Wicked, Lurking

I don’t like the basement. I’ve been in houses in the past that had basements; never liked them. But they were nothing like THIS basement. This basement is musty. It’s grimy. It’s positively horrendous and I’ve begged and begged and BEGGED my husband to leave BUT he refuses. He says that we spent too much. The “we” insinuates I contributed, which I most certainly did not. I’ve been a stay at home mom for 2.5 years, since our daughter was born. Things work for us. 

But ever since we moved into the house, things have changed. No longer do I feel safe and content. No longer do I enjoy being at home. I take the little one out as much as possible to avoid being anywhere near the damned basement. My husband checked and checked it over. Looked and looked for anything askew or out of the ordinary, but found nothing, or so he claimed. I won’t set foot down there. 

Now I know what you’re thinking. 

And to answer your burning question, yes, I am batshit crazy. Like positively-loony- should’ve-locked-me-up-in-the-happy-house-years-ago crazy. But that doesn’t change the fact that there is something very WRONG about the basement. 

I never know how exactly to describe it to people, which is probably why I have no friends. Lack of social skills and severe anxiety will do things like that. Amongst other things. But I’ll do my best for you, because if you’re still reading, then you must believe me. Or at the very least, want to see what kind of nut job is willing to air her dirty laundry today. Speaking of laundry, I go to the laundromat every couple of days to do our clothes. Know why? I’m sure you do. 

I digress.

When we walked through the house 6 months ago (I think, time is a funny thing when you are frightened to your very core, when the Devil is playing tricks on you), I hadn’t the faintest idea what to expect. He wanted to move closer to his job, and of course, as a good wife should, I feigned complacency. It’s what I’ve always done. 

But deep down I knew that this was a bad idea. We’ve always lived in a one level. And it’s not that I’m partial to those living situation (and I certainly voiced that split levels were a completely acceptable option), but basements are trouble. 

Ever heard of hell? It’s like the basement of the world. The place where all sinners go to pay their dues for their horrible sins against God. No good things happen in basements, just as no good things happen in hell. If my mother taught me anything it’s that only bad things happen in basements, and we must never, NEVER go there. And this basement, oh this basement is ugly and hides the worst things imaginable. I know because I live here. I must remind you that I do NOT go into the basement. Ever. It’s dangerous and there’s something waiting for me, something wicked and evil and even acknowledging its existence is blasphemous. 

I have told my daughter to stay away too, but she is young and unafraid. She wanders the house as if nothing is wrong, clueless to the horror that lurk beneath her feet. She sometimes walks to the basement door and stands listening, and I know she hears him, too. She doesn’t understand yet. But one day…one day she will. I will make sure of that. 

My husband doesn’t listen to me though, he hasn’t for a while. Maybe at first, he did. But now he’s deaf to my calls, deaf to my pleas of releasing us from this absolute nightmare. 

He doesn’t speak to me anymore either. I cannot remember the last time we talked. It feels so long ago. I think he was here today, but he avoids me. He was always willfully ignorant to the horrible, horrible truth. 

If you are still reading, I must remind you that though I am crazy, I am an honest and a God-fearing woman. I do the right thing, always. I make sure to read my Bible and say my prayers and avoid all sin. I am raising our daughter to be the same. It is so important for a woman to lead a life of subservience to God and her husband. But a deep seated fear has crept into our lives, weaved it’s wicked and thorny tendrils into every crevice it could find, and the Devil himself is here. I just know it. He is here in this house, in this basement, and he calls to me. He tells me to come look, come see. And I am scared and want to leave. 

But I cannot. I cannot simply leave this place. I am forever trapped in a place where the evils lurk beneath, waiting to pull me under, waiting for me to take even a single step down those stairs and SEE. 

You must understand, you must believe me. I am a good person, I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve to be trapped here. You may think that every word I’m spewing is absolute nonsensical garbage and I cannot say that I blame you but PLEASE hear me out, please know that I am a truth-telling, honest and upstanding woman who simply needs to be heard. Who needs you to know she is good. 

I really hate the basement. The door to it is just right there. I can hear the demons frolicking about, doing their devil dances and tempting me with a voice that is oh so familiar. You may say it’s all in my head, but I know better. The Devil is real, and he lives in my basement. I know that he is messing with my head and that there is no truth to their vicious and hateful lies. When my husband finally comes around, I know he will listen to me this time, he will get me out of this. 

I will never open the basement. I will never open that door no matter what happens. I am a good, honest, God-fearing woman. I hope that you know that.