The Boy’s Whisper

James lifted the rug further. The outline of the trapdoor was undeniable now. Rusted nails. Uneven grain. A cover-up job, done years ago but not well enough.

He turned toward the young assistant standing by the door—a girl barely out of high school. She was holding a paper cup, her hands trembling so badly orange juice sloshed over the rim.

“You okay?” James asked gently.

She nodded too quickly. “Y-yeah. Just startled. That dog’s bark is… loud.”

But she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

James was about to press her when he heard a small voice at his knee.

The little boy had stepped forward, eyes still fixed on the floor. He leaned close to Diesel and whispered, just loud enough for James to catch it:

“That’s where the other kids went.”

The words hit James like ice water.

He crouched fast, lowering himself to the child’s level. “What do you mean, buddy?”

The boy looked over his shoulder, then back at the floor. His voice dropped to a trembling whisper.

“They go down there when they don’t listen. The lady says they have to learn to be quiet.”