Grandma's Basement

It was eerie down in my grandma's basement. The air was always heavy with the smell of mildew and decaying earth. The stairs were made of stone older than the age of man and the only light for the entire basement was a single lightbulb that hung from a power cord. The light occasionally flickered as if it were about to go out casting frightening oblong shadows across the walls.

The canned preservatives she kept stored on her shelves made the environment much more frightening. Sometimes, I would swear there was weird eyeballs looking back at me the few times she'd have me down there during a visit, but my mother would simply laugh it off like it was nothing. I recall a summer when I spent a whole two weeks with my grandmother.

I remember having to go down into the dank depths in search of some random thing. Arthritis had really settled into her knees so going up and down the stairs was too hard for her body. My grandfather had passed earlier that year so I was the only reliable candidate.

My senses seemed to heighten as I stepped down the last few steps and my heart began to thunder in my chest. It felt as if something was watching. I reached a blind hand out, feeling for the long cord. It startled me feeling the cord whispered against my palm. I snatched it and gave a hard tug. The stone walls lit up, the cracks definite against the white walls.

A few mice and bugs scurried into dark corners as I slowly took in the room. I froze at the sight of a closed door. The wood looked old and worn, as if it had been there a long time, but in my fifteen years of life I couldn't remember seeing it there before. Curiously, I stepped closer, noting the door had a huge padlock at the top. I ran a finger over it, the chilled metal nipping at my skin.

I glanced down, marveling at the small sliding compartment that was screwed into the door. It reminded me of the mail slot we had at home, where the mailman could drop the mail directly into the house. I knelt down and reached out, taking it between my fingers as I cautiously lifted it to view what was on the other side of the door.

As I lifted it, no light came out on the other side. I raised a brow, realizing there was a separate light source for it. I tightened my grip on my thigh and froze when my eyes met someone else's on the other side. The eyes stared back at me and I felt bile rising in my throat.

My breath caught in my throat as the eyes seemed to gaze on forever into my soul. “You okay down there?!” my grandmother had called from the top of the stairs.

Like a predator waiting to pounce, the eyes vanished replaced with a hand extending into an arm that lashed out at my face. I threw myself back, dropping the little slot on the arm, but that didn’t stop it from continuing to reach out for me. I scooted myself back as I expelled a scream from my lungs. I pushed myself up to my feet and sprinted up the stairs, forgetting the light as I slammed the door; my grandmother staring at me in shock.

“What in the hell?” She asked as she stepped closer to me, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. I panted and met her worried eyes, my heart feeling as if it would beat out of my chest.

“There’s a person down there!” I exclaimed horrified. “T-they were staring at me for the longest time and then they just…started grabbing for me.” My grandma’s face dropped in surprise and suddenly, without so much as a word, she reached behind me and began to bolt the basement door.

“Why don’t you go to the porch and I’ll get us some tea?” she asked in an unusually soft voice. I nodded my head and hurried towards the porch, but before I stepped outside, I heard my grandmother go back into the basement.

A part of me wanted to follow her, but the other more frightened part pushed the screen door open and took in the fresh Missouri air. I sat in a rocking chair, the dry heat working up a sweat on my cheeks and hands. I jumped outta my skin when the screen door suddenly opened, revealing my grandma holding a serving tray with two glasses and a pitcher of sweet tea.

She set it on the railing of the porch and poured a glass, handing it back to me without even turning her head. I took it from her hesitantly, unsure if I should ask about the person that was living downstairs or if I should wait for her to bring it up. She poured her own glass and sat in the chair beside me, silently rocking herself.

I sipped at my tea, watching her face as she continued to stare at the vacant dirt road in front of her house. “Why did you go snooping?” She asked in an eerily calm voice, eyes still glued to that road. I stared into my sweet tea, watching the lemon wedge as it danced with the ice.

“I just thought the door looked weird,” I admitted shamefully. “I had never seen it before until now and…was just curious.” Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as she took a drink from her glass.

“You ever heard the phrase about curiosity? How it killed the cat?” I nodded my head. “That’s gonna be what happens to you if you go snooping about that door again. What’s down there wouldn’t hesitate to eat you up and shit out your teeth.” My eyes widened in surprise. Never in all my life had I heard my grandma utter a single curse word.

