Our shared leg was in a cast when our stepfather dragged us out of bed and shoved us down because I refused to apologize to him. My twin cried out before I did, and he laughed, “At least one of you knows who's in charge.” I went quiet. Not because I surrendered—because my twin had already sent our aunt the code word we only used when we needed someone to come immediately.

The flare hit the ground, and a massive ring of fire instantly erupted around the entire house.

The flames shot ten feet into the air, completely blocking any chance of jumping off the porch roof.

Arthur watched the fire burn for a moment before turning and walking calmly back through the front door.

Liam grabbed my shoulder, his eyes wide with absolute panic.

He reminded me that Aunt Clara was still locked somewhere down in the basement.

We could not just sit on the roof and wait for the house to collapse while she burned to death.

We had to go back inside.

We crawled toward the master bedroom window, which Arthur had foolishly left unlocked to create a draft for the fire.

We pushed the glass up and tumbled onto Arthur’s soft mattress, avoiding the flames that were starting to lick the hallway walls.

The smoke was incredibly thick now, forcing us to stay completely flat on the floor.

We dragged ourselves out of the bedroom and toward the main staircase.

The fire had not yet reached the wooden steps, giving us a narrow, terrifying path to the ground floor.

We moved in perfect unison, lowering our shared cast down one step at a time.

When we finally reached the bottom, we crawled directly toward the basement door in the kitchen.

The deadbolt was locked, so Liam grabbed a heavy cast-iron skillet from the counter.

He smashed the heavy pan against the doorknob repeatedly until the locking mechanism completely shattered.

We pulled the door open and tumbled down the dark, wooden stairs into the pitch-black basement.

I called out for Aunt Clara, desperately hoping she would answer us.

The basement was completely empty and eerily silent.

Clara was absolutely nowhere to be found.

I noticed a heavy set of muddy tire tracks leading out of the open basement garage door.

Arthur had not left her down here to die in the fire.

He had dragged her unconscious body into his truck to dispose of her somewhere else.

When my newborn 'passed away,' my mother-in-law leaned in and said

My Husband Left Me Alone in My Car While I Was in Labor

“You’re Dead When We Get Home,” He Snapped

Suddenly, a loud, mechanical ticking sound echoed from the corner of the basement.

Arthur had strapped a crude, homemade explosive device to the main gas line, and the timer was at ten seconds.

Chapter 5 - The Basement Trap