The Basement

They told me they had guests in the basement. It was immediately before they left for the wedding. He had been a good friend from high school; I didn’t really know his wife.

I had arrived only that morning after a short train ride. It had been shorter that I had expected, though I’m not sure why I expected it to be longer. The ride had always been that brief, at least as far back as I could remember. Ian and his wife had picked me up at the station. I had commented to Ian about how long it had been. ‘Since graduation, I think. We certainly made a scene.’ He smiled and nodded. ‘Or maybe… There was that one time in Seattle when we tried to climb Mt. Rainier.’ He smiled and nodded again.

I had free roam of the house, except for the basement. It wasn’t that they told me I couldn’t go into the basement; it was the mere fact that I knew I shouldn’t.

I was only staying the night, and I could amuse myself without access to a television. I perused the books. I saw Death of a Salesman and The Yankee Years. I thought them oddly juxtaposed. I wondered if Ian’s wife was the Yankees fan.

My phone rang. I answered without looking at the number.

‘What are you doing for lunch tomorrow?’ came the familiar voice.

‘I have to be back in the afternoon,’ I said to him.

‘I’m your father; I want to see you.’

‘Okay, I can go back in the evening.’

‘I’ll be there around 11,’ he growled.

‘See you then,’ I chirped.

I clicked off. The phone began vibrating in my hand. I answered again without looking.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi, how’s my favorite son?’

‘That’s no way to speak, mom. You have four other kids.’

‘And I tell them all the same.’

‘That seems to defeat the purpose.’

‘Don’t judge. I heard you’re in town. Will I get to see you?’

‘Umm…’

‘I never get to see you.’

‘I can do breakfast.’

‘What are you doing for lunch?’

‘I’m not available for lunch. Can we make it early?’

‘How’s nine?’

‘That’s fine, mom.’

‘Okay, looking forward to it.’

I hang up again. I wait for another call. None comes. I hear rustling in the basement, but I ignore it. Instead I sit at the kitchen table, and stare out the window into the darkness. I sit for three hours. I sit completely still, waiting for something tragic.

The rustling becomes something more than rustling. I suppose it could have been called pounding. I heard things breaking too. I thought about going to bed, but something told me to go downstairs. The voices were not the better angels of my nature.

I opened the cellar door and peered down. I saw red lighting amidst which there came a flicker, like a television. I stepped down into the darkness and saw movement. There was a lot of movement. People were moving around one another. It was almost an orgy. Almost. I took one more step and looked over the railing down into the room. It was a television flickering. Further squinting indicated a horror film. I think it was Texas Chainsaw Massacre, though I can’t be sure because I’ve never seen it. My eyes wandered further into the room where I saw something resembling an orgy. Except it wasn’t an orgy. There were people with weapons impaling each other. I saw a body that looked like it had been hit by a bus. The blood oozed everywhere. I felt sick and flew up the stairs.

They hadn’t noticed me. They hadn’t even turned. They simply stabbed each other with delight. I felt the shock engulf me. I considered calling someone; I could think of no one. I didn’t have Ian’s number. I didn’t think I should share the information with my parents. I decided to go to bed. There was nothing I could do.

I woke up in the morning. There were bloody footsteps on the kitchen floor. My mother called to say she would be late. My father called to say he would be early. They arrived simultaneously, my father walking up the driveway from the front and my mother traversing the backyard from behind. They had keys and entered. I sat at the kitchen table with my head down. I didn’t want to tell them what had happened. I wanted to be with both of them away from the house as quickly as possible.

The doors opened. Ian and his wife entered. They greeted me, and noticed I was white as a ghost.

‘Something wrong?’ Ian asked.

I pointed to a red sneaker mark on the ground. ‘They reenacted Texas Chainsaw Massacre downstairs,’ I said louder than I had intended. ‘Except it wasn’t really with a chainsaw.’

Ian rolled his eyes and sighed as if to say, not again. He and his wife began cleaning the kitchen as I sat at the table.

When they were finished, Ian turned to me and motioned me downstairs, ‘Can you help me clean up? The wife’s exhausted from the wedding.’

I stared at Ian as if trying to remember something. I shook my head. Nothing happened. I shook it more vigorously and realized what was happening. I shook my head again and lifted it groggily from the pillow.

My wife sat on the bed; there were tears in her eyes. I sat up too quickly and saw stars.

‘What is it?’

‘I just got a call from the Barkleys. Aaron died in an accident just an hour or so ago. He was riding his bike along a busy road, lost control, and was bit by a bus.’

I blinked. ‘He’s only 10.’

‘I know. They’re going to cancel the Little League games tomorrow.’

‘Oh my God.’ I reached for her and pulled her into me.

A knock came at the door followed by a 9 year old bursting with excitement. ‘Ready for the batting cages, dad,’ he exclaimed. But Alex stopped short when he saw his parents holding each other.

‘Alex,’ I started. ‘I have something I have to tell you.’