It's In The Cellar

The cellar window stands invitingly open.  The house looks warm and comfortable.  A safe space.  So long denied.  An interminable time spent cold and shivering, fearful and alone.  To this mind, so young and yet as ancient as history itself, a temperate abode seems incomprehensible, yet stands now before it.  The moment is the only reality, and so is accepted. 

It scurries quickly across the yard and slides into the welcoming abyss. 

Carefull.  Leave no trace.  Make no sound.  Instinct demands stealth.  It has always been thus. Careful.  Silent.  And always afraid. 


Christy glanced out of the kitchen window just as Hunter disappeared around the fence by the garage.  He was carrying something bulky and Christy thought there was something furtive in the way he moved and in the way he glanced over his shoulder as she lost sight of him. 

What was the slime ball up to this time?  Most likely he was adding another rodent to the menagerie that he kept out in the garage. 

Damned if she was going to allow those disgusting things near the house.  Why a grown man would want to raise rats was beyond her.  And she took every opportunity to let him know about it, too.  The very thought of the nasty little things made her shudder.

The ring of the phone made Christy jump as it roused her from her thoughts and then she stood indecisively until she heard the door slam as the phone rang again.  She saw Hunter in the hallway.

“Hunter, get that.  I’ve got my hands in the water.”  Christy returned to the dishes.

“Get it yourself,” Hunter shouted back.  “I’m busy too.”  He disappeared down the hallway and she heard a door slam once more.  The phone rang again.

“Dammit,” she said to the empty room and toweled her hands dry as she dashed for the phone.  As she reached it another ring was cut short and nothing but a cold dial tone greeted her.

“Dammit,” she repeated, roughly re-cradled the hand piece, and stomped back toward her dirty dishes.

As she passed the door to the basement, she paused.  She’d thought she’d heard a rustling behind the closed door.  Mice, she thought, or maybe Hunter’s filthy rats had gotten out again.  We’ll see about that, she thought, as she swung the door open.  Reaching in, she flipped the light switch.

Nothing happened.  The light was burned out.  There was a flashlight on the ledge by the stair, but something really smelled dead down there.  The heck if she was going down in the dark with who knew what.  Hunter would have to fix the light and see what was down there. 

She held her breath and swung the door shut.

Something brushed past her leg just as the door shut and she screamed and lost her balance.  As she fell to the floor in an ungainly heap, she saw her cat, Felix, staring at her, eyes wide in wonder and fear.  Christy lay still for a few seconds to catch her breath and then picked herself slowly up from the floor.

Damn Hunter, she thought.  Damn him and those filthy rats.  Disgusting, filthy, loathsome, little rodents.  Crawling around in their own filth.  She shuddered and shut the door.

As usual, Christy ate in the kitchen while watching a movie on Lifetime, while Hunter took his food to the living room and watched Sports Center and then retired to the den to wait until She had gone to bed.  The pattern had developed over the last year as they had realized the huge mistake they had made in marrying.  Each of them had hidden their true character in order to attract a mate and found soon after the honeymoon that outward appearance was no substitute for integrity.  Christy had thought that she was marrying a real man but soon learned what a weak-kneed slob she had chosen. 

From that point on she had determined that she would make him pay for ruining her life.  She deserved a man who could cater to her needs and satisfy her discriminating tastes and if she couldn’t have that she would make his life a living hell.  It was just as well that he waited to come to bed each night until she had fallen asleep.  She couldn’t bear to have him pressing his sweaty body up against her and savored the deep sleep afforded by the glasses of wine that tranquilized her night.
         
At ten-thirty she poured another glass and took her romance novel to bed.

Something awakened Christy.  She lay now completely still, barely breathing as she strained to hear over Hunter’s incessant snoring.  How she ever slept in the first place with all that racket was beyond her and she was ready to think that his grotesque breathing rhythms were all that had awakened her.  But there it was again.  A faint creak of the floor, and was that the same rustling that she’d heard that afternoon.  It was the cellar.  The rats.  Or who knows.  The night and the dark began to magnify all sorts of sounds and spurred her imagination.  Images from old movies filled her mind; subtle, insidious horrors lurking just beyond the light.  Her mind’s eye filled the cellar with handfuls of disgusting, smelly rodents of unholy size and a taste for human flesh.

Christy reached across the bed and shook her husband’s shoulder.

“Hunter, are you awake?”

He groaned and stirred.  She shook him again.

“Hunter, I heard something in the cellar.  Go see what it is.”

“What the hell.”  Hunter was beginning to come around.

