The Man In The Cellar

In the depths of night, the full moon glowed bright and blue over a quiet vineyard. Stars twinkled, and slow-moving whisps of clouds drifted by. The day had been rambunctious, what with the wedding and all but the blanketing calm of night had fallen. The bride, groom, and every guest had departed the celebration, taking the clatter with them, leaving only the autumn wind, sighing as it swept through dry leaves, and the vibrant chirping of crickets. Through the window of a lone farmhouse, surrounded by browning fields of freshly plucked vines, an unheard sound could be seen. The flickering of light and flapping of jaws indicated that just on the other side of the dusty pane were the sounds of warm conversation and crackling fire. 

Inside, were six people, most of whom resembled each other. All sat on couches and chairs, centered around a short, glass-top table, littered with glasses of wine, some bare and some not. 

“Looks like this bottle is empty,” Elizabeth said, sitting atop her husband's lap. She held the wine bottle above an empty glass, a single tiny droplet of red forming at the lip.

“I’ll get another.” Todd attempted to stand but was stifled by the woman on his lap. 

“No,” She said, feigned worry in her voice. “You can’t go down to the cellar,” Elizabeth said, an inflection of fear and danger behind every word. Turning to face her younger brother, she mockingly said, “There’s a man in the cellar.” 

“Here we go,” Patrick said behind an annoyed sigh. 

Elizabeth howled in laughter. 

“What does she mean?” Ann, sitting next to Patrick with both feet resting in his lap, asked. 

“LEHH,” The siblings' father made the sound. He stood ominously postured in the doorway. 

Patrick rolled his eyes. 

“EHH,” The man continued. The sounds were slow and gritty as if he were performing his best zombie impression. 

“Stop it,” Donna, Patrick and Elizabeth’s mother, demanded. 

Both father and daughter ignored the woman and screamed out a singular sound, simultaneously. “AHHHD!”

Laughter from the two erupted, earning each a hard slap on the arm. “I said stop it. You two have been making fun of him for years about that man.” 

“Who is this man?” Ann asked. 

“Just a dream I had,” Patrick answered. 

“It was more than that,” Elizabeth said. “Little Patty would cry and scream if you got him any where near that cellar. He would scream, ‘There’s a man in there! There’s a man in there!” 

“What was the dream?” Todd asked. 

“Once upon a time, I went into the cellar, and I saw a man,” Patrick said, shrugging his shoulders, attempting to shake himself free of the question. “The end.” 

“That can’t be all,” Ann noted from his side. “Don’t be scared to tell us. You’re a big boy now, the man can’t hurt you,” She said, teasingly. 

“Really,” Patrick smiled. “You too?” 

After a chuckle, Ann continued. “Come on. I want to hear about the dream.” 

After a moment of hesitation, Patrick decided that telling the story may be the only way to end the joking of overly comfortable family members. “When I was,” he hesitated. “I don’t know, six or seven, maybe, I had a dream. In the dream, I was here, alone. It was snowing outside. Remember that big snow, Dad?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Fredrick answered. “In…97.” 

“Yes,” Patrick responded. “In the dream, it was during that snow.”

“Didn’t you have the dream during that snow?” Elizabeth asked. 

“Maybe, I’m not sure. Anyway, I heard a banging on the cellar door and what sounded like someone talking but it was more like the muffled, mumblings of a crazy person. I went over to the door and pulled it open. I walked down the stairs and turned. When I turned, I saw a man standing on a box looking out of that small window along the ceiling. As soon as I saw him, he turned. I can’t remember the details of what he was wearing or what he looked like, really. I only remember that his chin had blood on it, lots of blood. He was just standing there. Then, out of nowhere, he lunged off of the box and ran in my direction. He came directly at me with his mouth dangling loosley open, swaying side to side like it was barely attached. More blood poured out and he was missing a lot of teeth.” 

“What did you do?” Todd asked. 

