The Thing In the Basement

                                                                                                                              1.



Boom—Boom—Boom


My heart grew to the size of a grapefruit and thudded its way up to lodge in my throat. It beat to the same rhythm as the Thing downstairs.


Boom—Boom—Boom


My room was dark, but my eyes were adjusting. How long had I been asleep? It didn't matter; I wasn't going back for a while. Not until I was sure It was gone.


The basement was below my room, divided only by plywood and shag carpet. The Creature was down there, sensing me. It knew if I was awake or asleep, and this I knew for sure.


Lady was lying on the end of my bed. I could feel her breathing against my foot, slow and warm. She was a small dog, and paid attention to everything, because she was easily frightened.

Didn't she hear it too? I thought.


Boom—Boom—Boom


I raised my head, just a little, off my pillow. If Lady is not worried, I'll be safe, I thought. I looked down and saw her lift her head, peeking over my knee to look back at me. Is she worried? Can she tell I'm scared? She must know it is not her the Creature is pounding for. Seeing her didn't help me at all. Dumb dog! I felt very alone.


I peered around the room. I saw my stuffed animals piled in a basket in the corner. They looked worried. I laid my head back down, grasping for explanations. My eyes were wide open.


What kind of Beast could possibly make such a noise? And it must be very upset, I thought. Why else would it pound so? The door at the bottom of the basement stairs must be ready to shatter. Oh the way it pounds!


Boom—Boom—Boom

 
It sounded like an Indian drum with the animal hide stretched across.


Boom—Boom—Boom


In my young mind's eye there stood a Creature, with gray, mottled skin and course hairs growing here and there. Its back was wide and muscular, glistening with sweat. Two huge hands, as big as boxing gloves, were balled into fists and raised in the air. They were making all the noise, as they were thrown against the basement door. I could not see the Creature's head, because there was no head. It wanted mine.






                                                                                                                              2.



The basement stairs ended with a landing at the bottom. The basement was divided down the middle by a wall that ran the length of the house. To the left was a large play area. My brother and I would play down there when it rained or we wanted to 'spread out a little.' The space was clean and cozy, with wood paneling, checkered ceiling tiles, and the ubiquitous shag carpeting. A TV sat on a stand in one corner, and a handmade toy box sat against a wall, big enough for the two of us to hide inside. This was referred to as the 'good' side of the basement. A door on the right side of the landing, opened into the 'other' side. We did not play on that side ... ever.


Sometimes, we would go over to the 'other' side, by choice or by force, but always with apprehension. It was scary, to say the least.


A few steps beyond the door (Boom!) an old drain punctured the cement floor (that side didn't deserve carpeting.) It would gurgle when someone flushed the toilet or used the sink, and ooze white foam if too much soap was used in the washer. The cover could be lifted off, revealing the dark hole that led to who-knows-where. The hole looked as wide as my head, and believe me, I took notice. I would sometimes pull off the cover and try to see the bottom, with no success. I felt safe when Mom was standing there doing laundry, or Dad was at his workbench. I never went to the 'other' side alone.


Against the wall opposite the door was a stand-up freezer. It loomed over my brother and I, twice as tall. We were often sent down to pull a frozen item out of it. The scene always started the same way: 'Kids! ... (we would always go together, never alone) go down and get a thing of frozen (peas/beans/rhubarb) for dinner.' Our blood ran cold upon hearing those words. Not only were we being ordered to retrieve some crummy container of frozen whatever, we had to go downstairs to the 'other' side to do it.


And the yelling it took to motivate us! We would resist, of course, whine and moan, but we were always defeated. 'Getting yelled at' preceded every journey to the 'other' side. The whole experience sucked eggs on principle alone.


The biggest problem, at least to us, was lighting. Sure, you could flip the switch at the top, but that only lit the stairs. In order to turn on the light once you were at the bottom, you had to pick a side ('good' or 'other') and pull the cord that hung down from the light in the ceiling—in the middle of the room. Oh how our hearts raced as we descended those steps, toward darkness. If something got to us before we got to the cord ...


The door leading to the 'other' side was always kept shut, that was the rule. 'Is the door shut down there?' was an automatic response to our safe return. No comment on our bravery, just concern for the door. And we never forgot to shut it. That door was the only thing keeping what lurked on the 'other' side of the basement from coming upstairs.






                                                                                                                            3.



I pulled the covers up and around my head, leaving a small space for one eye to peek out and a little air to get in. It was a hot summer night, but I had no room left for thoughts about the heat. I was going to sweat, regardless of how hot it was.


