My Condo is a Turtle Tunnel — Part 1

Series — A first time homeowner disturbs something ancient while renovating his guest bedroom.

I didn’t really want to be a homeowner. But when my landlord started painting the place a hideous shade of house flipper gray, I knew I was due for a big rent hike.

Figured a third floor walk-up condo wasn’t much different from a three floor walk-up apartment, so I bought the best place I could afford, in a relatively safe neighborhood.

I got to thinking I’d stumbled on a nice little deal, until I decided to redo the second bedroom.

That forest green paint I picked out didn’t stick quite right to the wall. Thought it might’ve been the brush, until I stepped back and saw the outline of a door. Whoever had sealed it off had done a decent job.

A few phone conversations revealed little: the former owner had noticed it too, but wasn’t the one who closed the space. “Thought I heard tapping, so I put my bookcase in front of it. Creeped me out.”

According to the plans I convinced the developer to send me, there should have been a closet there.

When I finally tore the wall down, why it had been sealed wasn’t my concern; I was worried some rodent had taken up residence in the walls. I didn’t fully consider the implication until my sledgehammer had torn through the plaster and splintered the wood door beyond.

I wrenched the hammer free.

The blow had punched a hole big enough to offer a glimpse at a flickering light beyond. Confused, I peered through.

On a wrought iron hook at the back of the closet hung an oil lamp, whose flame seemed to sputter in a breeze I could neither see nor feel. Preoccupied by the obvious fire hazard, I pushed the door open to extinguish the flame.

The door opened inward with some resistance, which I attributed to swollen wood. The space beyond was a large closet, just like the plans predicted. But with the only exit sealed… how had the lamp continued burning for months without someone coming along to replenish it?

Moments after I blew out the flame, a gust of bone-chilling wind swept through the open door behind me, whistling as it whipped into the enclosed space.

Goosebumps erupted down my arms. I hadn’t left any doors or windows open in my condo—where had that come from?

I turned back to the doorway, and felt my palms start to sweat. A series of chain locks, red with rust, dangled limp from the wall. They must’ve snapped from age when I pushed the door open.

Slightly more concerning however, was the series of symbols carved around the frame. Along the floor, a thick line of salt lay across the threshold, broken by the bottom of the door when I pushed it open. An unpleasant feeling began to gnaw at my stomach, along with a question: what had all of this been designed to keep out? What had I let in?

Later…

Thank You for Reading!

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Telling a friend about me is pretty cool too. Getting your words in front of eyeballs is honestly harder than doing the actual writing and editing…