A short story based on this prompt:
The walls are dry, dusty and cobbled with webs. My hands shake as I shove the torch to make a way through. How could such a large space not be noticed from the outside? The next step slopes down. More steps, darker and deeper, the moisture increasing in the air and on the walls.
A door. I push it open with my foot, torch at the ready. The smell is earthy, rich. I scan the small room. Rotting boxes, crates and bottles. I pick one up, dust off the label.
Holy shit, this is the good stuff.
I think I stuck to the rules … but that’s not a guarantee. The story has to be short, cos I’m working on the final edit stage of a new story (novel, couldn’t keep it short enough for the novella).