The Basement Door

From: “Tara and the Forgotten Spellbook”

Genre: Urban Fantasy | Slow-burn Mystery | Teenage Journey

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INT. VELORIUM – SKYTOWER APARTMENT – EVENING

It had been raining for two days.

The clouds hung low over Velorium — the glass-and-chrome high-tech city where the lights never truly went out.

But inside Apartment 43-B, there was no brightness.

Tara, 17years old teenager, stared out the huge curved window of her family’s skyhome. Flying buses passed by in blinking blue blurs. Billboard drones hummed outside, advertising digital water bottles and cloud subscriptions.

She didn’t move.

Her phone had no messages. No missed calls. No one was waiting on the other end of anything.

She didn’t go out much.

Didn’t have friends.

Didn’t really try anymore.

People looked at her strangely.

Not because she was rude. Not because she dressed weird.

But because… sometimes she just knew things before they happened.

Last month, she warned her teacher that the lab lights would explode.

They did.

Nobody believed her. Again.

The house was echoing. Tara’s parents were on an office trip — gone for three days. Business class flight. Zero emotional calls.

The only sounds now:

🌀 The hum of the AI fridge.

☕ The kettle boiling on its own.

📱 A blinking unread message.

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INT. LIVING ROOM – MINUTES LATER

A robotic voice echoed from the apartment speaker.

> “Have a restful evening, Tara. Your parents will return in 2.5 days. Dinner is preloaded.”

She sighed.

Her parents had left for another corporate retreat — some leadership training for tech CEOs.

They said they’d be back “soon.”

They always said that.

Tara walked around the living room like she was drifting.

Bored. Restless. Lonely.

And then… her eyes landed on the basement door.

It was usually sealed. But now? Slightly open.

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INT. BASEMENT – MOMENTS LATER

She stepped down into the lower level — not often used. Dim lights flickered on slowly, triggered by her footsteps.

The air smelled different here.

Dust. Wood. Old memories.

Shelves lined the walls, filled with boxes — some labeled with her dad’s old books, some from her mom’s art school days.

And then… something caught her eye.

A small trunk tucked behind two storage crates. Carved with intricate leaf patterns. Not machine-made.

It had a brass lock, but it wasn’t latched.

She opened it gently.

Inside were a few folded shawls. A cracked wooden frame with her grandmother’s photo — soft eyes, sharp smile.

And beneath that…

A book.

Bound in deep green leather. Edged with faded silver lines.

It had no title.

No author.

Just a tiny symbol on the front — a swirl inside a circle.

Tara picked it up.

It felt heavier than it looked. And colder.

She flipped the first page.

It was blank.

She turned a few more. Nothing.

Until— one page had faint writing… almost invisible.

She leaned closer.

> “This book does not open by hands alone.”

Tara blinked.

She shut the book.

Suddenly… she wasn’t bored anymore.

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🕯️ End of Scene 1

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