Beneath the Hallowed Hill Read Online Free PDF

to the kitchen. Sheep grazed close to the fence. One ram kept trying to mount one of the females, whose only response was to move a few steps away from him and continue grazing. Anne picked at the leftovers from yesterday’s breakfast extravaganza. Michael’s grief wasn’t personal to her. She never met Robert, but this death brought the feelings rushing back; it followed too quickly on the heels of Thomas’s, not to mention the others who were killed in the underground temple in Egypt…and Cynthia. She pushed the food away after a few bites.
    Shaking off her growing despondency, Anne stood up to explore the rest of the house. If they were going to pack it up and sell it, she would need to take an informal inventory. She already felt a growing attachment to the place, but she would still need to know what was here even if she decided to keep it. They only glanced at the rooms on the bottom floor, and there was a whole basement to explore as well. She would start there, it matched her mood.
    A white paneled door opened off the kitchen to the basement stairs. Anne ran her hand along the wall, but found no light switch. She turned back and rummaged through the kitchen drawers for a flashlight. She found a small one hidden at the bottom of a utility drawer. She switched it on and turned back to the steps.
    Anne walked down the wood planks, resting her hand lightly on the railing to avoid splinters. The concrete floor was fairly dry, which surprised her considering their proximity to the springs. A cobweb brushed against her face and she reached up to push it away, but it turned out to be a string hanging from the ceiling. One quick tug, and the harsh light of a bare bulb illuminated the basement. An ancient furnace stood in the front corner; next to it several filters, still in their package from the store, leaned against the wall. She wouldn’t have to worry about the heat for now—it was spring after all—but if they kept the house, she would have to replace it.
    Boxes loomed in the opposite corner. Anne pried open the first one and found strings of colored lights neatly coiled, and several tin boxes containing ornaments for a tree nestled in tissue paper. Cynthia decorated the mantelpiece, but didn’t get around to putting up a tree. The next box contained more prosaic items—extension cords and light bulbs—a third was full of old knickknacks. Maybe she’d find a few antiques in this one when she had time to unpack it. She closed the boxes and restacked them.
    Gardening tools hung on the opposite wall. Several terra cotta pots nestled into each other like Russian dolls and an unopened bag of potting soil leaned against the wall. Next to this, two steps led down to a packed dirt floor. Wooden bins ran along both sides of the alcove. A root cellar, but the bins were empty.
    Anne turned toward the back of the basement, where another couple of steps led to a dark hallway with a low ceiling. Ducking her head, she made her way down the passage. The clean cinder block walls of the basement gave way to rough hewn rock. At the end of the passageway stood an old wooden door with a round top straight out of a Tolkien book. The gold handle turned out to be an elaborately carved dragon’s head. Anne tried the door, but it didn’t budge. She rattled the handle, pushed on the door, but it seemed to be locked.
    She stepped back and shone the flashlight around the passageway, but found no key. She ran her hands around the frame of the door, searching for a hiding place. Finding nothing, she crept back down the passageway to the cinder blocks and looked for a nook or a nail, something that would hold a key to the mysterious door. No luck. She would look in the kitchen; the key was probably floating around inside the large utility drawer. If not, she’d ask Tessa. She switched off the light and climbed back up the stairs.
    Outside, the sun had already set, and orange and red clouds streaked the sky. Anne walked to the front of the