When Jeff marries Claire, a single mom with two sweet daughters, life feels almost perfect — except for the eerie whispers about the basement. When the girls innocently ask him to “visit Dad,” Jeff discovers an unbelievable family secret.
Moving into Claire’s house after we were married felt like stepping into a carefully preserved memory. The wooden floors creaked with the weight of history, and the scent of vanilla candles lingered in the air.
Scented candles on a table | Source: Pexels
Sunlight poured through lace curtains, scattering patterns across the walls, while the hum of life filled every corner. The girls, Emma and Lily, buzzed around like hummingbirds, their laughter a constant melody, while Claire brought a sense of calm I hadn’t realized I’d been searching for.
It was the kind of house you wanted to call home. There was only one problem: the basement.
The door stood at the end of the hallway, painted the same eggshell white as the walls. It wasn’t overtly ominous — just a door. Yet something about it pulled at my attention.
An interior door | Source: Pexels
Maybe it was the way the girls whispered and glanced at it when they thought no one was looking. Or the way their giggles hushed whenever they caught me watching them.
But even though it was obvious to me, Claire didn’t seem to notice… or maybe she pretended not to.
“Jeff, can you grab the plates?” Claire’s voice called me back to reality. Dinner was macaroni and cheese — Emma and Lily’s favorite.
Macaroni and cheese in a baking dish | Source: Pexels
Emma, eight years old but already showing signs of her mom’s determination, followed me into the kitchen and studied me with unnerving focus. Her brown eyes, so much like Claire’s, flickered with curiosity.
“Do you ever wonder what’s in the basement?” she asked suddenly.
I nearly dropped the plates.
A man holding plates | Source: Midjourney
“What’s that?” I asked, trying to play it cool.
“The basement,” she hissed. “Don’t you wonder what’s down there?”
“The washing machine? Some boxes and old furniture?” I chuckled, but my laugh came out weak. “Or maybe there are monsters down there? Or treasure?”
Emma just smiled and walked back into the dining room.
A girl walking through a door | Source: Midjourney
In the dining room, Lily, only six but mischievous beyond her years, dissolved into giggles.
The next day, I was giving the girls their breakfast when Lily dropped her spoon. Her eyes went wide and she leaped off her chair to fetch it.
“Daddy hates loud noises,” she said in a sing-song.
I froze.
A stunned man | Source: Midjourney
Claire had never said much about Lily and Emma’s father. They were happily married at one point, but now he was “gone.” She’d never clarified if he was deceased or just living out his life somewhere else and I hadn’t pushed her.
I was beginning to think maybe I should’ve insisted she tell me what had happened to him.
A few days later, Lily was coloring at the breakfast table. The box of crayons and pencils was a chaotic rainbow spread across the table, but her focus was absolute. I leaned over to see what she was working on.
A child drawing in a book | Source: Pexels
“Is that us?” I asked, pointing to the stick figures she’d drawn.
Lily nodded without looking up. “That’s me and Emma. That’s Mommy. And that’s you.” She held up a crayon, considering its shade, before picking another for the final figure.
“And who’s that?” I asked, gesturing to the last figure standing slightly apart.
“That’s Daddy,” she said simply as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
A smiling child | Source: Midjourney
My heart skipped. Before I could ask anything else, Lily drew a gray square around the figure.
“And what’s that?” I asked.
“It’s our basement,” she said, her tone as matter-of-fact as ever.
Then, with the unshakable confidence of a six-year-old, she hopped off her chair and skipped away, leaving me staring at the drawing.
A troubled man | Source: Midjourney
By the end of the week, curiosity had become a gnawing thing. That night, as Claire and I sat on the couch with glasses of wine, I decided to bring it up.
“Claire,” I began carefully. “Can I ask you something about… the basement?”
She stilled, her wine glass poised mid-air. “The basement?”
“It’s just… the girls keep mentioning it. And Lily drew this picture with — well, it doesn’t matter. I guess I’m just curious.”
A man sitting on a sofa | Source: Midjourney
Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Jeff, there’s nothing to worry about. It’s just a basement. Old, damp, and probably full of spiders. Trust me, you don’t want to go down there.”
Her voice was firm, but her eyes betrayed her. She wasn’t just dismissing the topic; she was burying it.
“And their dad?” I pressed gently. “Sometimes they talk about him like he’s still… living here.”
A serious man | Source: Midjourney
Claire exhaled, setting her glass down. “He passed two years ago. It was sudden, an illness. The girls were devastated. I’ve tried to protect them as much as I can, but kids process grief in their ways.”
There was a crack in her voice, a hesitation that hung heavy in the air. I didn’t push further, but the unease clung to me like a shadow.
