The Body in the Basement

(Content warning: themes of death/murder)

Tick... tick... tick.

The clock on the mantle punctured the silence, counting the seconds like a nail tapping on glass.

Each click carried through Violet's chest, and her heart heard the commands, synchronising its thumping to its monotonous rhythm.

Tick... tick... tick.

She lay on the floor, the sick, artificial florally scent of carpet cleaner clouding her head. Her fingers pinched around another jigsaw piece, half of her thoughts focused on where it belonged in the puzzle, the other half stuck on something else entirely.

Her cup of tea, resting on the plinth of the fireplace, had long gone cold.

Tick... tick... tick.

Her great aunt and guardian, Audrey, sat rigidly in her recliner, her frail body swallowed by its floral print. Feet elevated, she worked on her crochet. On her arm, two dozen completed squares sat waiting to be united together into a blanket. The tangled fibres of the wool scratched at her calloused fingers, and frayed against her papery nails.

Her eye was focused on her work, her lips subconsciously mouthing each stitch by number, silently, to the rhythm of the clock.

Tick... tick... tick.

Audrey's husband, Samuel, had his own leather armchair, where he read from his collection of assorted newspapers. Some were over a week old. He licked his finger every time he turned the page - the crinkling habit so consistent, it went unnoticed.

He visited the politics page, and groaned. He turned to the sports page, and moaned. He checked the weather page, and grumbled. He looked at the economics section, and mumbled.

All in time with the clicking of the clock.

Tick... tick... tick.

Violet lifted her chin, her eye drifting out the window ahead. The sky outside was grey, as always. The wind trembled the glass, and howled down the chimney. The grass of the dunes rippled, and the sea beyond was choppy. The cows in the fields lowed. The passing cars snarled. The gulls cried. The children on the beach squealed.

And yet the house remained hushed, all besides the counting of the clock.

Tick... tick... tick.

Her chest tightened as Audrey shuffled in her seat. She glanced over her shoulder at her. Violet shivered and froze at the sight. The light of the table lamp diffused through her greying curls, shimmering in the lenses of her spectacles, and cast dancing shadows across the room. Violet watched her great aunt working on her crochet, concentrating, fixated on her work, as if nothing else mattered.

As if nothing had happened.

Tick... tick... tick.

Violet turned to her great uncle instead. He read his paper. He solved the crossword. He sipped at his cold cup of tea. He pushed his glasses up his nose. He scratched his balding head. He put his pipe to his lips, engrossed in his reading.

As if nothing had happened.

Tick... tick... tick.

But Violet could not pretend.

She stared at her puzzle. The scene depicted a crowded dinner party. Cakes, jellies, and pies covered the table. Guests huddled around, drinking merrily, eating, singing, gossiping. A cat hid on top of the fridge, watching everything from a safe distance. A dog lay under the table, being fed by two sneaky children. There was a window in the middle of the picture. A man stood outside.

The man stood... Wanting to get in...

Tick... tick... tick.

"Can you let me in?"

"Can I use your phone?"

"My car broke down."

The radio crackled. 'RESIDENTS ARE ADVISED TO TAKE CAUTION... ESCAPED CONVICT... BE ON THE LOOKOUT... SERIAL KILLER...'

He wanted to get in.

Tick... tick... tick.

Great uncle Samuel grabbed his shotgun.

Tick... tick... tick.

Great aunt Audrey picked up a kitchen knife.

Tick... tick... tick.

Violet hid under the bed.

Tick... tick... tick.

And the man got in.

Great aunt Audrey took the old blanket from the cupboard.

Great uncle Samuel dragged him down the stairs.

Violet hid under the bed.

Tick... tick... tick.

Great aunt Audrey cleaned the carpet.

Great uncle Samuel made a cup of tea.

Violet hid under the bed.

Tick... tick... tick.

Great aunt Audrey went back to her crochet.

Great uncle Samuel read his paper.

Violet went back to her puzzle.

Tick... tick... tick.

And it had been two days.

Great aunt Audrey had made two dozen crochet squares. Great uncle Samuel had read every paper in his collection and solved every word search.

He had made cups of tea six times. They had all gone cold. Great aunt Audrey had made six lots of sandwiches. They had been left on the table. Violet had finished her jigsaw twice.

And it had been two days. Two days of pretending. Two days of silence. Besides the ticking of the clock.

Tick... tick... tick.

The body was still in the basement.

Violet got up to use the toilet. She passed by the basement door on her way . Once she was finished, she passed it again to get to the kitchen. The sandwiches had attracted swarms of flies. The pots in the sink had been left untouched. She poured herself a glass of water.

The body was still in the basement.

Her blood roared in her ears. Her body quivered. She placed her hand on the basement door. It squeaked open.

Tick... tick... tick.

The stairs behind were dark. The air was putrid and chill. The railing was covered in grime and dust.

The body was still in the basement.

She turned the light on. It buzzed to life, weakly illuminating the room at the bottom of the stairs. She took a step down, the wood creaking beneath her.

The body was still in the basement.

Violet tiptoed downstairs, her hand fixed into a claw around the railing. She held her shirt over her nose.

Tick... tick... tick.

She reached the bottom. The light shone over the rolled up blanket slumped against the back wall. Blood splatters decorated the floor. She drifted closer... Her finger on the edge of the blanket... She pulled back the corner...

The body was gone.

The clock broke.