These posters soon reached Clara Mercy, the neighbor of the Ashbourne's, and the babysitter of John when he was three years old. She was sweeping away the dried leaves in front of her gate when her eyes landed on a missing poster. The moment her gaze landed on John's face, a chill crawled down her spine. She rushed back inside, climbed to the attic, and pulled open a drawer, Inside lay a faded photograph - her and John, years ago. Her fingers trembled as she stared at it with anxiety tightening her throat. And then it hit her, a memory she had buried deep. The day she had locked little John inside her pitch-dark basement, the same basement where a young girl had died under her care, a decade ago.
She remembered his wails echoing through the darkness. He had only thrown a tantrum, and for that, she left him there, alone for nearly an hour, crying in the dark, with no hint of mercy.
He was too small to be punished like this. Ever since, he feared darkness like death itself. Even a sudden blackout would make him cry. The Ashbournes never understood what haunted their son so deeply. Clara had buried the secret for years. But now that he came back, regret dawned upon her. Yet no apology could undo the trauma John had carried.
Feeling breathless with guilt, she walked into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, still thinking of John. Suddenly, the glass slipped from her trembling hands, shattering on the floor.
She reached out for the broom that usually stood by the kitchen door, but it wasn't there. Then she remembered, she had left it in the basement earlier that day while cleaning. As she stepped toward the basement door, the lights suddenly cut off, plunging everything into darkness. She looked for the broom, but everything was barely visible. She reached behind the old, rusted almirah, vaguely remembering leaving the broom tucked behind it. And then: she felt it. A small, cold hand grabbing her, trying to pull her deeper into the dark. She panicked and pulled her hand back. She rushed to the staircase, only to find the basement door locked from the outside. She twisted the knob, banged the door but she had no way out. Slowly, she began to suffocate. Her chest tightened with every breath. She felt as if someone was choking her. She was screaming, but nobody could hear her cries. She cried, she clawed at the door, but every second dragged her closer to death.
A terrifying thought crept in, she wouldn't make it out alive. And then came the flashbacks, every child she had failed, every moment of cruelty she could never erase.
A voice said to her, "Now die as you made me suffer."
Next morning, her body was found in the basement. No wounds. No medical cause. No explanation. Just fear frozen on her face.