by Gabriel Montagné  /  fiction  /  3 Jul 2008
The basement... you creep down those squeaky stairs, greeted by the stares of crooked wooden furniture and creaking rocking horses. Something about that thirty degree drop in temperature just going down those stairs is enough to make you run back up to the safety of your warm and lively living room. Because a basement is anything but lively. Dead cold sofas engulfed in layers of cloudy plastic. Rotting stuffed animals that used to be loved.
The only thing in the basement that isn't cold and lifeless is the radiator. Two red glowing lights burning holes in the back of your head. Burning on through the night and chilling your spine. Every time you turn your head, there they are, like eyes. They are eyes. The dim glow sets a soft red light on the rocking horse like a fine dust. You think you see it move.
You hear the soft whistling of the wind coming through the open window. That's when you realise that anyone can be in here. Anybody could have came through that small squeaky window... any thing.
The darkness of the dusty basement absorbs the light emitted from your dim flashlight. You start seeing things. The distorted and mind-twisting shadows cast on the wall. You have that strange feeling that some one, some thing is watching you. You look back at the window. You think you can make it out, up the stairs. You try not to be a baby; you tell yourself you're just seeing things. Something creeks. And a glass picture frame falls from an old shelf, with God knows what inside it, and shatters on the floor.
Every muscle in your body jolts like an antsy racing horse. You drop your flashlight and run like hell. You can't even hear the sound of the flashlight hitting the floor. As fast as you can. You don't bother to close the door after you. No time to waste. You're being chased, hunted.
Once your in the main house, it can't get you. Because it lives in the basement. But in the end, it's just a hole dug into ground under your house (that's also the home of an evil radiator). Used to store monsters and gnarled wooden furniture. A place meant only for bad thoughts, things that go bump in the night, and wooden rocking horses.
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