The Man in the Basement

There’s a small town in the state of Michigan in the United States that almost nothing happens in. It’s your average small town, where everyone knows everyone else and it only takes five minutes to traverse the entire town – counting the rural area. If you live there, then you probably have your entire life. Your parents grew up there and before them your grandparents. You know the kind of town.

Toward the outskirts of the village, on the last block before it becomes rural area, sits a small house. It’s a decent looking house. Three bedrooms, one bath, a nice kitchen, and a basement that could easily be furnished into another room. A very nice house all in all. Yet it stands empty most of the time.

Inside that house is something strange, something evil. Never leave the basement door unlocked, and after dark never, ever go down there, no matter what you think you hear or what you might imagine. Stay upstairs, stay in the light.

How do you know? You ask. Simple, I used to live next door. Around my thirteenth year a family finally moved in, before that no one had lived there for as long as I could remember. I remember being surprised that someone had actually bought the place and when I saw they had children I instantly offered my services as babysitter.

On the other side of the house lived a girl about my age, her parents, and her younger sister. Everything between us was a competition and I was pretty proud that I had won that round. A mistake I would soon come to regret.

The first night I babysat I stayed the night. The parents were going to a party, wouldn’t be back until late. I nodded as they showed me where the emergency numbers, explained that the kids had already ate and that the youngest was asleep already. It was 7 PM. The other one, a little girl named Amy, had to be in bed no later than 9.

“Oh, and she might cry during the night. For some reason she’s been having nightmares, probably due to staying in a new room, she’s not used to it yet.” The mother explained as they headed out the door.

I nodded, agreeing with them, and waved them goodbye.

“So, Amy, what do you want to watch?” I asked, gesturing toward the pile of movies stacked by the TV.

“The Little Mermaid,” She replied, grinning.

I laughed and put it in. It always helps if you appease the child. By the end of the movie, she was sleeping, head in my lap. I smiled down at the little form and carried her to her room. I paused as I laid her down, sure I had heard someone speaking. I turned slowly. Her room was small and the princess nightlight illuminated every corner to reveal – nothing. No one was there. I shut her door quietly and did a quick search of the house, checking in on the baby boy, who was sleeping like an angel. My search turned up nothing and I shrugged, assuming I must have been hearing the TV I had left on.

I lay down on the couch, facing away from the basement, and flipped through the channels, looking for something decent to watch. I finally settled on a popular sitcom and was just starting to dose when I heard stairs creaking. I sat up and looked toward the basement door, as the creaking got louder. My heart was racing a little as I listened. No footfalls were heard, just creaking stairs, and I tried to attribute it to the settling house, but my instincts were screaming at me to get out. Then Amy started screaming from the bedroom and I jumped.

I hurried to her room and flung open the door, fully expecting to see her being murdered, but there was nothing.

“Amy, what’s wrong?” I asked the wide-eyed child.

“There was a man, standing over me,” She whispered, hugging her blankets to her small frame.

I turned and looked around her room again, “I don’t see anyone.”

“He left when you came in,” She answered.

“Which way did he go?”

She shook her head, “Down.”

I looked at her in puzzlement.

“Down?”

She nodded, but would elaborate no further.

“Will you be okay?” I asked.

She nodded again, snuggling back into bed.

I smiled, attributing it all to a nightmare. I had already forgotten about the creaking stairs I had heard right before she screamed.

The next time I babysat the parents explained they had taken to locking the basement door at night.

“For some reason that seems to help,” Her mother said as the left.

After putting Amy to bed I laid on the couch, watching movies for a while, then flipping on the lamp once I was sure she was asleep, to read. I made progress for about twenty minutes, but the silence unnerved me. I sat my book down and check on the children, making sure they were both fast asleep and where they should be. That took all of three minutes, and then I was back on the couch with my book.

Creak. I whirled and stared hard at the basement door as the stairs creaked again. I stood and moved toward them after a moment. Almost as if in response to this the creaks became more frequent and louder, as if what was down there had given up its need for secrecy and was racing up the stairs. My hand hovered above the door handle as I pondered flinging open the door and surprising whoever or whatever was on the other side, but then I rationalized I would probably be scaring myself more and there would be nothing there. I backed away just as something started pounding on the door.

I ran to the front door, hoping it would be someone there, but there wasn’t. I almost cried with relief when the pounding stopped. It took a long while for me to sleep after that, but I did.

The final night I babysat for them was the worst night of my life. The creaking started at its normal time and I hurried into Amy’s room, wanting to hide from the sounds and not deal with whatever was lurking in their basement. I cuddled with the girl, who had awakened and was looking at her door with fear in her eyes.

“It’s okay,” I kept whispering to her. “It can’t get us as long as that door is locked.”

She nodded, but neither of us knew that her parents had left the door unlocked, thinking that it was all in Amy’s head. After a time a figure stood in the doorway and we both screamed.

He stepped into the light that was let off by Amy’s nightlight. He looked normal. Not like a monster or any scary thing you would see in the movies. He had black hair and dark eyes. Thinner and pale, but not deathly. If one were to see him in the daylight he could easily pass as human, but as he stepped toward us I knew he was something else entirely.

“Be gone, demon,” I muttered, fingering the cross I was wearing.

He laughed then, an inhuman chuckle that froze the blood in our bones, and reached a hand toward us. I wanted to scream, I was so afraid, but it was stuck in my throat.

“You’re mine,” He seemed to whisper.

Amy’s scream exploded from her and he looked at her in horror before fading through the floorboards. Now I understood what she meant by down. He literally sank through into the basement.

“Amy,” I asked after a moment. “Is that the thing in the basement?”

She nodded, crying softly.

I nodded back. I don’t know how long we sat like that or when we drifted off, but that’s how her parents found us when they got home.

I explained what had happened to them and soon after they moved out. No one ever moved back in and I refused to ever go near the old place again. After doing some research I found that a family used to live there back in the fifties. A small family that was just like the one I sat for, but the father went crazy, raped his little girl, and then butchered them in the basement. The police found him still there in the basement, sitting in his family’s blood three weeks later, when a neighbor complained about the smell. No one knows what happened to him after that.

If you ever find yourself in a small town, looking to buy a small house that's perfect for a small family - remember to always leave the basement door locked. Or else you never know what might crawl out of it.