There is Something in My Basement

There's Something in My Basement

 There is something in my basement. I know there is. I hear it, sometimes. No one else does, no one believes me. But I know there is. It growls like thunder, the vibrations of sound shaking through my body, straight into my soul. I can hear it breathing, heavy and deep, enough to suck the air from my lungs and make my vision go dark. There is something in my basement.

I refuse to go down there, not while it is there. I make my brothers go instead. They aren't bothered by it, see no reason why I should be afraid of the basement. They think I am afraid of the dark. What they don't realize is that I'm really afraid of what could come into the light. The door is never locked, and sometimes it's left open. On occasion I stare down the dark steps into the nothingness, almost wishing that it would come out where I could see it, so everyone would believe me. But it never does. It sits there, in the abyss, quietly rumbling. I still know it's there. I feel it.

The one place where I cannot feel it is my room. Even when I'm not at home, I feel it. My feeling gets distant, but it's there. Sometimes it's too much. I become scared. I hide in my room until the overwhelming fear passes. It's the one place where I can truly be myself.

I heard it once, while I was not at home. I found it in the shadows of a great tree. I didn't see it, but I heard it, and the feeling was strong. I heard its low grumble, shaking through my body, its hot breath pulling the air from me. My eyes went dark and I fell to the ground. I felt it flee. I recovered, and I couldn't hear it. The feeling was distant.

There is something in my basement, lurking in the shadows, hiding in the darkness. I have met it. I felt its breath steal the air from my lungs and its low, deep growl shaking right through to my soul. I have felt it, near and far, wherever I go. I know there is something in my basement.