It all came to a head the following week.
A couple standing in their home | Source: Midjourney
Claire was at work, and both girls were home, sick with the sniffles and mild fevers. I’d been juggling juice boxes, crackers, and episodes of their favorite cartoon when Emma wandered into the room, her face unusually serious.
“Do you want to visit Daddy?” she asked, her voice steady in a way that made my chest tighten.
I froze. “What do you mean?”
Close up of a man’s eyes | Source: Midjourney
Lily appeared behind her, clutching a stuffed rabbit.
“Mommy keeps him in the basement,” she said, as casually as if she were talking about the weather.
My stomach dropped. “Girls, that’s not funny.”
“It’s not a joke,” Emma said firmly. “Daddy stays in the basement. We can show you.”
An earnest girl | Source: Midjourney
Against every rational instinct, I followed them.
The air grew colder as we descended the creaky wooden steps, the dim bulb casting eerie, flickering shadows. The musty smell of mildew filled my nose, and the walls felt oppressively close.
I paused on the bottom step and peered into the darkness, scanning for anything that could explain why the girls believed their father was living down here.
A dimly lit basement | Source: Pexels
“Over here,” Emma said, taking my hand and leading me toward a small table in the corner.
The table was decorated with colorful drawings, toys, and a few wilted flowers. At its center sat an urn, simple and unassuming. My heart skipped a beat.
“See, here’s Daddy.” Emma smiled up at me as she pointed to the urn.
A girl with an urn | Source: Midjourney
“Hi, Daddy!” Lily chirped, patting the urn like it was a pet. She then turned to look at me. “We visit him down here so he doesn’t feel lonely.”
Emma placed a hand on my arm, her voice soft. “Do you think he misses us?”
My throat closed, the weight of their innocence bringing me to my knees. I pulled them both into a hug.
“Your daddy… he can’t miss you because he’s always with you,” I whispered. “In your hearts. In your memories. You’ve made a beautiful place for him here.”
A man hugging two girls | Source: Midjourney
When Claire came home that evening, I told her everything. Her face crumpled as she listened, tears spilling over.
“I didn’t know,” she admitted, her voice shaking. “I thought putting him down there would give us space to move on. I didn’t realize they… oh my God. My poor girls.”
“You did nothing wrong. They just… they still need to feel close to him,” I said gently. “In their way.”
A couple having an emotional conversation | Source: Midjourney
We sat in silence, the weight of the past pressing down on us. Finally, Claire straightened, wiping her eyes.
“We’ll move him,” she said. “Somewhere better. That way Emma and Lily can mourn him without having to go down into that musty basement.”
The next day, we set up a new table in the living room. The urn took its place among family photos, surrounded by the girls’ drawings.
An urn on a table | Source: Midjourney
That evening, Claire gathered Emma and Lily to explain.
“Your dad isn’t in that urn,” she told them softly. “Not really. He’s in the stories we tell and the love we share. That’s how we keep him close.”
Emma nodded solemnly, while Lily clutched her stuffed bunny.
“Can we still say hi to him?” she asked.
A girl holding a stuffed bunny | Source: Midjourney
“Of course,” Claire said, her voice breaking just a little. “And you can still draw pictures for him. That’s why we’ve brought his urn up here and made a special place for it.”
Lily smiled. “Thank you, Mommy. I think Daddy will be happier up here with us.”
We started a new tradition that Sunday. As the sun set, we lit a candle by the urn and sat together. The girls shared their drawings and memories and Claire told stories about their dad — his laugh, his love for music, the way he used to dance with them in the kitchen.
A woman talking to her daughters | Source: Midjourney
As I watched them, I felt a deep sense of gratitude. I wasn’t there to replace him, I realized. My role was to add to the love already holding this family together.
And I was honored to be part of it.
Here’s another story: When a new family moved in next door, the eerie resemblance between their daughter and my own sent me spiraling into suspicion. Could my husband be hiding an affair? I had to confront him, but the truth turned out to be far darker than I imagined.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
Vertigo Star Kim Novak Is Spending Her 91st Birthday with ‘Friends and Lots of Fudge’ (Exclusive)
Tuesday marks the 91st birthday for Kim Novak, the star of Alfred Hitchcock’s 1958 film Vertigo, who walked away from Hollywood over five decades ago.
“She’s spending her birthday having a picnic on her property with friends and lots of fudge,” says her longtime manager and close friend Sue Cameron.
Life is sweet these days for Novak, who lives quietly on the Oregon coast, surrounded by her beloved horses.
In honor of her 91st birthday, read on for an interview from 2021 in which Novak shared why she left Hollywood and found her true self.