I nodded my head in understanding and took a gulp from my glass. “What is that down there anyway?” I asked. “I’ve already seen it…what harm is it for me to know what’s there?”

I looked over at my grandma and she slowly turned her head to face me, the wrinkles in her face seeming to go deeper than the surface.

“That would be Margo,” my grandma said quietly. “She’s my younger sister…she suffers from a little bit of the crazy.” I nodded my head slowly, tracing my finger against the perspiring glass.

“Crazy like…Uncle Jude crazy or crazy like Dad’s new wife?” This made my grandma snort, a short lived smile appearing on her face for perhaps a half second.

“Your uncle, Jude, isn’t crazy. He’s eccentric and as for your daddy’s new wife…well I don’t have much to say on that matter. Margo is the kind of crazy that makes her dangerous.” My eyes widened in shock and my grip on the glass tightened significantly.

“So…why is she locked in your basement, Grandma?” My stomach fluttered with butterflies as I watched her face changed as if she were stuck between emotions.

"She was originally in the barn, but…well she got out about a year ago. Thankfully it was after you went back home. Your grandfather had to go after her. He came back a few hours later…Margo was ranting and raving about killing us and using us for food." I must've looked pretty horrified, because when my grandmother looked at me, her face fell. She reached over, taking my hand in hers.

"That's why I say she's dangerous. I’m also worried if she goes into a psych ward again she’ll just hurt as many people as last time. She…she took chunks out of your grandpa’s arms. I had to take him to the hospital…he had to have grafts done just to repair the damage she’d inflicted.”

“So…she’s in the basement, because it’s harder for her to escape?” My grandmother nodded sadly and squeezed my hand again.

“I promise you she’s not going to get out. Your grandpa made sure of it before he died.” I nodded my head skeptically, my palms becoming slick with nervous sweat.

“Does anyone else know about her?” She shook her head in response and blinked back tears.

“My brother, Marvin, did but he died five years ago. I’m the only relative left to care for her.” I nodded my head sadly, my heart hurting for her.

“So, what’s going to happen to her when you die?” My grandma’s shoulders drooped.

“I don’t know,” she said sadly. “I don’t have the heart to explain this to the rest of the family…you weren’t supposed to even find out.” She leaned back in the chair, dropping my hand. “I don’t want you to worry though, baby, Grandma won’t let something happen to you.”

I smiled weakly back at her. “Does she…Is she too sick for me to talk to her? Maybe she’ll…I don’t know.” My grandma smiled sweetly at me, tears building in her eyes.

“Baby, I’d love that, but I don’t think it’d be very safe to have you that close.”

“But…she’s your sister. She shouldn’t feel isolated.” My grandma wiped her eyes with her fingers.

“You’re a beautiful human being, my love,” she said sweetly. “I don’t want you in danger though.” I nodded my head and we continued to sit there while the sun began to set.

Later that evening, we cleared the table after dinner and I was set to wash the dishes. My grandmother had gone into the front room to watch the nightly news before she’d head to her room for the night. As I was drying the few dishes and began to reach up, putting them away, I heard something scratch at the basement door.

My blood suddenly ran cold and I felt frozen in front of the cupboards as I stared wide eyed. The door did not move nor did the soft scratching stop. I quietly put away the last dish and closed the cupboard. I slowly inched my way towards the front room when a voice stopped me. “I can hear you,” the voice was taunting and hoarse. “I know you’re there. Please open the door…I need out. I have a family.”

My heart began to skip beats and I stopped in my tracks. I could hear my grandma’s soft laugh at something the news anchor had said. I glanced around the kitchen quickly, my sights zeroing in on the knife block. I tip-toed over to it and silently withdrew the butcher knife. I gripped the handle so hard in my shaky hand that I thought I would accidentally cut myself if I wasn’t careful.

“Please,” the voice came again, sounding as if she’d been crying. “My name is Margo. I have a son, his name is Joseph.” I walked over to the door, but stopped upon hearing that name. Joseph was my father’s name. There was no way she could’ve known that name without talking to grandma.

