She heard the whispering down the hall and hurried down it, throwing open the next room. Sunlight streamed through the window, revealing the larger, empty room. Frustrated, she opened the last two remaining doors in the hall, a full bathroom and a small bedroom. She stormed into the last room, throwing open the closet. She didn't spot anyone. Closing the door with frustration, she turned around.

Movement outside of a broken window caught her attention. She walked over to the opening, she looked down into the front yard where her mother paced back and forth as she yelled into her cell phone. Sonja glared with annoyance and turned back to the rooms.

She wasn't impressed with any of the rooms. The master bedroom looked almost tolerable, but the idea of sharing a single bathroom with her mother left her feeling cold. She wiped the sweat from her brow and pulled her t-shirt from her chest, disgusted by the sweat that peeled off her skin. The top floor needed an air conditioner to be even livable.

Uncomfortable, she headed back down the stairs. The stairs creaked under her footsteps and she could hear the movers pulling one of the exercise machines from the truck outside. Dodging around one of the men struggling up the stairs with a heavy bookcase, Sonja wandered around the ground floor. Coming into the kitchen, she opened a fridge and marveled at the size of its insides. Whoever owned the house before was obsessed with cooking.

Turning around, she saw something she missed the first time: a painted-over door behind the door to the hallway. Closing the fridge, she crossed the kitchen and pushed the door shut to look at the one behind it. The second door was the same color as the wall; it looked like someone tried to hide it with thick coats of paint. Even the cracks around the door frame were sealed over with dried paint.

When she tried the ancient handle, it refused to move. Grunting, she twisted it hard. She could hear the latch scraping inside, but the door didn't budge. Grumbling to herself, she tried to use both hands, but the door continued to stay sealed shut.

She gave up after a few seconds. With a mutter, she closed the kitchen door to leave. "Guess no options down there."

She managed to push the door open when she heard a loud snapping noise. Startled, she stared at the kitchen door, at the scratches of many years of use, and listened carefully. To her ears, it sounded like it came from the door that refuse to open. With a trembling hand, she reached for the kitchen door and pushed it shut. It squealed as it rocked back into place and she blinked as she stared at the white painted door.

Hesitating, she pressed her fingers against the cool wood before she grabbed the handle. She gave it a cautious turn, not expecting it to move. The door opened easily, flaking the thick paint to the floor. It swung open silently, as if oiled. Cold air, colder than she expected, puffed past her and she felt her nipples hardening underneath her shirt.

Holding her breath, she pushed open the door even more and peered down at the wooden stairs leading into darkness. Sonja fumbled around the edges for a switch, but found none. On an impulse, she reached up and her fingers brushed against a string hanging above her. Tugging on it, the light above the door popped slightly and filled the stairs with a dirty yellow glow.

The basement stairs were steep, but heavily built. Stepping forward, she planted one foot on the top stair. A cool shiver grazed across her skin as she felt her breath catching in her throat. Instead of stepping away, she brought her other foot down and the stairs held. Moving gingerly, she stepped down the stairs, one at a time, peering around her constantly.

Silence. Only the occasional thuds of the movers broke through the dim silence that filled the basement. Above her, the ceiling reached at least twelve, if not more, feet tall. She felt tiny in the massive basement. The air felt cool, just barely warm enough to prevent her from shivering. At the bottom, her feet found the solid concrete floor comforting. Through her sandals, Sonja felt the cold from the floor seeping through her soles. Peering around, she spotted another pull string and tugged on it. It resisted, but soon another light popped on with a hiss and flooded everything with a yellowed light.

To her left, she saw a storage or work room of some sort. A heavy rusted drain dominated the floor. The edges were covered in shelves and cabinets. Tools, rusted from misuse, rested everywhere, with a thick layer of dust over everything. To her right, a shut door, but she followed a hallway going back along the stairs, moving in almost reverential silence. At the back, she found a clothes washer and dryer, both looked remarkably new. A door led outside and a padlocked chain hung across it to seal it off. On the floor, she kicked through forgotten clothes eaten by bugs and age.

"Sonja? Where are you?"

Her mother's voice called out. At first, Sonja thought her mother came downstairs and spun around, looking for her. When her mother called again, Sonja lifted her gaze up to the ceiling. She yelled back as she walked back toward the stairs. "I'm okay!"

"Pick a room, honey. They are almost to your stuff."

Hearing her mother annoyed her even more. Sonja looked over to the closed door at the base of the stairs and opened it. A dark room, larger than the smaller bedrooms, but smaller than the master bedroom. Stepping inside, she found a heavy switch and pushed it up. Lights hissed as two hanging lights exploded with brilliance, revealing an empty room with smooth, painted walls. Each wall looked orange with dust and grime.

Sonja circled the room, hearing almost no sounds from above. Two other doors lead out of the room. Looking into the first, she saw a good-sized bathroom with a deep wide tub. Cream-colored tiles were broken in a few places, but otherwise the tub looked usable. In the other, a walk-in closet, completed with bars mounted in the proper places.

The cool air almost felt good against her skin as her movements created a faint breeze. A sense of comfort filled her and she made her decision. Sprinting up the stairs, she found her mother standing near the front door, directing everyone. "Mother! I found my room."

Barely giving her a glance, she pointed to the mover and then up the stairs. He waited until she looked away before making a pained expression.

"Good, I was about to pick for you."

"In the basement."

Her words sunk into her mother's thoughts for a moment before she shook her head. "No. Absolutely not."

"Why not?"

"Because it is cold and I don't want you down there."

"I like it. And you can use the upstairs for your office."

"I already have an office, the room you don't pick."

Sonja felt herself getting desperate. Thinking furiously, she went through a few arguments before finally fixing on one. "It is private and you don't have to listen to my music."

That stopped her mother who paused for a moment.

Feeling hopeful, Sonja spoke up again. "And I know you always need a storage place for your papers. And your books would do better upstairs than in the living room. And this has a bathroom of my own, which means no more sharing the outlets."

Gwen looked thoughtful. She said, "Fine, but if you catch a cold in this next week, you are moving the furniture yourself."

Relieved, Sonja felt the first hope dawning. She didn't want to move California, but there was something about a private room of her own that sounded appealing.

Her mother turned away to direct the movers.

Sonja decided to be useful and hurried outside to help.

End of Chapter 1