“I heard a noise and it sounded weird. Go down and look.”

Christy adopted her whining tone, one she resorted to when she wanted sympathy. Usually it just irritated Hunter, which was better than nothing.

“It’s just some mice.  I’ll set a trap tomorrow.  Now be quiet and go to sleep.  Jeez, you’d think I could get a stinking night’s sleep around here.”  He buried his head in his pillow and made a production out of getting back to sleep.

Christy lay on her back and stared silently at the dark ceiling, hearing Hunter’s breathing rapidly revert to the slow, noisy rhythm that signaled sleep.  After a time, unable to sleep herself, she arose, donned a robe and moved into the hall and down toward the kitchen. 

Perhaps some milk and cookies would settle her nerves.  Of course Hunter is right.  It is mice.  She would make sure that he set traps immediately.  Felix was certainly not the answer.  He’s not a predater.

The cellar door sat closed across the kitchen as she came in from the hallway.  She thought she could hear a faint scratching coming from behind it.

“Rats,” she muttered.  It must be rats.  The sounds she’d heard earlier were larger than mice.  She’d been clear down the hall with the door shut.  Mice make small, dainty sounds, squeaks and chirps and the like. Rats would make large, wet rustling sounds, foraging around with their naked slimy tails dragging grossly behind, leaving a trail of filth and disease.  Christy shuddered spasmodically as she crossed to the fridge and pulled open the door.

The milk was as sour as her mood.  Damn.  She’d forgotten to check the date again.  She looked at the date stamped on the carton to find it had expired three days ago.  The market probably saved their old milk and set it out when they saw her come in.  She put a bowl on the floor and poured it full of the spoiled milk.

“Here Felix, here kitty.”  Christy suddenly realized that the big cat hadn’t been in his customary spot at the foot of their bed when she’d awakened.

“Here kitty.  Here Felix.”  Her words hung in the chill night air, sounding hollow and unheard.  She started to call out again but the words caught in her throat.

The cellar door stood ajar.

It had been shut when she’d come down the hall.  She was sure of it.  She stood frozen to the spot, not daring to breath.  She was almost sure that it was shut.  Maybe it was slightly ajar and a breeze swung it open, or more likely, when she’d walked by her own movement had caused the poorly latched door to swing open.  She just hadn’t noticed.  And if it was opened, perhaps Felix had gone down. She hurried to the door and pulled it open to call the cat, but quickly pushed it shut again and retreated from the smell of death.

Whew.  Definitely rats.  I hope Felix isn’t down there, she thought.  She re-opened the door slightly, calling softly to the cat.  She heard a familiar rustling noise and a strange sort of tittering and closed the door securely.  That wasn’t Felix.  And the stench was too much for her to tolerate any longer. 

“Hunter better get his butt down there first thing in the morning and take care of the stupid, smelly, discusting rats or he’ll be sorrier than he already is,” she griped her way back to bed.  Climbing into bed she gave Hunter a good hard elbow in the small of his back and, feeling somewhat placated, soon fell asleep.

“Ouch.  Damn.”  Hunter’s voice came up from the cellar.  Christy could tell by his tone that he exaggerated whatever well-deserved pain he’d managed to inflict upon himself.  She turned back to Divorce Court.

“Ouch,” quieter this time.  “Not me, you little bastard.”

Now what the heck was that all about?  Had he found Felix down there?  He’d better watch how he treated her cat.  His tone puzzled her, though.  It was almost conspiratorial.  But she knew Felix would have nothing to do with that no good husband of hers.  Felix was a much better judge of character than that.  Hunter might even be feeding those repulsive creatures.  Leave it to Hunter to befriend some diseased rodent. 

Christy thought of his pool hall friends and decided that these wouldn’t be the first dirty diseased rodents that Hunter hung around with.  The thought made her smile, but only for a moment.  Right now she wanted to know what he was up to down there.  He’d been down there nearly an hour.  It doesn’t take that long to set a couple of traps.

“Hunter, what the hell are you doing?  What’s going on down there?”

“I cut my finger.  I’m bleeding like hell.  Would you get me a band-aid?”

“Get it yourself.  You got a broken arm too?”  The big baby. 

“Did you see Felix down there?”

“I’m bleeding to death here and you’re worried about that damn cat.”  Hunter stomped up and into the kitchen clasping his right hand in his left as though it might fall off with any less pressure.

"I can't find him.  I'm worried."

