Under the Stairs

"Get your ass down here, bitch! Now!"

"Coming, Daddy," Fiona jumped off the bed and hid the Goosebumps book under her pillow. If he discovered she'd been reading "that trash" again, he'd beat her to a pulp.

"What did I tell you about leaving dishes in the sink, Fiona," her father growled, as he slammed another can of Busch. "You're almost ten years old, you need to learn to be more responsible."

"I'm sorry, Daddy. I'll do it right now."

"Damn right you will. This place better be spotless when I get up for work."

Her dad stumbled upstairs to his bedroom and Fiona breathed a sigh of relief.

She ran the water into the dishpan and added a dollop of dish detergent. Only a dollop, can't be wasteful.

CLUNK

Fiona jumped, nearly dropping a juice glass.

CLUNK

She set the glass down carefully and walked slowly over to the basement door. It sounded as if the sound had come from downstairs.

She waited, but all was quiet. Slowly, she opened the basement door and flipped the light switch. Still, no sound.

She crept down the stairs and looked around the small basement room. It was only a partial basement, unfinished, and the furnace was quiet, as it was the middle of July.

CLUNK

Fiona let out a small shriek, clapping her hand over her mouth, fearful that her father would hear her and come to see why she was snooping.

The sound seemed to come from the crawlspace behind the stairs. Drumming up her courage, she tiptoed back to investigate.

There was nothing there but an old wooden crate, nailed shut.

CLUNK! The crate shook, causing her to stumble backwards in surprise.

Fiona opened the toolbox that sat by the furnace and found a hammer. Slowly, she worked the nails loose from the crate and lifted the lid, ready to run. She gasped. A small boy, about 6 years old, was curled up in the crate. He looked malnourished and very frightened.

"How did you get in here?" she whispered.

"I was at the store with my mommy and a man picked me up and took me to his car. He said he had a present for me," the boy sniffled. "Then he hurt my bottom and put me in here. I'm hungry." The boy began to sob.

"Shhhh, quiet, I'll get you out of here," Fiona patted his head, awkwardly. What was she going to do? She had to get him out of here before her dad woke up.

The little boy started crying, louder.

"Please, be quiet," she begged. "He'll hear..."

"Fiona! What are you doing down here? How many times have I warned you about snooping?" Her dad yanked the hammer from her hand and everything went black.

He rooted through the toolbox until he found a small handsaw. He cut off her left hand and threw it into the crate.

"Enjoy your last meal," he snapped, closing the crate and quickly nailing it shut again.