Mr. Branderschmidt's Basement

               Peter stood at the window and watched his dad’s silver Honda drive out of the cul-de-sac. His hand clenched the top loop of his backpack, heavy with books and homework. A finger tapped his shoulder, making Peter jump. Looming over him was the gaunt face of his caretaker for the day. Mr. Branderschmidt, the mysterious old man who lived across the street and wore a trench coat and a constant sneer. His skin was too tight over his bones, making him look like a freeze-dried skeleton with pale green eyes. And he was charged with keeping watch over Peter for the next four hours. His bushy dark gray eyebrows bunched together.

               “Easy, boy,” the old man said in a deep voice. He extended his hand for the backpack. Peter clutched it tighter. Mr. Branderschmidt shrugged his bony shoulders. “Suit yourself.” He folded his arms and cleared his throat like a hairball was stuck. “Rules while you’re here.” He pointed to his couch and the luxurious mahogany coffee table. “You may do your homework there.”

He limped into the adjoining kitchen and jerked his head for Peter to follow. The place was spotless. All the pots and pans hung neatly on the wall, and the pristine floor made Peter nervous to walk on it. Cupboards lined above the counter with a cabinet in one corner and a trash can opposite of it. “Food is in the fridge and pantry. Clean up your mess and return the dishes to their appropriate place.” He nodded to the plates in the dish rack. Mr. Branderschmidt hobbled over to a pale white door. His hand cracked against the wood like lightning. “Stay out of the basement.” His jaw clenched, and an eyebrow raised. Peter nodded. Something about that door made his neck hair stand on end. “So, you are alive? Good. One more.” He limped into the library.

               Giant wooden shelves dominated the room, each covered in neatly arranged books. The books varied in color and thickness, but there seemed to be more than the local library. Mr. Branderschmidt made the hairball noise again. “Your father tells me you like to read?” Peter nodded. “Then you know how to care for books?” Peter frowned. Mr. Branderschmidt slid a book from the nearest shelf and held it open, his hand cradling the spine with his thumb separating the pages. “Hold it gently and absolutely no writing or underlining.” Peter nodded. He hated when textbooks had doodles and stupid notes in them. “Then you may borrow one at your leisure.” The old man put the book, Discipline Equals Freedom, back into its spot. “And the restroom is at the base of the stairs. Any questions?” Peter shook his head and hugged his backpack. “Do you speak?” Peter shrugged. Mr. Branderschmidt rolled his eyes. “Of course. Then get your homework finished by the time your father returns. I have a job to do.” He grabbed his trench coat and walked out the front door and around the house.

Peter took a seat on the couch. It was a hulking piece of black leather that seemed to darken the entire room. Opening his backpack, Peter grabbed his notes and a textbook. He sighed. Only three hours until Dad gets back, he thought. Mr. B’s house is so much cleaner than I thought. There was no television, of course—Dad said that Mr. Branderschmidt hated television and had never owned one. Peter had expected a hoarder’s mess, like his grandma’s house. She was in her eighties, and there was only a small path from her rocking chair to the kitchen not filled with junk. Mr. Branderschmidt was much more alive. Peter started working on his homework, trying to remember the rules of long division. It was difficult without a calculator.

A chainsaw roared through the cul-de-sac, startling Peter out of his math. He pulled the blinds and stuck his nose to the glass. Mr. Branderschmidt held the chainsaw up against his giant tree by the street. Years ago, Peter climbed it once, but Mr. B had yelled so loud Peter nearly fell and broke his neck. The old man’s face had twisted into such a terrifying snarl that it sometimes showed up in Peter’s nightmares.

Today, that legendary expression was aimed at something else. Chains secured a black box to the trunk of his beloved tree. What the heck is that? Mr. Branderschmidt raised his weapon and slashed it across the chain links. Sparks flew. Metal screeched over the steady hum of the chainsaw. The black box fell to the base with a THUNK. Mr. Branderschmidt grabbed the chain and started towards the front door. Peter rushed back to his seat and fumbled his pencil as the door opened. Peter swallowed.

Mr. Branderschmidt hobbled into the door with the chainsaw in one hand and the offending object dragging behind him. It looked like a cross between a lunch box and a bomb. RADAR was written across the front in red letters. Isn’t it illegal to mess with those things?

“I dislike being spied on.” Mr. Branderschmidt squinted at Peter. He scrunched up his face and hobbled towards the kitchen. The basement door creaked, and something smacked wood. Mr. Branderschmidt cursed. His footsteps grew distant as he descended.

Peter shuddered. Cold radiated from the kitchen like a freezer had been opened. Peter crept towards the kitchen. The basement door gaped open with blue light spilling out. Peter’s heartbeat sped up. From far below, something rumbled and shook, like a dragon waking up. Peter backed up and banged his head against a pot. The air seemed to harden. The door slammed shut with a crack. By itself. Peter jumped and ran a hand through his hair. What the heck is going on?  Peter put his ear to the door. Silence. Unnatural quiet. I think it’s been soundproofed?

