The Basement

It happens like this:

On the stairs, getting out of the bath, or stepping over something awkward. It waits for these times.

I live in the basement of one of those majestic old tenement blocks so common around here, in what must have originally been the servant’s quarters. Times have changed and what might have felt humble once now seems a fairly grand dwelling space. Grand enough to offer me great comfort. Generally, I am grateful to have lived here, even if there is something a little wrong about it.

Like any old building, I’m sure that it has witnessed dark times and dark deeds, but none of these have proven notable enough to be passed down, to my knowledge.

I should also stress that this place really is no stranger to joy. Children have been born here, weddings cakes carved, and wild parties too. The cold dark luxury of the place. The peace is alluring, and possibly even urges visits from friends, but then there is the other side. Stories abound of chills, a presence. Leaving friends alone here seems a risky business. Many a guest has hastily upped, and booked a hotel beyond their means rather than enduring a full night here.

So what is this thing?
That is where it gets vague. Remember, we have no murder story, no monstrous tale of torture or abuse to hand, but we also lack a consistent description. Whilst so many have sworn blind to a something, it is always just that; a ‘something’. I’ve often asked them what exactly happened but the most I ever got from them was usually less than vague:
“Something, someone was watching me”
“Who? What were they like?”
“I don’t know, someone or something bad.”
Either that, or their descriptions would be wild enough to make it obvious that, in their panic, imagination had taken over.

I feel that I can elaborate on this ‘something or ‘someone’, however. I believe that I, myself, have actually seen it many times now, although I’m afraid that even this reveals very little in the way of a story. I see no face, no clothes, just a formless mass. Close your eyes and squeeze them tight until you see strange dots in front of your eyes. This thing looks like a swarming cloud of these dots. So subtle that you can only see it in the complete darkness. A darkness that this cavernous flat so readily offers.

This form moves slowly, although its constituent parts buzz around like a swarm of flies. It may be silent, although I often think that the visits are accompanied by a subtle high pitch whistling noise.

I’m sure that you’ve guessed, there is no talk, but somehow I know its thoughts. I feel them, or maybe they are so intense that I can read them as if they were an expression. Maybe my muddled brain secretly holds a key to deciphering that swarming mass of lights and darks,. Somehow I feel that I know only too well what stirs in this confusing form.

It waits like a spider on the edge of a web. On the stairs, getting out of the bath, or stepping over something awkward. No opportunity will be missed. In these moments we wrestle. Wrestle for my mind, my nervous system, my limbs. With my guard up, I’m fine, but if I lose focus it will make its move. An awkward tumble, a giddy moment on a slippery surface. Briefly I’ll be its puppet, and then it’ll bash me around like a sadistic child.

Sometimes it gets deeper, into my actual thoughts. Maybe I’m up a ladder painting the walls and get the urge to reach that little further. That need to test the bubbling water when I’m cooking. Curiosity, can I jump down the stone stairway from the pavement to the front door?

I know it will get me one day. I know it is there, with me always. Just waiting to catch me on my own. A fragile moment, a weakened mind, and then I’ll be gone. My body fermenting and my soul who knows where. Maybe I’ll stand before pearly gates, or burn in hell. Maybe I’ll be reincarnated but one thought nags me.

If it gets me, if I die here, I suspect it gets its way. No wings or horns for me, no new life, not even the honour of just rotting away. I can imagine it climbing inside my fresh corpse and devouring me. Breaking me down into more little dots for its amorphous cloud.

I must again stress that this is a great house. I’ve laughed and loved and lived here well, and you’ll like it here too, but for god’s sake be careful, and don’t die here.