“I ran,” Patrick stated. “I ran back upstairs, slammed the door, locked it and backed away. That’s when I heard him say,‘Leh eh ahhd.’”Patrick shrugged as his story concluded. 

“You had this dream alot?” Ann asked. 

“No,” Patrick answered. “Just once. It was so real that I just could not go back down there. It’s your fault!” He claimed, a finger directed towards Elizabeth. 

“My fault?” An appalled Elizabeth questioned with a hand against her chest. 

“Yes,” Patrick said. “You’re the one that told me about our great great grandfather that saw a man in the cellar when he was young.” 

“That’s a true story,” She stated. 

“No it isn’t.” Patrick dismissed the statement. 

“Yes it is,” She claimed. “Grandma told me that story. Mom too.” Elizabeth pointed toward Donna. 

“Is it really true?” Ann questioned Donna. 

“Well,” the mother said. “The story is that it is true but who can really know.” 

“What’s the story?” Patrick asked. 

“LEH—,” The father began but was quickly reprimanded by his wife. 

“It was just a story that everyone claimed to be true. It wasn’t even much of a story,” Donna said, dismissal thick in her voice. She continued as the rest of the people in the room stared, expectation heavy in their gaze. “He was my great grandfather and, crazy enough, you.” She paused, pointing at Patrick. “Have the same name.” 

“Me?”

“Yes, his name was Patrick,” She stated. 

“Woooooooohh,” Elizabeth sang in an eerie tone. 

“Shut up,” Patrick mouthed the words silently to his sister. 

“When he was young, apparently, he went into the cellar one day and there was a man in the cellar. That was it,” She stated matter of factly. 

“That wasn’t all of it,” Elizabeth claimed. 

“Yeah,” The father agreed. “Didn’t he disappear in the cellar?” 

“Well,” The mother said, disbelief heavy in her voice. “I was told that one day when he was older he went into the cellar to get a bottle of wine. The sound of breaking glass came from down there and when the family went to see if he was alright, there was no one in the cellar and the there were no broken bottles.” 

“Maybe you saw old Patty’s ghost,” Elizabeth mocked. 

“The man probably ran out on his family and no one wanted to admit it.” Donna waved off the idea of any ghosts living in the cellar. 

“Well.” Todd spoke up. “Now I’m too scared to go down there.” He gazed toward Patrick, laughter hiding just behind his eyes. 

“Fine,” Patrick said as he moved Ann’s feet to rest on the couch cushion and rose to stand. “I’ll go get another bottle. And, when I get back, no more mocking me about the man in the cellar. Deal?” Using his finger, Patrick moved the question between his father and older sister. Both nodded and he moved out of the room, down the hall, toward the cellar. 

Alone, Patrick stood in front of the heavy wooden door. It was the type of door that seemed much older than the rest of the house as if the house and farm were built atop an already existing cellar. Reaching a hand out toward the door, Patrick froze as his palm wrapped the cold, metal knob. There’s nothing down there. He thought. He shivered as prickles swept over every inch of his skin. 

“Get it together, Patrick,” He whispered to himself. “It was just a dream.” 

Patrick knew that the statement was true. He knew there was no ghost in the cellar. There was no man. It was ridiculous. Even though he knew these things, opening the door to that cellar was the hardest thing he had ever had to do. There was something, some piece of his mind, that told him what he had experienced was not a dream. That it had happened. There was a belief still in him that even the turning of time had not washed away. 

Taking a deep breath, Patrick thrust open the door and peered at the long stairway leading into darkness. Flipping a switch, a yellow light swelled from a singular dangling lightbulb, centered above the stairs. Taking careful steps, Patrick made his way to the bottom floor. Flipping another switch, light-filled one corner of the underground chamber. The room was rather small, being that it was the personal cellar of the family and not for the wine the vineyard sold. He remembered the place feeling much larger but attributed the idea to how much smaller he was the last time he set foot inside. Shelves, built with small square cubby holes, each filled with bottles of wine tipped on their sides, lined the walls of the small cellar. There was a barrel in one corner and a small window along the ceiling, a dust-filled blue beam of light flowed through, stretching across the room to grace a small section of bottles.

