Looking back, I see floorboards splintering and the last of Elliot plummeting down into darkness. The sound of a deep thud, like a sack of rocks hitting concrete, echoes up from wherever he lands. “Elliot!” I call out, rushing to the broken floor.

Jackson’s walkie is on, and I can hear the commotion in the den. Mrs. Green’s voice blends with Beth’s and Jackson’s. Questions echo back at me: “Did Elliot trip? Why is it so dark? Where are you? Hello? Where are you?”

Jackson’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Ange? What’s going on?”

Fumbling, I work to get my flashlight out. The hole is about four or five feet across. Elliot’s gut-wrenching cries erupt from below. “El?! El, are you okay?!” I shout. Dipping the flashlight in the ripped hole, the light dances in the space, but doesn’t illuminate Elliot’s position.

Jackson’s voice crackles. “Talk to me. Ange.”

“The floor boards gave,” I reply. “He fell through to the basement.”

“Is he okay?”

“He’s hurt. Bad, I think.”

There’s silence on the other end. Jackson comes back on the line. “So, Mrs. Green says there isn’t a basement. Are you sure he fell that far?”

“What do you mean there’s no basement?” I shine my flashlight deeper into the hole. “He’s in some sort of room. There are walls. A floor.”

“Okay, okay.”

The flashlight finally catches Elliot amidst collapsed wood beams. He holds his leg and groans in pain.

“Elliot, talk to me! Please,” I call down to him.

He grimaces, rocking back and forth. “My ankle. I heard something pop. Holy hell it hurts.”

“You’re going to be okay,” I say. “We’re going to get you out of there.” My mind races. We’re far away from a hospital, maybe a thirty or forty-minute drive, and the roads are slippery with rain. Power may be out. I try to conceal my panic as Elliot grunts, reaching for his camera.

He turns the camera on, pointing the lens at his injured ankle. Gingerly, he touches the swelling skin and lets out an agonized cry. “Don’t think I can walk!”

“Just stay calm,” I call out from above. “We’re getting help!”

Down the hallway, I hear frantic footsteps. Jackson races around the corner. “Jesus,” he says when he sees the hole in the floor. “How’d this happen?”

“It just…the whole thing gave.”

Jackson carefully steps to the edge of the hole. “El!” he calls out. “You alive, man?!”

“Yeah! Think I need to go to the hospital though.”

“We’re going to get an ambulance, buddy! Just hang in there!”

“Okay!” Elliot replies, his voice faint.

“Did you call 9-1-1?” I ask.

“Beth is,” Jackson replies. “What the hell were you doing here in the first place? Wandering off like that.”

“I saw something. And it’s not like we had a detailed map.”