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Over 50 years ago, Kim Novak, the enigmatic star of Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo, walked away from Hollywood. The woman who had once been the No. 1 box office draw in the world put her belongings in a van and drove north, first to Carmel, California and then two decades later to Oregon, to live her life as an artist.
“I had to leave to survive,” she tells PEOPLE. “It was a survival issue.”
“I lost a sense of who I truly was and what I stood for,” says Novak in a rare interview to talk about her new book, Kim Novak : Her Art and Life. published by the Butler Museum of American Art.
“I fought all the time back in Hollywood to keep my identity so you do whatever you have to do to hold on to who you are and what you stand for,” she explains.
“I’ve never done one of those tell-all books that they wanted me to do for so long, and I thought this is the kind of book I’d like to do,” she says of her art book. “Actually, I had written my autobiography and it was almost complete but I had a house fire and the house burned down and I made no copies. I just couldn’t go through it again because I had spent so much time. But it was okay because it was a catharsis just to do it.”
After starring in Picnic (1955) with William Holden, The Man With the Golden Arm (1955) and Pal Joey (1957), opposite Frank Sinatra, and Vertigo, with Jimmy Stewart, Novak was at the height of her career but still under the control of the studio.
As she writes in her book’s introduction, “I was both dazzled and disturbed to see me being packaged as a Hollywood sex symbol. However, I did win my fight over identity. I wouldn’t allow [Columbia Pictures chief] Harry Cohn to take my bohemian roots away by denying me my family name. Novak. I stood my ground and won my first major battle.”
Cohn wanted her to change her name to Kit Marlowe, telling her that audiences would be turned off by her Eastern European roots. She refused. In the late ’50s, she defied him again when she began dating singer Sammy Davis Jr. against his wishes and she fought to live her life as an independent woman.
“There was constant pressure to be seen and not heard,” writes Novak, “especially if you had a pretty face.”
“In Hollywood a lot of people assume who you are, because of the character you play, but also just because of who they expect you to be, how they expect you to dress,” she says. “It influences you because if you’re in some gorgeous sequined gown, you can’t run along the ocean and run on the beaches.”
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“I kept feeling like I was going deeper and deeper, lost in almost like a quicksand, where it’s swallowing you up, your own personality, and I’d started to wonder who I am,” she explains. “I realized needed to save myself.”
She found peace living and painting in the Rogue River Valley of Oregon and notes, “I needed the Pacific Ocean to inspire me, the animals, the beauty.”
“I wanted to live a normal life and a life with animals,” says the actress, who had always loved drawing and painting as a young girl growing up in Chicago. She was awarded two scholarships to the Chicago Art Institute before she was spotted by a talent scout on a trip to L.A. and her life changed course.
Once she left Hollywood, Novak returned to her twin passions: art and animals. “My teachers were the animals, not just dogs and cats, but other animals, horses and llamas, whom you have to meet half way, because they’re not ready to accept humans. I had to learn to win them over,” she says. “They understand a person who’s genuine so I had to become more real and that made me rely on my inner self — and that also encouraged me to paint. Everything seemed to flow from that.”
“You learn how to count on, not how you look, which is a big thing as a movie star, especially if you were recognized because of how you look,” she adds. “That can be a difficult thing when you change — but looks had nothing to do with it.”
She met second husband, Robert Malloy, an equine veterinarian, in the late ’70s, when he paid her a house call to treat one of her Arabian horses. She called him her “soul mate.” He died last December.
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“I don’t feel 87,” says Novak. “I don’t keep tract of the time. If I did, I’d be an old lady and I’m not an old lady. I’m still riding my horse. I stay as healthy as I can.”
In 2012, Novak revealed she’d been living with bipolar disorder. “I don’t mind being open about who I am because these are all characteristics which make you who you are, especially as an artist,” she says. “Now, of course, I have medication for it but the best medicine of all is art.”
She’s proud of her favorite films, including Vertigo and Bell, Book and Candle (1958), and has fond memories, especially of her friend and costar Jimmy Stewart. Says Novak: “He didn’t let Hollywood change who he was.”
“People can remember me in movies but I want them to see me as an artist,” says Novak, whose paintings were exhibited at a 2019 retrospective at the Butler Museum in Youngstown, Ohio. “What’s great about painting is, you become the director too. No one’s telling you how to do it. You get to direct the whole thing.”
“I’ve been influenced a lot by Hitchcock in my work because he did mysteries and at first glance, I want my painting to be a mystery,” she says. “I love being the director, the producer, the actor in my paintings.”
“This is who I am. I want people to see I was not just a movie star.”
Looking back, Novak says, “I’m so glad I didn’t do the tell-all book, where you write all about your love life. That wasn’t who I was. This book tells who I am. I just needed to be free.”
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