Brian Sigley (10:11)
The wall next to the door. I tried it with my free hand. Nothing happened. I flipped it again and again. Dead. So I called out into the dark. But the breathing didn't stop or change, just kept going at that same slow pace. I took the first step down. The stair groaned under my weight, and I froze, expecting to hear Derek or his parents wake up. But nothing. Second step, third step. With each one, the temperature dropped. By the time I was halfway Down. I could see my breath in the beam of the flashlight. The breathing was louder now, echoing slightly off what I assumed were concrete walls. I still couldn't see the source. The flashlight just showed more stairs, more darkness beyond them. When I reached the bottom, my foot hit concrete. I swept the flashlight around, trying to get my bearings. The basement was bigger than I expected, stretching out in multiple directions. I could make out shapes, boxes stacked against walls, what looked like an old washer and dryer. In one corner, some kind of workbench. And in the very back, where my flashlight beam didn't quite reach, something was moving. I took a step forward, then another. The breathing was coming from back there, from whatever was moving in the darkness. Who's there? I said, my voice cracking. Stupid question. Whatever was down here wasn't going to answer. I moved closer, my flashlight extended in front of me. The light showed more of the basement. Now it was unfinished, just exposed concrete and support beams. There were water stains on the walls, and the floor was dusty, like nobody had been down here in years. That's when I saw the eyes. They were low to the ground, maybe three feet off the basement floor, and they reflected my flashlight beam like an animal's eyes would. But they weren't in an animal's eyes. They were too large, too far apart, and they weren't moving, just staring at me, unblinking. From behind one of the support beams. The breathing stopped. In that moment of silence, I became aware of other things. The air smelled wrong. Not musty, like a basement should smell, but sweet and rotten, like fruit that had gone bad weeks ago. And I could hear something else now, a wet sound, like something dripping. I kept the flashlight pointed at those eyes. They didn't blink. They didn't move. They just watched me. Then I heard movement to my left. I swung the flashlight over and saw nothing. Just more basement. But when I looked back to where the eyes had been, they were gone. I backed up, trying to keep the beam moving, trying to see everything at once, but the basement was too big and there were too many places to hide. Then something touched my shoulder. I screamed and whipped around, but there was nothing there. Just air. But I'd felt it. Fingers or something like fingers, resting on my shoulder for just a second. I decided then to get the hell out of there. My foot hit the bottom step and I almost tripped. But I ran up the stairs and didn't look back, didn't check if something was following me. I just ran, taking the steps two at a time. And when I got to the top, I Slammed the door and turned the lock. Something hit the other side of the door hard. Then again, then again. Each impact rattled the frame. I backed away, pointing the flashlight at the door like it would somehow protect me. After the fourth impact, the sounds stopped. I stood there, breathing hard, waiting. Then I heard movement on the other side. Going back down the stairs. Derek was still asleep on the couch. And I spent the rest of that night pressed against the far wall of the living room watching that door, the flashlight in my lap. Every time I started to convince myself I'd imagined it, I'd remember those eyes. When Derek finally Woke up around 8, he found me sitting there, still awake, still watching the door. I tried to tell him what happened. He listened. And when I finished, he laughed. And now you know why we don't go down there. I don't know if he meant it or not. Maybe he thought my mind was playing tricks on me and there was nothing in the basement at all. Or maybe there was and his whole family was terrified of it. But I still think about that night sometimes. About what I saw or didn't see in that basement. Even though Derek and I stayed friends, I didn't go back to his house after that. And I didn't go in my own basement either. These days I live in an apartment. Fourth floor, no basement. This, like, tracks so much for me of, like. I feel like I've felt this before. Like, or I've done this before, like, or.
