Ch 1 Part 3

I was about two months in before I had to go down into the storage cellar, I had made attempts to descend into the gloom several times before but I always turned back half way, not brave enough to ever even open the door. It was just too creepy down there for my liking, but this time I had to get all the way to the bottom of the stairs. I had completely filled my logbook, though I had still found nothing interesting to write about. Unless you count finding a very live rat in the cupboard interesting, mostly it made me jump leaping out at me like that. It was pretty much there and gone in an instant, goodness knows where it went. Part of me hoped that it found a safer home; the other part hoped that it was eaten by a cat. I thought that maybe looking at the old books would give me some idea about what I should be documenting; there must be a reason that the guards had been filling them in all this time even if reading thorough them would more than likely be insanely boring.

 The new books were stored down in the dark, with the old ones. It was a stupid system that I made a mental note to change at some point, though I would have to get permission from the galleries higher powers, wouldn’t THAT be a joy. It seemed that nothing here had been changed for years. Thatwaspart of the appeal of the place, but it wasn’t always convenient. I didn’t turn off the main gallery light, even though I had it in mind to try and find a cellar light. I didn’t know if one existed but it would be better than bumping around like a fool in the dark with a torch. It was worth a try, but I didn’t want to end up stuck in that place in the dark if there wasn’t a light. It might have been breaking the rules, but the creepiness of that cellar over ruled the rules. What if my torch broke? I would need a light on then to stop myself from breaking a leg tripping on the old stairs, they were fairly uneven and it wouldn’t have taken much force to rip the banister straight off the wall so clinging onto that was out. With the age of this building, banisters more than likely hold most of the walls up. So lights on it was.

 It was even spookier inching down the stairs than it had been previously. There was no moon that night, which was alright while I had the light from the main room behind me but I had forgotten that the stairs down turned a corner, after that the only light I had to work by was my rather miserable torch. One of the only things that kept me walking was the thought of a light at the end, perhaps yielding an opportunity to look at some of the paintings that have not been displayed, I was certain that there would be some treasures down there in the darkness. Why would they have storage if not to keep more beautiful works of art in. I read somewhere that galleries rotate the art on display so that people would not lose interest in the collections, or that sometimes new work would come in and space needed to be made for it. I wanted to see these hidden treasures, have a look at all those things that nobody else gets to see. I could feel each stair giving slightly under my weight; every last one must have creaked on my descent, though I was lucky enough to not hear that. I think had I heard each ominous groan from the old wood I would have turned myself around, ignoring the need for a new book.

 To my great relief there was a light at the bottom of those oak stairs, though it wasn’t much brighter than my torch, mental note: get a better bulb for this light. The cellar looked like it had ever been cleaned; there were cobwebs in every nook and crevice with a thick coat of dust on every surface. The floor was plain grey stone; it must have been an eerie sound, the slight click of my shoes echoing around that room. For the second time that day I was glad of my disability. A musty aroma met me as I ventured further into the gloom; I made yet another mental note to clean this place one-day, the whole cellar desperately needed a woman’s touch. The bookshelf I needed was typically right at the back of the room, whoever designedthatfloor plan needed to be shot. I collected two new logbooks and a few of the older looking ones for a little light reading. Having a spare book up in the main gallery would reduce my need to be down in that dingy place, while the old books would give me something to do if I got tired of looking at the paintings for a while.

 

The End

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