“He’s just out getting a little.  Good for him.  At least somebody around here...  Hey, will you please get me a damn band-aid before I need a transfusion here?”  He crossed to the refrigerator and swung it open to grab a beer.

“Whew, who died in here?”  Hunter swung the door shut quickly and made a big show out of gasping for breath.  Christy went down the hall to get a band-aid out of the medicine chest, more to escape Hunter’s histrionics than of any subservient sense of duty.  She’d just grabbed the box of bandages when Hunter was at it again.

“What the heck?”

He sounded puzzled.  And angry, perhaps, but definitely puzzled.  She hurried back to the kitchen.          

“What the heck?” Hunter repeated as she reached his side.  He had reopened the icebox and gotten a can of beer, but the sight that greeted him had stopped him cold.  Everything was strewn about and torn to shreds.  And it all seemed to be spoiled and in the latter stages of purification. 

“Shut the door, it’s stinking up the whole place.”  Christy held her nose and moved away and Hunter swung the door shut with a bang. 
Rats, was her first thought.  Somehow they got into the fridge in the night and their disgusting diseased fur rubbed up against everything and now it was spoiled.

“Hunter, did you set the traps?”  Her voice was so weak as to be nearly inaudible if she weren’t practically hovering over Hunter’s shoulder as they both stood nearly spellbound by their icebox.

“What the hell else would I be doing down in the basement, reading the paper?”  He shoved past and headed for the living room.  “You probably left the door open on the fridge again.  Way to go, all our food down the toilet.  You’re lucky my beer’s still cold.  The next time you have a midnight binge, be sure you close the door.”

She heard the television come on in the other room. 

I hope you bleed to death, you self-centered bastard, she thought. 

As if all that food could have spoiled in just a couple hours.  Christy couldn’t believe that Hunter could only see things in terms of his own comfort level.  Her mind drifted off upon a marital inventory as she held her breath and tackled the noxious task at hand. 

Had she been more alert she might have noticed that the putrid odor assailing her was the noxious smell emanating from the basement the previous night.  As it was, she didn’t notice the similarity until she again heard sounds coming from behind the cellar door.  Hunter had left it partially open in his rush to stem the bleeding.  Christy straightened up and moved across to the door.

“Felix,” she called in an uncharacteristically weak voice.

More rustling.  And that smell.  How could Hunter have been down there all that time with that awful stench?  It was a safe bet that he hadn’t spent any time looking for her cat.  Hunter hated Felix.  Christy suspected that it was just an extension of his dislike for her.  Well, she’d just hold her nose and go down to look around now that the light was changed.  After all, it’s broad daylight.  Boogey men only come out at night. 

She flipped on the light and started down the steps.  Halfway down she paused to listen.  She didn’t want to be surprised by the sight of a rat flailing out the last of its existence in the jaws of a trap.  Or maybe it’s only hurt and ready to spring in rabid fury at the next thing that moves.  Her heart beat harder and she felt light headed.  Was that the rustle of cat paws, or the sound of obscenely dirty rat feet?  She moved to the bottom step, blood pounding like a bass guitar in her ears,.

“Here, Felix, here kitty.” 

Her voice echoed, adding to her fright and her voice trailed off into the dark corners of the cellar.  Ordinarily the lighting down here was on the gloomy side, but under the circumstances the whole atmosphere was becoming almost sinister.  Silence, heavy as lead, answered her.

Christy suddenly felt extremely vulnerable.  It felt as if something might reach up out of the very earth itself.  The air became harder to breath. The pungent odor, which earlier had disgusted her, sought now to overpower her.  She backed up the first few steps, afraid to take her eyes from the space below.  Halfway she turned and nearly ran the remaining distance, closing the door securely and leaning upon it as she caught her breath. 

A feeling of narrow escape would not leave her and she slumped down to sit on the floor as she slowly began to recover.  She was worried about Felix, but she wasn’t even sure that he was down there anyway.  Christy certainly wasn’t going down there now.  Felix is a big cat and could take care of himself.  She heard the rustling again through the door and moved away quickly, watching the door intently as though she could hold the door shut through the force of her will.  Her hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

“I swear that I heard something down there that was bigger than a mouse.  We’ve got rats.”  Christy turned to look at Hunter, wanting to emphasize the impact of the problem, but through the facial mask she had just applied the impression was rather clownish if anything.  “We need an exterminator.  “I’m calling one in the morning.”

“Just hold on and let’s see if the traps get anything.  If I don’t get them in a day or two, we can think about poison.  I‘ll be damned if I’ll pay anyone to come over and put out rat poison just like I can do.”  Hunter pulled off his shirt and climbed into bed.

