Renting the old quaint house for the summer felt like stepping into a different world led in the countryside, it was everything I had hoped for a perfect escape from the chaos of settling life. The house had charm, with its, covered walls, creaky windows, wooden floors and the scent of blooming flowers, drifting throughout the open windows.
The day passed in a peaceful rhythm, each one filled with long walks throughout the surrounding seems quiet; evenings with a good book and the simple pleasure of solitude. But as the days turned into weeks. I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something I was missing something hidden just beneath the surface of this idyllic retreat, it wasn't known before. I discovered it.
I first noticed the door in the basement, a few days after I moved in, I had strong being storing some of my things down. Their organizing boxes in the dim light cast by a single bare bulb, hanging from the ceiling.
The basement was unfinished with concrete walls and a damp musky smell that clung to the air, it was the kind of place that felt like it had secrets and it wasn't long before I found one the door was small, almost hidden in the shadows at the far end of the basement.
It was made of heavy wood with an old-fashioned brass handing that clean faintly in the dimlight curious, I reached out to open it, but the handle wouldn't turned, it was locked.
When I asked the landlord about it, he said that room is off limit, his voice....leaving.... No room for argument, it's not part of the rental agreement, just leave it alone. His response only fueled my curiosity what could possibly be in that room, I couldn't stop thinking about it.
Every time I went down to the basement; my eyes were drift toward the door my mind speeding with possibilities, What was he hiding?
One evening while cleaning up after dinner I found the key. It was tucked away in the back of a kitchen drawer, almost as if someone had hidden it there, the moment I saw it, I knew what was it for. The temptation was too strong to resist my heart race and as I took the key down to the basement, the old stairs creaking underfoot, I hesitated in front of the door the key cold in my hand part of me new I should leave it alone, respect the landlord's wishes, but my curiosity running out...in the end, he slide the key into the lock and Turn it the door opened with a soft click, revealing a room that was, unlike anything else in the house, it was pristine, a stark contrast to the rest of the dusty basement, the air was cool and still as if the room had been sealed off from the world for years, everything was meticulously arranged a small table with a chair shelves. Lined with old books and princets in a large cabinet against the far wall, but what was caught my attention were the photographs. They were everywhere covering the walls, the sails, even the floor hundreds of them, all in black and white neatly, framed and arranged in rows and they were all.... of me.
A shiver ran down my spine as I stepped closer my eyes scanning the images they were taken from various angles. By walking in the garden, sitting on the porch, reading in the living room, some were recent, others looked like they had been taken the moment I arrived, the more I looked, the more unsettled I became, who had taken this, how had I not noticed someone watching me.... my breath quickened, as I realised that some of the photos were from inside the house there were pictures of me cooking in the kitchen, lounging in the living room, even setting at the desk in the study, the angles were strange, almost as if the photographer had been hiding in the shadows waiting for the perfect movement to capture me.
I couldn't bear it any longer. I backed out of the room slamming the door shut behind me. My hands were shaking as I locked it and hurried back upstairs. The key heavy in my pocket a showed back into the drawer where I found it as if returning it to its hiding place could somehow erase what I had seen. That night, I barely slept every creek of the house, every rustle of the wind outside, set my nerves on the edge. I kept expecting to hear footsteps in the hallway. The sound of someone sneaking throughout the house, but the night passed in silence, the house is still as ever.
The next morning, I tried to convince myself that it had all been a mistake amid misunderstanding perhaps the photos have been left by a previous student someone who had an unusual hobby, maybe the landlord didn't even knew about them but deep down, I knew that wasn't true.
When I finally walked up the courage to return to the basement, the door to the locked room was just as I had left it, I stood there for long moment my hand on the key debating, whether or not to go back inside, part of me, wanted to leave it alone, to pretend, I had never found it. But I had to know I opened the door and my breath caught in my throat. The room was exactly the same except.....except for one horrifying detail, the photographs had been replaced the new ones for any colour, the image sharp and clear.....and they were all of me asleep in my bed, my heart pounded in my chest as I looked at the photos each one taken from a different angle, as if someone had been standing right next to me while I stepped the sheets were the same, the position of my body, identically to how I remembered lying the night before and realisation hit me like a cold wave, someone had been in my room while I stepped stumbled back nearly dropping over the threshold.
The key slipped from my fingers, clattering to the floor but I didn't care I bolted up the stairs. My mind racing with fear I had to get out of there within the hour. I had packed my thinge and was in my car speeding away from the house as fast as I could, I didn't tell the landlord why I was living early, I didn't even bother to ask for a refund. All I knew was that I couldn't stay there another night as I drove away englanced in the rearview mirror half expecting to see someone standing in the window, watching me leave, but the house remained still and silent.
Its secret hidden behind its bar exterior, I never found out who took those photos or while they were there. But the memory of that room and the feeling of being watched stayed with me long after a left, I learned a valuable lesson that summerson's doors are better left locked.