I turned around and made a bee-line for my grandmother. I came into the living room and slowly came around to face her. She jumped when she saw me and her eyes widened at the sight of the knife in my petite hand. “Baby, what are you doing with that?” she asked shakily.

I struggled to speak, my mouth suddenly dry. “S-she’s out,” I whispered. “She’s at the door…she…she is saying she has a son.” My grandmother’s eyes somehow seemed to widen more and she was suddenly on her feet. I followed her back into the kitchen, where she threw open what appeared to be a junk drawer. She rifled through it and withdrew a small handgun.

She slammed the drawer shut and I watched as she checked to make sure the gun was loaded. She went to the door and raised the gun, pulling back the hammer. “Margo, get your ass back in that cell before I start shooting!” I jumped at her shout.

“No!” Margo screamed, sounding scared. “I want to see my son! You stole my baby, Lydia, and I want to see him!” I stared incredulously after my grandmother and I felt my heart began to pick up pace in my chest again.

“Grandma?” I asked, my voice shaking like a leaf. “What is she talking about?” She glanced over at me as if she’d suddenly forgotten I was even there.

“Go to your room, baby.” It wasn’t a suggestion, but an order. An order coming from a woman I was hardly able to recognize in that moment.

“Grandma, what is she-”

“I said go to your room, Charlie!” She shouted and I jumped away from her. I walked back to my room with tears in my eyes as I tried to rationalize everything that was going on out there. I locked the door behind me and set the knife on the vanity. I wiped my eyes and sniffled, running fingers through my chopped hair.

I heard a loud commotion through the thin walls and jumped at the sound of a gun shot. My breath caught in my throat as I waited for the other shoe to drop. I heard footfalls coming towards my door and I backed myself up into the wall, ready to throw the window open and leap out if needed. I practically jumped out of my skin when soft tapping came at my door.

“Charlie, come help me,” my grandmother ordered and I hurried to the door, throwing it open to see my grandma covered in a few scratches and some blood. I threw my arms around her in a tight embrace, crying into her shoulder. She patted my back and then pushed me away.

I followed her silently to the kitchen and nearly wet myself at the sight of a lightened version of Margo. She was gasping on the floor, cradling her side as blood began to smear across her fingertips. The bile began to rise in my throat again. I looked at my grandmother, terror gripping my heart at the sight of her cold vacant expression.

She still clutched the gun in her hand, steady as a rock. "G-Grandma?" my voice felt small and weak. "What are you going to do to her?" She glanced down at her hand; her face appearing to be too deep in thought. The answer should have been simple. It should have been quick. We couldn't kill this woman she was sick in the head!

Finally, my grandmother's eyes met mine again and she licked her lips before she spoke, "We are going to take her back downstairs. We'll administer first aid and hope for the best." I looked back at Margo, her eyes darting between the two of us as her rapid blinking began to slow.

"We aren't doctors though," I said shyly. "She needs a hospital. That bullet could have hit something important. Let's just take her to the hospital and maybe they can get her some help while she is there." I thought for certain my grandmother would see the error in her idea. That we'd potentially be risking one of the few remaining relatives she had left if we didn't treat this the right way, but instead she just shook her head at me.

"I can't risk them taking her from me again. They won't give her the help she needs. They'll lock her up and throw away the key!" Tears were building in her eyes and her hands began to tremble. I took a careful step towards her.

"But isn't that what you're already doing, Grandma?" I gently touched her forearm. "If we take her back downstairs and lock her up, she won't get better. She may not even live through the night if we leave her down there. Let's just take her there and get her some help."

"Lydia...please," Margo began to say, her voice overcome with wheezing. "I'll do whatever you want. I'll be good. Please just let me see my son." I looked down at Margo, color draining faster from her face, and took a tentative step towards her. I knelt down at her side and took one of her hands in mine, while the other applied more pressure to her wound.

"Charlie..." I looked at her, begging her with my eyes to do the right thing.

"She needs our help, Grandma," I said, my voice cracking from the lump growing in my throat. "Please." My grandmother looked at us and she slowly nodded her head.

