A new story from the Kettleby Archive: The House Sitting Rules Said Never Answer the Cellar Door
Have you ever been handed a list of rules for a house you're staying in, and realised — halfway through reading — that whoever wrote them had already met whatever was down there? The list had eleven rules. Rule nine was underlined twice. It said: whatever you hear from the cellar, do not open that door.
The handwriting on rule nine looked newer than the rest. My name is Mark. I was thirty, I was broke, and my landlord needed rent by Friday. A woman called Sylvia Crane was offering a hundred and eighty pounds cash to sit her house for three nights. Water the greenhouse, take in the post, keep the lights on a timer.
That was the whole job, she said. Easy money. I told myself it was the easiest money I'd ever make. The house was a narrow Victorian terrace in a village called Ashvale, Pell Street. Front door opened onto a long dark hallway, kitchen at the back, stairs on the left. And that low green door at the end.
…
Sleep well. Or try to.