I thought I was the one who was being protected by the landlord. But as the police started dragging the heavy, rotting floorboards up, searching for what else was buried beneath that dirt, I realized the truth. I wasn’t the tenant. I was just the next witness.

The detective looked at me, his eyes filled with a heavy, tired sadness. “He didn’t want you in the basement because he wasn’t done with it yet.”

I still see the drawing when I close my eyes at night. I keep thinking about that boy, Leo, and the woman in the red dress. I wonder if she ever knew how close he was. I wonder if I was just a pawn in a game I didn’t even know was being played.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to move again. Not really. I’m sitting here, watching the police tape flutter in the wind, and I keep waiting for Mr. Henderson to walk out of the cornfield. I keep waiting for him to tell me it was all just a misunderstanding. But the house is empty now.

And for the first time, I understand why he didn’t want me to touch the basement. He didn’t want me to find the truth about who he really was. He wanted me to be the one who stayed in the room, just like the others.