How could that flimsy door take such a beating? Why didn't the Creature just take the handle and push open the door? My thoughts came quickly—too quickly for answers. What happens when It gets through? That thought stuck and I turned it over in my head. What happens when It does get through? Surely It will ... surely It will.


My lungs seized up, having no room for air. My heart was beating harder than ever as I swallowed it down, hoping for a gasp of air. Finally one came, and I painfully allowed it in, but only if it went quietly. If the Creature knew I was awake ...


My struggles had now fully annoyed Lady, and she stood up on shaky legs. She looked at me with sleepy eyes and turned her head toward the floor. No! Please stay! My eyes pleaded. Please don't jump! Lady!


She didn't even look back as she launched herself off the bed and crawled under the dresser, out of sight. Dumb dog! The Creature will surely know I'm awake now. And to hide under the dresser—does she know something, sense something? Perhaps she wanted to feel safe? Thoughts bombarded me again. Isn't it safe on the bed anymore? I instinctively pulled the covers tighter around me. They were now my only defense.


My imagination was out of the corral and running wild. I sat up, wrapped in my blanket, and looked over the edge of the bed.


Boom—Boom—Boom


Through the floor, I could feel It seeking, longing. That hulking body, trembling with anxiety, driven by horrific programming, only existed for one sole purpose: to get me. I could see the Thing standing on the cement, over the drain, legs braced and taut. Milky sweat ran down the skin, dripped on the floor, and raced toward the drain. Marks from bloody fists grew on the dark wood door.


I could feel each strike, each meaty thud. It felt like the whole house was shaking! Why were my parents not running in to check on me? How could they not hear that dreadful pounding? If I could have run to them, begged for protection, I would have.


But that would have surely alerted the Beast below, the automaton wanting only my head.


Boom—B-Boom—B-Boom!


The pounding grew erratic. I could feel each blow pulse through my skin and into every bone, my blanket not doing its job. It must be getting through—the door must be giving way—it's trying harder than ever to knock it down! Terrible thoughts pounded away in my —or what will formerly be known as my—head. It was only a matter of moments.


I heard footsteps, just outside my room. I nearly soiled my sheets when the light in the hallway was switched on and the crack under the bedroom door lit up. The room went dark as my eyes strained to adjust, and for a moment, all I could see was a gradient of light spilling across a small square of carpet next to the door, and the shadows of someone walking past, down the hallway.


"warsher ... piece of garbage ..." It was my dad. He sounded half-asleep, and was mumbling to himself. He must have thought it was the washing machine. I was paralyzed.


I started to whimper. A little noise wouldn't matter now. Dad was going downstairs, to let it out.


I sat there, listening to his shuffling fade down the hallway, and disappear into the kitchen. The pounding below persisted, growing in intensity. I held my breath, my clenched hands wrung white.


I waited for—a sound. My brain was spinning wildly. How many steps? Twelve? Is he at the bottom yet? What will I hear first: a shriek? a scream? a crack of bone? I waited ... and held my breath.


Boom—Boom—


Silence.


I heard nothing! This is bad! I thought. No warning of impending events, no signal or cue. Nothing to tell me what was happening, what had happened, what was coming. It was loose. The Creature had stopped its horrible pounding ... because it was loose.


Poor Daddy! My face grew hot, my eyes started to sting. He didn't have a chance. The Creature must have been all over him, big hands lunging and squeezing the life out of him. He was no doubt ripped to shreds and piece-by-bloody-piece dropped into the gaping hole of the floor drain. I'll never see him again, I thought, and started to weep.


Hush! Be still! I told myself. I could hear—something. I could hear It coming, heavy footsteps growing louder as they tromped across the kitchen floor, closer.


They moved down the hallway. My heart was doing all the pounding now, trying to escape its confines, and my chest was the frail and weakening door. The Thing in the hallway can surely hear it! my mind screamed.


Two dark shadows broke the pane of light, but this time, they stopped in front of my door.


"Lady!" I cried.


"Dumb dog! Help me!" The dog didn't budge. Perhaps she wasn't so dumb after all.


Tears finally welled up and broke free, as I sat alone in the dark, waiting for the horrible Beast to tear down my door and drag me out. After that, I would be going downstairs, one last trip, to the 'other' side. This time, though, I would not come back with a frozen block of strawberries, or spaghetti sauce, or awful stuffed green peppers. I would not carefully close the door behind me and race my brother back up the stairs to daylight. This time I would be torn to pieces, and finally find out where the drain in the floor leads to. Too bad I would never find out if my head really would fit, though. I would be leaving that behind.