Releasing a sigh he did not know he held, Patrick’s shoulders lifted as he realized he was the only man in the cellar. Walking over to a shelf, he reached out to pluck one of the bottles free. Looking down, he read the label. 

MUSCADINE 

2012

WILDE VALLEY

“Good year,” Patrick said. 

Deciding that the muscadine would do, Patrick turned to leave the cellar. As he did, a bright shimmer danced in the corner of his vision. The man turned, expecting to see the moonlight reflecting off of a bottle of dark wine. Instead, behind the glass of one of the bottles, mixed in with the liquid, swirled a mass of tiny brightly glowing orange orbs. Taking a step closer, Patrick noticed that the orbs were of varying sizes and whirled in a shape resembling a disk. Lifting the bottle from its shelf, he moved it into the beam of moonlight. With a better view, Patrick could see that the lights that spun resembled the motion of a galaxy. There was a void of darkness in the center with what had to be millions of minuscule pinpoints of light orbiting it at a slight angle. 

Turning the bottle, Patrick examined the label. It read. 

DANDELION 

1997

OCTOBER VALLEY

Turning the bottle once more, Patrick’s brow furrowed. The lights, still there, no longer resembled the disk of a galaxy and now moved in a uniform spiral. The lights spun in a way that drew Patrick’s attention toward the center. Involuntarily focused on the spiral, the man stood frozen. He blinked several times as he began to feel lightheaded. Suddenly he grew uncertain about how far his head was from his feet. He could not feel the cold of the glass bottles against his palms. There was a churning in his gut and a darkness was growing at the edges of his vision. Patrick, yelped as he heard the breaking of glass. His vision left him. Suddenly, he felt something strike his jaw hard, tasted iron in his mouth, and then fell unconscious. 

Patrick awoke sometime later, breathing heavily. His face throbbed with pain. With each beat of his heart, Patrick worried that the top of his head would pop off. Reaching up a hand to inspect his jaw, he quickly realized it was broken and hung loosely from its hinges. His tongue instinctively probed the inside of his mouth, running along his gums where there should have been something else. Patrick’s breathing hastened as he learned that many teeth along his bottom jaw were absent. Instead of feeling the hard, uneven surface of teeth and the familiar smoothness of enamel, there were only holes in his warm gums.

How long have I been down here? He thought. 

The room was brighter, and the light coming through the window was the warm yellow of sunlight. Looking up toward the window, the man frowned as he noticed a small clump of snow resting in the corner of the sill. When did it snow? Have I been here all night and no one came?

With many more questions rattling about his befuddled mind, Patrick made his way up the stairs and to the cellar door. Reaching out to grasp the handle, he turned. The knob did not. Did they lock the door? Lifting a fist, he rapped his knuckles against the wood. When no response came, he pounded. He tried to scream out for someone, but his jaw would only allow him to make incoherent noises. After the fruitless attempt, Patrick rushed to the window, moved a carrying crate over, and stood atop it. Maybe everyone is outside. He thought, hopefully. 

Patrick’s hopes were crushed as he peered out at nothing but a snow-covered farm. His eyes grew wide as he realized that the blanket of snow covering the ground was much thicker than he had seen on the farm since he was a child. There’s no way it snowed that much in a few hours. He thought. 

Before Patrick could continue his contemplation a sound came from the top of the stairs. It was the creaking sound of a heavy wooden door on old hinges. Turning, Patrick saw something that shook him to his core. Walking down the stairs was a small boy, somewhere around six or seven years old. Patrick recognized him, though he had not seen this boy in a long time. 

Without thought, Patrick leaped from the crate and moved toward the boy. Too late, Patrick realized that his movements would scare the child, and a wave of hopelessness washed over him as the door slammed closed and the lock clanged into place. Crawling up the stairs, Patrick sat, his back resting against the door. Defeated, he cried out.

“LEH EH AHHD!” 

-THE END-