The doorknob turned, and Peter rushed into library. He grabbed the nearest book. The white wooden door opened slowly. The blue light was gone. Mr. Branderschmidt’s hawkish nose appeared first. The old man’s head turned to Peter. His eyes narrowed, but he wasn’t looking at the boy.

“What have you got there?” Peter held up his prop. “The Man Without a Shadow? Been a long time since I looked at that.” He shut the door and limped towards the boy. It took all of Peter’s strength not to back up and run home. His dad would be so mad if he ran away. Besides, the house was probably locked.

Mr. Branderschmidt took the book. “You have bizarre taste. There isn’t even much to the cover.” He raised a bushy gray eyebrow at Peter. The boy shrugged. “This is actually a series of short stories all centered around the Man.” He stared into Peter’s eyes. The boy could hear his heartbeat. Mr. Branderschmidt looked away first, back to his book. “May I read you a story? Might make the time pass quicker?” Peter blinked. What the heck is in the basement? He wanted to scream, but instead he just nodded and walked back to the couch. He sat down and moved his stuff out of Mr. B’s way. The old man stopped in the room and started coughing like the hairball was back. “Don’t get old, boy.”

Mr. Branderschmidt sat down on the couch two cushions away from Peter. He opened the book, cradling the spine and running his finger through the pages. “This will work,” he muttered. The old man cleared his throat, and Peter thought of the garbage disposal at his house.

“Once upon a time, a boy was left alone. He was a quiet lad with a scrawny body and sad eyes. The local children used to pick on him before the fire that claimed his parents. Then they ignored the sad lonely child. The adults of the neighborhood took pity on the boy and searched for any relatives. But his father was new to the area, and his mother had kept her distance. When they were about to give up hope, a man stepped forward claiming to be the boy’s uncle. A grotesquely fat man, he had the same hawkish nose, and his eyes changed colors just like the boy’s mother. The adults were overjoyed and allowed him to take custody of the boy.

“But the uncle was a liar. A predator. During the day, he broke the boy’s body through grueling chores and work. At night, he broke the boy’s soul. The boy prayed to God for a way out day and night. But God remained silent. None of the townspeople who sentenced him to that monster ever looked at him. Nobody noticed his suffering. The boy lost hope. 

“Until one day a stranger came to their house. The uncle tried to send him away, but the newcomer walked right inside. He wore a bone white suit, and dark glasses hid his eyes. His gaze fell to the sad, lonely child. His heart broke for the boy. He calmly walked into the basement of the uncle’s house. The man was furious at the stranger’s intrusion and chased him downstairs, blustering like a mule. The door slammed shut behind the uncle. A light glowed around the doorframe.”

Peter swallowed hard. He wanted to ask what color the light was, but he was too terrified to speak.

Mr. Branderschmidt turned the page and did not notice the boy. He continued, “Moments later, the stranger opened the door. He dusted his hands and held one out to the boy. The child eyed him warily.

“’You do not need to worry about him anymore,’ the stranger said. ‘What is your name?’ But the boy said nothing. His name was abandoned—a cruel weapon the uncle used against him. The stranger frowned. ‘Well, we cannot have you without a name. Come. I will think of one on the way to your new home.’

“When the man started to leave, the boy remained rooted to his spot. The stranger did not even look at him but said over his shoulder, ‘Your life here is over. You can stay and figure it out on your own, or you may take a leap of faith. I am taking you to the village where a nice couple will raise you with their kids. They are new to the area but want a big family. You will be welcome there.’ The man opened the front door and walked outside. The boy waited several long moments until he realized that the man truly was not coming back. He was completely alone. One last look at his prison, and he ran into the sunlight.

“The man strode toward the town with his head held high and his shoulders relaxed. The boy jogged to his side and kept his head down. The man hummed in acknowledgement of the child, but he said nothing. The boy had questions but instead he stared at the ground and tried to keep up with the stranger’s brisk pace. Something was amiss, but the child could not place his finger on the oddity. They walked in silence a mile to the destination.

“The first thing the boy noticed was the laughter. Children laughed and screamed while they played in the yard of the new place. They ran amongst the grove of trees, all in varying stages of life. Behind that, a massive house dominated the land. It seemed impossibly big to the small lonely boy. A smiling woman rocked on the porch and waved to the newcomers. She was very short with long blonde hair. The man in white waved back. He stopped at the gate and opened it for the boy. The child squinted at the stranger.

