Page 28 of Jacob Michaels Is Not Jacob Michaels

Maybe I’d find something in the cellar that would put all of the pieces together. Or maybe there would be nothing. Maybe I’d go down in the cellar and have a revelation that would eventually drive me over the edge for good. After several dreams of the cellar and the ghostly green light, I knew that the cellar wasn’t a terrible place to look for answers. No matter what I found in the cellar, once I gained entrance, at least it would settle my mind. If I found something that explained what was going on, that would be ideal. If the cellar held nothing of import, then at least I’d know to focus my attention somewhere else. At least I’d be moving in the right direction and taking action, not just standing around with my thumb in my ass.

“You and this damn cellar.” Oma huffed as she yanked the key out of the drawer. “I don’t know why the hell you got to go down there.”

I held my hand out. “Just give me the key, Oma.”

Oma slapped the key into my hand as if slapping me the angriest high-five ever. Ignoring her anger, I looked down at the common key and turned to the door. Ernst tugged at my pant leg with one little fist.

“Sir.” He squeaked. “Maybe we ought-not go down there?”

“It’ll be okay, Ernst.” I looked at Oma over my shoulder. “Right, Oma? We’re not going to find anything too crazy down there are we?”

I smirked at her.

“Not unless old Christmas decorations and mouse shit are scandalous to ya’.” She snapped. “Or if cobwebs are too much for your heart.”

“There ya’ go, Ernst.” I winked down at him. “There’s nothing to worry about. Even Oma says so.”

He glanced over at Oma and from the way he twitched, I could only imagine the face she was giving him. The fact that Ernst had taken a liking to me so quickly…or so quickly again would eventually be checked off of my To-Do List of things I needed to try and remember. However, the Kobolds in the house were not my biggest concern. They lived and moved in the shadows and kept the house clean. Maybe pulled a few harmless pranks. Otherwise, they were not the reason why I felt the way I did. Not having access to my full Rolodex of memories was the problem. Oma wasn’t going to explain it to me directly—even if she fully understood it or knew about it—so I was taking things into my own hands. I was going down into the cellar no matter how anyone felt about it.

The lock didn’t do much once I had crammed the key into it. From the feeling of resistance, my first thought was that Oma had given me the wrong key. Either that was intentional or, she hadn’t opened the door in so long that she didn’t remember which key opened it. However, after a little steady twisting and turning, the lock started to move. Oma grumbled behind me, obviously not pleased with anything that was going on. I ignored her and twisted the key gently until the lock was disengaged.

Instincts took over, and I didn’t stand there, looking at the unlocked door, breathing in my victory at getting access to the cellar. Instead, I turned the knob and pulled the door outwards. A cold blast of air shot up the stairs, chilling me to the bone, but only darkness greeted my eyes. Ernst shivered and moved to stand behind my legs as I peered down the dark stairwell. Looking into the darkness, all I could think about was what I would do if all of my answers were in the room beneath us. What if I went downstairs and had the biggest revelation of my life? What if I left the cellar a changed man?

“Spooky.” Oma snorted. “Ain’t it?”

“You got a flashlight?” I looked over at her.

“Turn the damn light on, ya’ idiot.” She snapped. “It’s right there on the wall at eye level. You ain’t just dumb, you’re also blind.”

“Thanks,” I stated blandly before turning to look for the switch she had referenced.

Locating the light switch was easy enough. It was just inside the door, mounted to one of the wooden studs to the right. I gave it a quick slap and lights—well, probably one light—came on below. The cellar was still dark, but there was enough light for me to see that the floor was dirt. The stairs were wooden but solid looking, and shadows loomed everywhere. The walls of the stairwell were unfinished, as was to be expected, and there was a fair amount of dust with a scattering of cobwebs along the stairwell. Ernst was quiet, but his fingers were trying to dig into the backs of my legs. I reached down and patted the top of his head, feeling a surge of something again, but no memories flashed through my head. I laid my hand on top of his head for a moment, but nothing else happened.

Oma was still frowning when I looked over at her with my hand atop of Ernst’s head.

“What?” She spat.

“Just wondering if I’m going to find any bodies down here,” I said. “I mean, you are the resident witch around here, right? Are there bones of children down there?”

Oma squinted angrily at me.

“Double, double, toil and trouble.” I waggled my head. “Fire burn and cauldron bubble.”

“What?” She snarled.

“Read a book, Oma.” I rolled my eyes. “For God’s sake, pick up a damn book. Fuck, watch a play or a movie that doesn’t star me.”

She flipped me off with a snarl.

“Charming.”

Oma ignored me.

“You goin’ down there or what, smartass?” She shoved her fists against her hips. “Or are you just proving a point?”

Instead of responding, I stepped down and began my descent into the cellar as Ernst tried to keep ahold of my pant legs. Gently, I pulled his hands away from my legs and smiled at him. Wordlessly, I let him know that he did not have to come with me, then patted him on the head again. I didn’t know if pats on the head were appropriate for Kobolds, as though treating them like a family pet, but he didn’t to mind. Ernst seemed to find the gentle touches reassuring, so I ignored my desire to examine it.

Slowly but surely, I took one step at a time, descending further into the cellar, my fingers trailing the walls along the stairwell as I moved. After a few moments, I heard Oma stomp to the cellar door and start following me down. Whether or not that was a good thing, I wasn’t sure. If she came into the cellar with me, would she try to distract me in my examination of the room, or would she just stand there and watch. Seeing as there was no option but to let her go into the cellar—it was attached to her house after all—I walked down the last few steps. My feet touched the dirt floor, and I moved away from the steps to survey the room around me.