Building 16 “Scratches”

“When I was little, I tried desperately to convince my parents that there was something in the basement. They always dismissed it as a childhood fear, something I would grow out of. But they didn't understand because their room was on the second floor. They didn't hear what I heard. The scratching on the thin floor that separated my room from the basement. They didn't hear what I heard. They didn't hear it speak.

When I told my parents about it, but they convinced me that there was nothing to worry about, that there was nothing hiding in the dark. So for a while I dismissed it. Even as a kid I was smart enough to recognize that it could all be my imagination. But even though I had made up my mind, that didn't stop me from dreading going to the basement.

Anytime I would be asked to get something from it, a deep chill would rush up my spine. I knew that it was just my own insecurity, but that thought didn't help. The darkness felt solid...tangible. Like it was a living, hungry thing. The only thing that I could do to provide me with some courage was to turn on the light for the stairs, then run down as fast as I could to reach the pull string for the light for the basement itself.

During the holidays was the worst, mostly because it was guaranteed that I would have to take the ornaments both up and down the stairs over the course of a few months, forcing me to face the fears. Unlike many fears that I had as a child, this one didn't improve with time, and even into my teens I was still frightened to go down the stairs, though I would never admit it to my friends.

I still heard the scratching noises, as well as the strange, mutterings of speech that I could never make out. I had convinced myself that it was just some animals, or the movement of the house. Years ago we had a family of raccoons move into our attic. I figured it was possible that they had found their way back. But then again, I wasn't willing to make sure.

I was fourteen. It was just after the holiday season and though I had stalled as long as I could the day finally came when I had to move the ornaments and tree downstairs. My parents had left. They told me that I had till they had come back from the store to put the things downstairs. As they left, I felt the all familiar feeling rising up inside of me, that horrible dread. I told myself once again that I had nothing to be afraid of, and once again it didn't help.

I went through my usual ritual, starting with the stairs and ending at the light at the bottom. I first brought down the tree and placed it back in the familiar spot in the corner. I continued to brings boxes down the stairs until I was on the last box. I went down to the bottom of the stairs, ready to rush to the top of the stairs the moment I turned off the light. I bent over and placed the box on the ground.

Then I heard the sound of the pull string being tugged.

In an instant the entire area was plunged into darkness. The only light was coming from the stairwell, pouring onto the concrete floor but hardly providing any illumination. I ran for the stairs, stumbling over a box along the way. I reached the bottom of the stairs and looked up, only to stop dead. At the top of the stairs I saw something move for the light switch. The stairwell became dark and the door closed.

I knew where the pull-string was, and I swept my arms through the air till I found it. It only took a moment but when I pulled it I screamed. There was someone standing in front of me with its hand on the pull-string. Their eyes were bloodshot, their hair ragged and stringy. Their skin was deeply pale, and their nails were split and broken. But the worst part was the smell. It was something awful, a deep and overwhelming scent of rot. I seemed to startle them, because they stepped back, pulling the string again and plunging the room into dark again.

I ran for the stairs, cracking my shins against the first step as I blindly scrambled for the top of the stairs. I found the door and quickly opened it. Closing the door after me, I grabbed an end table and pressed it against the door. Then I took out my cell phone and called the police. I had to wait five agonizing minutes. During that time, I checked my shins, and wasn't surprised when I found I was bleeding. All the time I was waiting the basement was quiet. Soon enough the police arrived and I directed them downstairs.

I waited another few minutes before I heard them coming up the stairs. The person was with them, and I could finally get a good look at them in the light. They were a girl, but their eyes were all wrong. They were pale and unfocused, and the moment she encountered the light coming through the window she recoiled, murmuring to herself. The police took her away without trouble, and it was then that I discovered that there was a hidden room under the stairs.

It seemed to be the end of it, but later that day I received a phone call. The voice on the phone was very quiet, and the noise in the background made hearing them difficult.

“Thank...you...sorry...return it.”

That was all I could make out and soon after that the line went dead. A week later I received a package from the local police station. In it was a small stuffed animal of a Dalmatian. At first I was unsure what it was, but in a moment it sparked a memory. It was a stuffed animal I thought I had lost nearly ten years ago.”