“Poison?”  Christy hadn’t considered poison.  Felix might get into it.  She was leery enough about setting out traps because of the cat.  “Felix might get into it.

“Yeah, I should be so lucky.  Now shut your yap, I need to get some sleep tonight.”  He turned out his lamp and turned away, wrapping the covers tightly around him, leaving her side cold and uncovered.

Another night like this.  The jerk.  It looked like she’d be sleeping on the couch tonight.  She pulled her robe on and moved out of the bedroom.  As she pulled the bedroom door shut she thought she heard a familiar sound.  It sounded like Felix when he’d cornered some prey.  She stood still to see if the noise would repeat.  She couldn’t say from whence it had come. 

A scream. Christy jumped and a small sound escaped her throat before it constricted in fright.  It was Felix.  He was hurt. She had to do something, but couldn’t move.  Another scream, this one louder and longer, faded slowly.  Christy realized she was still clutching the bedroom door knob and she flung the door inward, at last finding her voice.

“Hunter.  Something’s got Felix.  It’s in the cellar.  You’ve got to go down there.”  She turned away out of breath and determined not to degrade herself by crying in front of her husband.

“Fine.  I’ll go just so you’ll shut up.  I didn’t hear anything, and if I find that fleabag down there fighting with a moth or something I might just ring his scrawny neck myself.”  He pulled on his T-shirt and disappeared into the hall.  Christy stood for a moment, lost, and then hurried after.

By the time she reached the kitchen, Hunter was nowhere in sight.  The cellar door stood open, a soft glow coming from the depths below.  Christy choked back her initial fear and crossed to the door.  At least the worthless lout had managed to change the light.  She stopped in the doorway, afraid again even with the reassuring glow of the light.  She heard movement from below.  Hunter must be down there, but even with the light on you couldn’t see much of the cellar from the top of the stairs.  It wasn’t like him to do anything without making a big production out of it.  If they’d caught a rat, he’d probably be waiting to scare the crap out of her. 

“Hunter, what did you find?”  She started down the first few steps but paused when she didn’t get an answer.  “Hunter, are you down there?”  Still nothing.  Her heart pounded.  She crept down two more steps and stopped, listening.          

“Hunter, quit fooling around.”  Her growing fear hushed her voice to a whisper and she felt tears well up and she began to edge backward up the stair, her eyes locked upon the bottom steps.  She began to smell something foul and heard a familiar rustling just as a loud pop announced the death of the light.  Christy felt like she’d died.  She couldn’t move.  She couldn’t speak.  Her chest hurt as her terrified heart sought to burst.  The rustling was on the stairs now.  She felt faint from the stench.

Her hand bumped a familiar shape upon the stair ledge.  The flashlight.  She had a chance.  She could blind the rats with the light and escape.  She swung the light to the steps below her as she switched it on, but fear is clumsy and the light flew from her hand, spinning crazily down the steps.  In the erratically flashing light Christy saw death approaching.  Mercifully, her heart and mind shut down in the same moment.


Hunter had slept longer than he’d intended.  The old guy at that weird little shop over on the north side had stressed to do it as soon as it had done its job.  What the hell?  A couple of hours couldn’t hurt anything.  After all, this thing usually sleeps for decades at a time.  No problem, and a neat way to handle a nag like Christy. Oh, sure, there had been a little more blood than he’d been led to believe, but that was minor considering that he’d just made his life perfect.. The cage would be a real struggle going through the door to the cellar.  He’d been able to release it into the window from outside, but the damn thing would have to be lifted back into the cage.    He wrestled the cage over by the mop bucket and opened the cellar door.

Whew, what a stink.  He hadn’t noticed that before.  It must have gotten into the fridge yesterday too.  It was the same putrid smell.  No wonder the witch thought there were rats down here.  He flipped the light switch.  Damn, he’d just replaced that bulb.  He reached for the flashlight, but it was gone from the ledge.  Oh well.  He grabbed a new light bulb and the mop bucket and started down.  He’d use his lighter to see to replace the bulb.
The sloshing bucket of water masked the rustling sound that approached the bottom of the stair.


The need to flee is there.  There is safety in flight.  To stay is danger.  But window stands closed.  It has known warmth, comfort, food.  But this is not home.  Soon it will be cold.  Caged.  Waiting.  Hungering.  For eternity.
A door opens.  He who released it approaches.  He who will cage it.

It waits.

It hungers.

It feeds.


Word Count: approx.3700