When Liz’s husband, Jack, talks in his sleep, he says something that piques her curiosity.
Following his words, she decides to search the basement that he spoke about in his sleep.
What she doesn’t expect is to find her entire marriage imploded by the contents of an old suitcase.
When my husband, Jack, is very tired, he talks in his sleep.
After almost 20 years of marriage and raising two kids, I’d gotten used to his sleepy mumblings. They were generally harmless little things, often about work, fishing, or his car.
But last night, something he said made the hair on my arms stand on end.
“Don’t go into the basement,” he muttered, his voice thick with sleep.
I sat up in bed, my heart pounding. A few minutes later, he mumbled again.
“Liz, don’t open this.”
Then, with a final murmur, he sighed deeply.
“They’ll find out about the suitcase.”
What suitcase?
What was this man talking about?
The next morning, I couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that had overcome me. Over breakfast, as I tossed eggs around in a pan, I decided to bring it up.
“Hey, honey,” I said casually. “You were talking in your sleep last night.
Something about a box in the basement. Isn’t that weird?”
My husband’s face turned pale, and he forced a laugh, but I could see the tension in his eyes.
“What? Really?
That must have been some crazy dream!” he said, avoiding my gaze.
I knew my husband well. I mean, we had been together for over 20 years, and I could easily tell when he was lying or uneasy.
His reaction told me just one thing: I needed to see what was in the basement.
“Come on, Liz,” I told myself as I took a flashlight to the basement.
As far as I could remember, the light in the basement had been burnt out for a long time, and other than going down there to get our Christmas decorations or take out winter coats, we barely went down there.
But when I went to check, I found the door locked with a padlock.
“Hey, honey,” I called out to my husband, trying to keep my voice steady. What was so secretive in the basement that it needed to be protected by locks?
“Where’s the key to the basement?
The door’s locked,” I said.
I waited patiently for Jack to respond, but the seconds of silence were deafening. Finally, I heard his heavy footsteps as he appeared in the hallway, his face carefully blank.
“I lost the keys years ago,” he said. “If you need access, I’ll break down the door this weekend and clean everything up for you.
We can replace the door and make something out of the basement. Yeah?”
His response only heightened my suspicion.
Christmas was only three months ago, and Jack had fetched all our Christmas decorations from the basement. So, what was this whole thing about the keys being lost for years?
As soon as he left for work, I went upstairs to our son’s room.
Michael was home from college, having deferred a semester, and I knew that I needed his help to get into the basement.
“I need your help, now,” I said.
“Mom, what’s going on?” Michael asked, pulling his covers back. “Is everything okay?”
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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