"Alright. I'll pull the truck around back." She walked away, taking the gun with her. We heard the screen door slam behind her and somewhere in the far off distance, I could hear her truck starting. I looked back at Margo, who gave me a weakened smile.

"Thank you," she whispered and I felt her give my hand a soft squeeze.

I nodded my head back at her. "You're welcome. I'm Charlie, by the way." Margo nodded her head, a tear falling down her cheek.

"Nice to meet you, Charlie, I'm Margo. Have you seen my son? His name is Joseph...he'd be about your age maybe? It's hard for me to tell I've been locked away for so long." I felt a dull ache in my chest, unsure of what I should tell her. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. Margo squeezed my hand more tightly, more tears beginning to cascade down her face. "Please...I've only held him once, but I really need him to know how much I love him."

I nodded my head and licked my suddenly dry lips. I could hear the truck getting closer to the back door. I didn't have much time before my grandmother would be back. "I have...he is doing wonderful," I told her and a smile grew on her tear-stained cheeks. "He has a great girlfriend. Her name is Sarah."

"Is she good to him?" I nodded my head and heard the back door opening. My grandmother hurried into the room, kneeling down to get the best grip she could around Margo's waist.

"Charlie, you're going to have to carry most of her weight. I can't do it." I nodded my head and prepared myself to lift her. "Alright now. One...two...three!" On three, we both rose and Margo leaned heavily against my shoulder as we began to walk towards the truck. My grandmother stepped away as we got closer and for a moment, I struggled to keep myself and Margo standing.

"I didn't want to give him up," Margo whispered into my ear, sending chills down my spine. "but I had no choice. Lydia said I was too sick to care for a child on my own. She was right...she always is." Margo's voice faded and I felt her stumble.

"Grandma!" My grandma had gotten the door opened and rushed back to Margo and I. She helped me the best she could to get Margo into the cab of the truck. I climbed in after her and my grandmother hopped behind the wheel, not bothering to fasten her seatbelt as she whipped back down the drive. Margo's head leaned against my grandma's shoulders and I could see the tears flowing down her face.

"Margo, don't you dare die on me. You have to meet your son," I watched as my grandmother's face began to break as she started to cry freely. "I should've helped you. I'm so sorry, Margo. I tried my best...I really did." Margo said something I couldn't quite make out. The rest of the ride was silent. Thanks to my grandmother's lead foot, we arrived at the hospital ten minutes faster than we normally would've.

My grandmother and I sat together in that waiting room for what felt like forever, each of us taking turns pacing. At some point in time, both of us just sat there staring at the clock. "So...Margo is...my dad's real mom?" I asked, unsure of how else to word the question. It'd been eating at me and I just had to know.

She sighed heavily and wrung her hands together. "Yes..." she admitted sadly. "Margo had him when she was just seventeen and that was when her sickness had been at its worse if you ask me. My parents had locked her away in an asylum...and Margo escaped. She returned to the facility pregnant. It had been a time before they'd recovered her so...by the time she came back, it was too late. She was going to have a child and there was nothing anyone could do for her.

"I was already married to your grandpa at that time, and we'd tried...for about two years to have a child of our own, but it never happened. So, I told my parents I would take the baby in and raise him as my own. Margo hated the idea, she wanted to be with your father from the second he was born. My father would rather have watched the baby go off to some unknowing family incase the illness had been passed down, but I couldn't let your father go.

"Your grandfather and I were already in love with him. So...we took him, put our names on the birth certificate, and did our best to care for Margo after my parents had passed on. No facility would take her, she'd always find her way out and work her way back to our home. She just wanted to see your father, but I was afraid of her trying to hurt him...so I locked her away." I watched as my grandmother hid her face in her hands, her body shaking with sobs.

"So...she's my grandma...?" I watched her nod her head slowly and I reached out to take her hand in mine. "You're my grandma too though...right?" My grandmother looked at me and gave a sad smile as she cupped my face.

"Always, baby." We hugged each other tightly and a doctor approached us. He smiled, which gave me hope for good news.

