The Unfortunate Life of Basil Green

Prologue

WARNING: the following scene contains graphic and potentially disturbing content. Reader discretion is advised

Two pairs of heavy, drunken footsteps sounded at the base of the staircase, and Basil moved further back into the corner of her tiny closet. A jutting nailhead dug painfully into her back. She fought the urge to gag at the rank smell of alcohol, cigarette smoke, and cheap cologne wafting up from the noisy party downstairs. She hoped the noise wouldn't disturb Dempsey, her six-month old little brother. The familiar creak of the fifth stair came, and Basil shut her eyes tighter, trying to will away the whole scene. Her hands clenched tightly at her side, and Basil tried to quiet her breathing. Maybe this time he wouldn't find her.

It was a lie and she knew it. He would find her. He always did.

As the steps reached the landing, Basil wished for Walter, her beat up teddy bear. Though he was more patches than fur, and even though her father said that she was too old for the raggedy stuffed toy, Basil loved him nevertheless. His arm was in urgent need of fixing, as was his single remaining ear. Basil had a habit of worrying the soft cloth there when she was scared or anxious, and had consequently worn straight through it many times over. She needed to ask her mother to sew on some more patches when she got a chance. It could be weeks, months even before that chance arose, and who knows how long before she got him back. Basil daren't ask when her Father was around. He said Basil's mother spoilt her. And, if Basil's mother was found with Walter, both of them would pay.

Yes, Basil could use her worn out teddy, but she didn't dare remove him from the secret place under the floorboards where she kept everything that was important to her. Basil had learned long ago to keep anything precious away from the many faceless visitors she received.

The drunken footsteps had reached the landing now. They thudded four times, twice for each pair of footsteps. And then...

Silence. Basil shut her eyes tight, counting the seconds. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

The rank smell leaked under the door and into the room, so Basil breathed through her mouth instead. The sound of rustling clothing, faint as the whisper of a moth's wings, was electric to Basil. And then the sharp staccato of the key sliding smoothly into the lock, tumblers engaging.

Click.

The door creaked open on its rusty hinges. The stench became even more prominent. Basil was pressed back as far as the closet would allow, the pain from the nail digging in to her paled in comparison to the immense terror that had accumulated in a tight pit in her clenching stomach. A silent tear rolled down her shadowed face. The first person swaggered into the room. "Where is she?" He barked in a voice made scratchy from years of alcohol and cigarettes. She didn't recognize the voice. She rarely did. Most customers only came once, or came infrequently. The second set of footsteps strode in. These were more uneven, and Basil could tell that he had had, like usual, too much to drink.

"Princess," his familiar voice called out in a falsely sweet voice that made Basil want to gag, "where are you?" Basil's eyes shut tighter. "Come on out, Princess." Basil remembered when that pet name didn't make her shudder. He began rummaging around the room, throwing back blankets and moving furniture. The other man helped him, hissing through his teeth, "if you lied to me, Green-"

"She's here. The only way out is through that door, and it was locked." He sounded tense now. Basil's heart thudded against her chest as the footsteps stopped outside the closet door. The big boots cast an ominous shadow in the light streaming in under the door. His hand closed around the cheap handle, turning it. Basil's eyes were no longer closed. Instead, they were frozen open in fright, locked on the turning handle.

The door was flung open, flooding the small closet with dingy yellow light. "There you are, Princess! We've been looking for you!" Her father reached down, roughly grasping the terrified Basil by the arm and yanking her to her feet. She stood mute, staring intensely at the floor.

"Didn't you hear us calling, Princess?" It was the other man who spoke, leering at her over her father's shoulder. She didn't reply. "She's a quiet one, isn't she?" The man's squeaky laugh hurt her ears.

Her father grinned. "not usually. She's often so loud I have to use the belt." Basil flinched now, reminded of the sharp sting of leather cracking smartly against her backside. Even worse were the fist blows that followed the belt, leaving blotchy bruised patches all over her skin that she struggled to keep hidden at school. The men laughed. "Basil," her dad said. When she showed no reaction, he grabbed her chin with a filthy hand and forced her to look at him. "This is my friend, Chuck. If you're a good girl and do what he wants, then maybe you'll get a special surprise for your birthday, all right, Princess?" It was a rhetorical question; he didn't expect an answer, and Basil didn't give one.

He let go of her and backed off, retreating towards the door. Their gazes locked as he backed through the doorway. Her emerald eyes pleaded with his cold and unfeeling ones, begging for him to come back, to protect her. Her father - a figure that was supposed to defend and nurture her - was leaving her here with this stranger. Her eyes filled with tears as she silently begged in vain. He stepped out, pulling the door shut behind him. The ominous thud of the door closing confirmed her fate: he wasn't coming back for her. Her father, like so many times before, had let her down.

Chuck grinned wolfishly at his prey. He grabbed the grimy t-shirt she wore and yanked it off. A knee-jerk reaction, Basil lifted her arms to cover her undeveloped breasts. "Now, don't be like that, Princess." He lifted her up like a rag doll and dropped her unceremoniously on her creaky bed. The tears streamed freely down Basil's face. Chuck grabbed the waistband of her pants, pulling them off of her.

He then focused his attention on himself. He undid the button and zipper on his pants. Basil looked away, not wanting to see the horrific thing that she knew would soon violate her most intimate places, leaving her broken and hopeless. She cowered back against the bed frame. "Please," she begged. It was difficult to choke out the words through her tears. "Please, don't-" he payed no heed. Chuck grabbed her, positioning her how he wanted. Basil was too weak to resist his powerful grasp.

She cried out in pain when he shoved his dry, grimy fingers into her. It burned and stung, and Basil knew that the pain wasn't over yet. His fingers retreated, and she felt him against her opening. He thrust his hips forward, entering her all at once. She screamed as the familiar, horrible pain erupted between her legs. Basil babbled incoherently, pleading with him to stop. It was if he hadn't heard her at all. Chuck continued his tortuous assault. Thankfully, it didn't last long. He bucked his hips, embedding himself inside her as he finished with a final grunt of satisfaction. As she felt him spurting deep inside her, Basil lost the last shred of hope she had clung to. She lost her will to fight.

Chuck pulled out, tucking himself back into his pants. "Thanks, Princess," he said, walking out the door and shutting it behind him.

Basil wasn't sure how many men used her that night. Many entered her room in search of sick satisfaction, and all got it. Basil drifted in and out of consciousness as people entered her room and left. An endless night. She was too numb to feel the pain any more.

When the house was finally quiet, Basil came to. Remembering the hands that had touched and violated her, Basil felt horribly nauseated and stumbled through the thankfully unlocked door and into the bathroom, where she spent her next miserable minutes hunched over the toilet, her stomach forcing up all the food it contained until it was empty, and heaved still after.

She needed to wash the men's filth from her body, to rid herself of the horrible imprints they had left on her body and soil. She needed to make herself clean. But Basil collapsed halfway to the tiny shower that occupied a singular corner of the small bathroom. She fell to the cool, tiled floor and felt the encroaching darkness overtake her. As Basil struggled against the blackness, she thought about tomorrow. Her seventh birthday.

Basil slipped into oblivion, and was no more.