Down in the Basement

Down in the Basement

“There are monsters in our house, Lissa,” a high-pitched voice lisped in my ear, making my name sound like “Litha”.

I glanced up from my romance novel to see my baby-sitting charge hanging over the back of the sofa with a smirk on his six-year-old face. Jimmy’s messy mop of red hair stuck out in even more directions than usual. Mrs. Jenkins was a bit lax when it came to haircuts and housework – but at least she didn’t expect me to do the dishes like some of the other moms did.

“Really?” I asked, trying to be polite. I mean, what was I supposed to say? I smiled and did my best I’ll-go-along-with-the-joke voice. “And where are they, Jimmy?”

His fleshy lips parted in a grin, revealing a mouth with more missing teeth than the carved pumpkin on the front porch. “There’s a big one down in the basement, and if you go down there, Lissa – he’s gonna eat you up!”

Here’s where I made my first mistake. I decided that the eight-dollars an hour Jimmy’s parents were paying me entitled them to a certain amount of entertainment for their son. I figured I’d humor him since the video I’d put on in the family room obviously wasn’t doing the trick.

It was Halloween, after all, and the poor kid was stuck here while his parents went to some local party. I got myself into character. “Ooo!” I squeaked. “He sounds scary!”

Jimmy giggled in delight and took off toward the cellar door. 

Sighing, I put down my book – which was just getting good – and traipsed along after him, forcing myself into the spirit of the holiday. I didn’t want to lose this gig. My sixteenth birthday was coming up and I had my eye on a belly-button ring – though my mom would probably kill me if I got it. Sometimes, ya gotta live dangerously.

The basement door opened into the typical dark yawning abyss that all basement doors open into. Staring at me, eyes alight, Jimmy danced with excitement as I flicked the light switch.

Nothing happened. Well, there was no way I was going down into an unlit basement, and I wanted to get back to my book anyway. “Sorry, Jimmy.” I started to close the door.

“I know where the flashlight is.” He dashed to the cabinet under the sink. Seconds later, he scurried back with a big square heavy-duty version.

Here comes mistake number two.

I didn’t want to see the little guy disappointed, and I figured five minutes of play-acting in the cellar wasn’t a big deal. So I took the flashlight, thumbed the switch, and went down the creaking staircase. The cellar was unfinished – unusual for our middle-class residential neighborhood. The beam of light illuminated unpainted cement walls and a floor made of flat packed-earth. It smelled musty, but there was something else, too – something unpleasant and sharp, like stale sweat mixed with the pungent reek of decay. Eww. I wrinkled my nose and breathed through my mouth. Maybe the cat had left a dead mouse down here somewhere.

“He’s behind the furnace.” Jimmy pointed a helpful finger past the bulky furnace pipes to a pitch-black part of the cellar.

I wondered if eight dollars-an-hour was really worth it. Ah, what the heck, I decided. It was Halloween, after all. I leaned over to him, grinning like I was a movie hero. “Don’t worry, kiddo, I’ll chase that monster outta here.” Hoping I wasn’t going to find a dead mouse, I strode purposefully toward the darkest part of the cellar.

You guessed it – my third mistake.

Momentum carried me forward long after my legs turned to jelly.

A hulking creature stood in the glare of the flashlight. Black eyes with no whites stared at me above a grinning rictus. Teeth the size of Manhattan jutted out from a ham-hock jaw. Ghoulish green skin, split in places and oozing worms and beetles, stretched wide as the monster opened his mouth.

My eyes bulged and a bolt of fear electrified my spine. Names of saints I didn’t even know spewed out my mouth. “Holy Mother of God!“ Apparently, there’s some kind of race-memory that holds a reservoir of religious knowledge that leaps into your brain during emergencies. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph!“ And I wasn’t even Catholic.

In the split second before my legs started backpedaling, he leaped at me, grabbing with claw-like hands. I ducked, but he caught my arm, his nails piercing my shirt and the flesh underneath.

I struggled as he dragged me closer, and the stench of decayed flesh snaked up my nostrils. I shrieked as his head came down to mine; the maggots and white worms on his face writhed together in a macabre dance that made every part of his face seem to move independently. The horrible black eyes bored into mine, and now I could see dark red fire glittering within them.

When I twisted, his nails raked my arm before his grip tightened.

I screamed, fought, and kicked even harder than when I was at the One-Day-Only-Sale at the Gap – some of those soccermoms are feisty – but I couldn’t get free. His mouth of snaggly, twisted teeth snapped at my face. My sneakers slipped on the floor, shooting out from under me. For a second, I hung limp in his grasp. Hot breath tinged with sulfur smothered me in a cloud of filthy fumes. 

Adrenaline surged, and I scrabbled, regaining my footing.

I swung the heavy flashlight at his head, striking his mottled brow. A great swath of flesh peeled off his face uncovering white bone beneath. One eye jarred loose and hung from strips of blood vessels and tendons, dangling onto his cheek. Worms roiled inside his skin.

He roared, and spittle hit me in the face, burning like acid. His face contorted in rage, and he struck me a sharp blow, knocking me to the ground. Before I could recover, his huge hand wrapped into my hair and he jerked me up. Pain sliced through me as my roots started to rip from my scalp.

I swung the flashlight again. It collided with his skull in a wet thwack. Chips of bone flew into the air. Brown viscous liquid ran from the wound down the side of his head. Maggots, loosened from their hold, slipped off his face, and peppered his black funereal shroud where they wiggled around trying to burrow through the material and back into flesh. I struck again, connecting with his mouth.  Pointy teeth, big as piano-keys, flew free from his gray gums and sprayed through the air, leaving gaping holes.

He whined a subhuman cry of pain and anger. Clasping me with his other arm, he drew me into a mockery of an embrace. Under the ebony shroud, his body felt wet and mushy. I beat against his chest. Its spongy flesh gave way, and I heard the dull snap of bone cracking. As if he couldn’t feel it, he kept pressing me closer.

His stink of mold, decay, and death filled my lungs every time I inhaled. I shuddered in revulsion. And I admit it – I may have peed myself a little.

Opening his mouth wider, strands of pus and saliva elongated between his cracked lips. The white of his teeth contrasted with a swollen black tongue, wriggling like a snake as he thrust it out. He brought his face toward mine as if he wanted to consummate our unnatural embrace.

Hey, wait a minute! I don’t even let my boyfriend, Steve, French-kiss me yet.

He could’ve been trying to bite me, but that idea was even more repulsive than getting tongue from a walking corpse – and that’s pretty freakin’ repulsive.

Hysterical anger ignited a power in me I didn’t know I had. It fueled my last awkward attempt to stop the onslaught of gnashing teeth. I swung as hard as I could, smashing him with the flashlight, denting his skull and knocking the other eye out of its socket. It bounced at the end of a string of sinew like a grisly yoyo. I rained blows on his ugly deformed head, desperate to keep his mouth away from me.

He took his hand from my back, trying to capture my arm. But I hit again and again, frantically striking at any part of him while screaming like my favorite Idol had been voted out. The muscles of his jaw hung exposed, and soon, I’d whacked off his entire lower jaw. In a frenzy, I kept battering and pounding him with all my strength.

I’m not even sure when he released my hair and collapsed on the ground. I just kept smashing and then stomping the remains until he was little more than a disgusting puddle of pulp.

When all movement stopped, my breath sobbed out my throat, echoing in the tomb-like basement. 

“Cool!”  Jimmy said. 

I’d forgotten he was there. With wild eyes, I turned to him. 

He grinned and said in a conspiratorial voice, “You should see the one that’s in the attic!” 












(Words: 1500)