"Mrs. Creston, your sister is doing remarkably well. We got the bullet out and she's recovering as we speak. I can take you to her if you'd like." We both nodded our heads and followed the doctor to Margo's room. We stopped just outside the door and the doctor faced us again. "Now, I must warn you. We do have her on some sedatives as well as some medications to help with the mental illness. We saw it in her chart and are going to do our best to help her find the right dosage before we send her home with you."

My grandmother nodded her head and we stepped passed the doctor, entering Margo's room. The white walls and tiled floor smelled of various cleaners and the only sounds to be heard were the monitor's beeping and Margo's soft breathing. My grandmother planted herself in the chair at her bedside and took Margo's hand tightly in hers.

"Charlie...maybe you can call your dad? See if he can be on the next flight out here," she asked and I nodded my head, hurrying down the hall for a phone. My father had sounded worried when I called him and I avoided bringing up Margo as much as I could, but sure enough, after two days, he showed up at Grandma's house.

Sarah had stayed home to tend to the younger children. I had been sitting on the porch waiting for him and when he pulled up in his rental car, I rushed to give him a hug. I hadn't realized how scared it had all been until I was in my dad's arms and crying like a newborn baby. He drove us to the hospital and I led him to Margo's room.

The entire way he had been pestering me with question after question, demanding I give him some sort of an answer. I stopped him outside the door, unsure of what to tell him and knowing deep down that no matter what I told him, his world was going to be flipped upside down. So instead I said this, "Just remember when you walk into this room that no matter what you're about to hear and learn, Grandma did what she felt was right...and she did it all out of love for you."

My dad's face turned white and we walked into the room. My grandmother rose from her chair and rushed to wrap my dad in a tight embrace. I slowly made my way to the chair at Margo's side and she gave me a shy little smile. "Hello, Charlie."

"Hi, Margo."

My grandmother watched us silently for a few moments before saying, "Charlie, keep Margo company would you?" I nodded my head without looking at her as she and my dad stepped out into the hallway.

"Charlie," Margo said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I get to see my son today. Isn't that wonderful?" I nodded my head, fighting back tears.

"Grandma told me," I whispered back and leaned over, pointing at my dad. "He's right there. You see him?" Margo slowly turned her head and her eyes widened.

"That's my little Joey? Oh I thought he'd be much younger..." she trailed off, turning her eyes to meet mine again. "You don't think he'll be too disappointed to see me, do you?" I shook my head and took her hand in mine.

"I think he'll just need some time to adjust first. His whole life he knew your sister as his mom...but I think eventually he'll come to love you as his mother too." A tear fell down Margo's cheek and she nodded her head slowly.

"Thank you, Charlie, but can I ask you just one more thing?" I nodded my head, waiting for her to go on. "You call Lydia grandma...did she ever get to have a child of her own?" I shook my head sadly.

"No...Joseph is my dad." Her eyes widened in surprise and her mouth fell open.

"You mean...you're my...my..."

"I'm your family too, yes," I said, giving her hand a comforting squeeze. "and I promise you aren't ever going into that basement again."

Our heads both turned as they re-entered the room, Dad's face was a little pale and Grandma looked kind of sad. My dad approached the bed slowly and Margo reached out with her other hand to him. He took the hand and looked down into Margo's face, tears building in his eyes.

"There's a picture..." he began, his voice cracking with tears. "of you holding me just after I was born...I'd always thought it was my mom, but it was you. I've had a photo of you this entire time...and I never knew." Margo's eyes lit up with glee.

"I'm sorry things had to be the way they were...but I wasn't in my right mind to care for you then...and I know you're far too old to need your mother-"

My father waved his hand dismissively. "I'm not. I consider myself extremely lucky to have two mothers...and I'm even luckier to meet you before it was too late." Margo let go of my hand and my dad bent down to hug her. Happy tears streamed down all our faces.

Within a few months, Margo was back to living with my grandma and my dad had flown us all back out for Christmas to see them. Margo took over the guest bedroom and the walls were just covered in family photos both present and past. She even has a photo of my dad and I with her from the day they met in the hospital. She said it was to commemorate the best day of her life.