Horror 100 Volume 1

Doug and Becky's Farmhouse

"Try not to touch that one, honey. That has the dead mouse in it."

Becky immediately dropped the box she was toting out of the basement, simultaneously screaming. Doug didn't even have to explain that he was teasing her; it always worked and she was always pissed at him.

"DOUG!" she screeched. "Stop doing that!"

They had spent the afternoon toting trash up the stairs and into the dumpster Doug had rented and had placed outside the farmhouse. This was their dream. Or rather Doug's dream: buy an old, historic farmhouse out in the country and restore it. She went along with it because he wanted it so much, but she was a Chicago girl at heart, and the house was so old and falling apart.

"Sorry." But he was smiling ear to ear as he said it. The basement had decades of boxes and trash stacked up against the wall. It was hours before they could even see it....a century old brick wall that at one point had been painted white. "Hey! We can fit the dolly down here now!" He bounded up the old planks of the basement stairs, taking them two at a time, the noise reverberating through the basement.

"Doug! Careful!" As big as her husband was, she was amazed at how seldom he broke through walls or crushed furniture. He would clomp noisily through their city apartment, often prompting the neighbors to complain. Now that their living quarters was a century and a half old house she was fairly certain he would eventually plummet through a floor, staircase, porch....

She took his momentary absence to take a deep breath and survey their surroundings. Her husband had a tendency to jump headfirst into everything..jobs, projects, marriage. It was one of the

things she adored about him. The basement was a horror show; boxes and old junk everywhere. Doug convinced her that there would be "thousands of dollars" worth of antiques buried down there, but so far just broken dishes (cheap) and moldy clothing (tacky, not retro). The two of them had cleared a significant amount of room down there so they could finally see the wall.

The basement had no windows and only one light bulb suspended by an old cord. Doug pointed out to her where a window had originally been, but had long ago been bricked up. The lonely bulb cast huge shadows over the increasingly bare walls.

"Got it!" He yelled as he came clomping down the stairs two at a time, the dolly hoisted over his head. The stairs creaked loudly.

"Doug!" She yelled his name. It occurred to her that she usually didn't say his name unless she was yelling it. "Be careful! Those boards are old! I swear to God you're going to crash through it!"

He laughed. "Nah!" He set the dolly down and started grabbing more boxes. "This place is solid as a rock!" He cleared off a section of wall and patted it appreciatively. "They knew how to build back then. What did Sylvia tell us? 1865? This place witnessed the Civil War for God's sake!"

She thought of telling him that the war was over in '65 and was never fought in northern Indiana but knew from experience that it was futile. "Mmhm." was her usual response.

"Maybe we can...whoa!" Doug had set the dolly down and had forgotten its presence when he turned back to admire the 19th century craftmanship of his new basement wall. His foot caught on the wheel axle and pitched him forward into the it, all 250 pounds of him hitting it shoulder first. But instead of stopping him cold, the wall gave about six inches forward, brick pieces and dust showering him and the floor.

"Ohmigodareyouok?" She rushed to him, still upright but half in and out of the wall. She knew she could never pull him out and hoped she didn't need to call someone. Cell phone service out here was spotty at best.