“The man smiled and said, ‘From now on, your name will be James. I encourage you to take their name when you are ready. They are good people.’ He reached into his suit jacket and grabbed something. ‘Open your palm.’ The boy unclenched his fingers, and the stranger dropped some small seeds into his palm. The child frowned, and the man laughed. ‘When you find a place to call home, plant one of these.” He nodded to the boy and walked back the way they came. And the child, now called James, noticed that despite the brilliant sun, the man cast no shadow. All around him was light.”

               Mr. Branderschmidt started hacking up the hairball again. He set the book down and covered his mouth. The coughing continued, and he excused himself upstairs. Peter sat with the book of crazy stories. He opened the cover and flipped through the pages. He went back to the story and chewed his lip. Peter had to know what happened to the man and James, but he could not find the story. The book only had a hundred and four pages, each one with its own story about the man without a shadow, but nowhere in them was anyone named James.

Mr. Branderschmidt still coughed upstairs. Peter frowned and thought, Did he make all of that up on the spot? Or is that a real story? That couldn’t be right. But the basement door slammed on its own and glowed. Both in the story and earlier that day. Peter looked at the clock. Dad would be back to pick him up in a little while. Mr. Branderschmidt did not seem like he was coming down any time soon.

Peter approached the basement door. Normally he did not break rules. His dad made sure that Peter was respectful and obedient to all grown-ups.

The gleaming bronze doorknob beckoned him. Swallowing hard, Peter touched the metal. It was ice cold. Mr. B did not magically appear. But what if he notices the rush of cold air like last time? Peter chewed his lip. He twisted the knob. Holding his breath, he opened and darted inside before quickly shutting the door. Breathing hard, Peter strained to hear if Mr. B noticed. All was quiet.

The basement was pitch-black and cold as a winter night. Where was that blue light? Peter put one hand to the wall and crept down the stairs. He expected each step to creak and alert Mr. B, but his descent was silent. All that curiosity, and I can’t see anything!

SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!

Peter covered his mouth to stop from shrieking. SNAP! He turned around, trying to find the noise. A wall smacked his back. He jerked away and something tickled his face. He pulled and got a fist full of spiderweb. Peter spat and backed into the wall again with a light switch between his shoulder blades. He flicked it and winced at the bright white light.

When his eyes adjusted, the first thing he noticed was the dead rat caught in a trap at his feet. It was in the middle of the floor, and the snapping must have been its last efforts at life. Peter shivered and hugged his body. The basement looked like a normal basement. A white washer and dryer lined one wall, with the furnace standing in the middle. A workbench stood in front of the opposite wall, and the chainsaw sat on top of it. What was so secretive about this place? This looks like my basement.

Peter walked around, wary of any more traps. Some tools hung from the walls, and a bag of seeds rested by them. A wooden cupboard stood in a corner. Peter opened it. Inside were some dirty boots and an old hat. Peter went to the workbench and lifted the heavy chainsaw. Just a smooth surface. Under the bench a small button poked out. Taking a deep breath, Peter pushed it. A machine clicked, and stones grinded against each other. Peter spun to watch the stairs, but no one came down. A chunk of the wall rumbled and slid backwards, blasting Peter with a cold wind, to reveal a secret room.

The safe room was about the size of his dad’s closet, just a few steps deep. Directly across from the opening was a black glass cabinet. A single lantern hung from above, casting blue light. It was basically a camping lantern, and there was no way it could have glowed so brightly to shine around the door upstairs. Below the lantern, two shelves lined the walls to Peter’s left and right. On the left, a giant map covered the surface. Little x’s and check marks dotted the land. Carefully written notes were on a legal pad next to the map. Peter turned to the other shelf.

In the middle was a magnifying glass suspended over a little black box, barely bigger than Peter’s thumbnail. Through the glass, Peter could make out the word RADAR. Peter’s eyes bugged out of his skull. How? A shiver ran down his spine. He approached the cabinet and grasped one golden handle. He eased it open. Frigid tendrils of air snaked out of the cabinet, gliding across his small arms. Small circular objects stood in neat little rows. They were the size of soda cans, but the blue light made them look completely encased in ice. Frost obscured the surface. Peter grabbed and wiped his thumb on one. In the little ice cube was a miniature, grotesquely fat man screaming with his hands up. His eyes were milk white.

A door opened.

“I dislike being spied on.”

Peter’s stomach sank. Heavy feet clunked down the wooden steps.

“The rule was do not come into the basement.”

The footsteps shifted to concrete. Something clattered across the floor. Mr. Branderschmidt appeared in the opening. He looked ghastly in the blue light. The legendary scowl was etched in his face like stone. Peter’s shoulders slumped.

“Put it back.”

Peter returned the little man. Mr. Branderschmidt curled his finger towards himself. Peter closed the cabinet and walked out. The old man pointed at the stairs. Peter ascended with his caretaker close behind. The boy glanced back and noticed only one small shadow in the blue light.