural snarls echoing off unseen walls.

            He swallowed hard, gripping his flashlight so tightly his knuckles ached, adrenaline flooding his veins. He stepped toward the opening, then froze, hand gripping the railing.

            The stale, earthy smell rising from below made his stomach twist, but it wasn’t what stopped him.

            Screams erupted somewhere upstairs.

            Not Matt’s this time.

            Logan and Chris.

            Shouts, crashing, panic—and then, abruptly, silence.
            Silence broken only by a low, echoing growl from the basement that vibrated through Trent’s ribs and turned his blood to ice.

            “Logan? Chris?” Trent called out, voice trembling. No answer. No footsteps. No movement at all.

            Just that growl… waiting.

            For a long, agonizing second, Trent hesitated. Panic clawed up his throat. Every instinct begged him to run, to get help, to get out.

            But then he saw Matty’s terrified face in his mind—those last seconds before the floor swallowed him whole.

            He couldn’t abandon him.
            He wouldn’t.

            Trent closed his eyes and drew one deep, shaking breath.

            “I’ve got you, Matty,” he whispered.

            Then he stepped onto the first step and began his descent into the darkness below.

                                                               *

            Matty crept through the basement, heart hammering, trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and the werewolf. Every cut and scratch burned, but fear pushed him forward. He slipped out from beneath the sagging stairs, quietly weaving between broken furniture, darting from shadow to shadow. His flashlight shook in his hand.

            Then he heard it—footsteps above.

            Not the padded thud of the beast.

            A human voice.

            “Matty!”

            “Trent…” Matty whispered, breath catching.

            Relief surged through him. He bolted for the stairs and sprinted upward without looking back—

            —and collided with Trent mid-step.

            Before either could react, a roar exploded from behind him, shaking the basement walls. The werewolf had found them. Its massive claws shredded the floor as it charged the stairs.

            “Matty!” Trent yelled, grabbing him and yanking him upward.

            Wood splintered behind them as the creature reached the bottom steps, tearing them apart with raw, monstrous strength.

            Then Matty screamed, a sharp, piercing cry that cut straight through Trent.

            Trent looked down.

            The werewolf had bitten into Matty’s right leg, teeth sinking deep into his calf. Blood streamed down Matt’s shin in dark rivulets.

            “Hold on!” Trent shouted, gripping Matt’s arm as the wooden steps groaned, threatening to collapse beneath them.

            Thinking fast, Trent dug into his pocket—leftover candy from earlier. He grabbed a fistful and hurled it down the stairs. The bright wrappers spun through the air, flashing in the dim light.

            For a split second, the werewolf hesitated eyes tracking the movement. It released Matt with a guttural snarl and swiped wildly at the falling wrappers.

            “GO! GO!” Trent hissed, hauling Matt up the remaining steps toward the kitchen.

            The stairs creaked violently under their weight. Trent reached the landing and whirled around; Matt clutched tight against him.

            The werewolf barreled upward.

            Trent’s eyes locked onto a rotted support beam jutting out beneath the steps.
With a desperate shout, he swung his leg and kicked the post sideways. The weakened wood snapped—a sharp, cracking report and the staircase gave way just as the creature lunged.

            With a furious roar, the werewolf leapt and dropped straight through the collapsing stairs, crashing into the darkness below.

            Trent didn’t wait to see if it hit the ground.

            He dragged Matt into the kitchen and slammed the basement door shut. Both boys collapsed against it, panting hard, sweat and dust streaking their faces.

            Matt sagged against Trent, trembling.

            Trent pressed a hand to the bite, feeling hot blood seep between his fingers as adrenaline roared in his ears.

            “I know, Matty. I know—but we’re okay. We made it out.”

            Below them, the werewolf snarled and slammed into the broken stairwell. The impact rattled the kitchen cabinets, dust drifting from the ceiling with every hit. But for now, the creature couldn’t reach them.

            Trent yanked off his sweater and wrapped it tightly around Matt’s leg. Then he slipped free his belt and cinched it just above the wound, pulling until the bloodflow slowed.

            “It’s gonna be okay,” he whispered, voice cracking as he held his trembling brother close. “We’re gonna be okay.”

            Another thunderous slam erupted beneath their feet, shaking the floor.

            Matty whimpered and clutched Trent’s sleeve. “It’s still down there…”

            “I know,” Trent whispered. “That’s why we need something to fight with.”

            He eased Matt up, guiding him to lean against the counter. Then Trent rose, crossing the kitchen with long, desperate strides, stepping over shattered boards and the debris littering the floor.

            His flashlight flickered weakly across the cabinets, peeling paint, rusted hinges, warped wood—each crooked door hanging like a watching eye.

            Trent yanked open the first drawer.

            Nothing but warped silverware and a rat’s nest of broken utensils.

            He slammed it shut and tore open the next.

            Dust. Old letters. A rusted can opener.

            “Come on,” he muttered, breath trembling.

            Behind him, Matty pushed himself upright, jaw clenched despite the pain. He limped to the lower cabinets, hands shaking as he opened one after another—pots, pans, useless junk.

            Then he saw it.

            A long black handle sticking out of a wooden knife block shoved deep into the corner.

            Matty reached for it.

            His fingers closed around the handle of a butcher knife—long, heavy, wickedly sharp despite the rust along its edges. He exhaled shakily, half relief, half fear.

            “Trent,” he said, voice wavering but determined.

            Trent spun just as Matty held the knife out to him.

            But something else caught Trent’s eye—a smaller blade wedged between the block and the wall. A thick-bodied steak knife, narrow and pointed like a fang.

            “Matty,” Trent said, shaking his head. “You need something too.”

            He reached past his brother, grabbed the steak knife, and pressed it into Matty’s hands.

            Matty stared at it, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. His fingers curled tight around the grip.

            “I don’t… I don’t know if I can…”

            “You can,” Trent said softly but with absolute certainty. “You already survived that thing once. You can do this.”

            From deep beneath the floorboards came a roar—louder, angrier, vibrating through the house. The walls shuddered with it, and the sound rolled through the kitchen like something alive.

            Both brothers flinched.

            Trent lifted the butcher knife, blade trembling only slightly in his grip. Beside him, Matty raised the steak knife—his arm shaking, but steadying as he pulled in one long, determined breath.

            The banging below grew sharper, and what sounded like metal scraping stone. The wet, horrible sound of something massive forcing its way upward. Then—

            Silence.

            A suffocating, heavy silence that settled over the kitchen like a held breath.

            Trent stepped closer to his brother, never taking his eyes off the basement door.

            “From now on,” he whispered, “we move together. We don’t split up again. Ever.”