Status: Complete.
Ghost of You
39 : The Basement Part 2
I stared at the white basement door, standing totally still. Birds chirped in the yard outside. I listened for the sound of Mrs. Listing, but heard nothing. Slowly, I reached out and grabbed the black doorknob, hesitating before turning it clockwise.
A musty smell hit my nose almost immediately, my eyes watering as I tried to hold back a cough. I reached out for the light switch, the overhead light bulb flickering as it clicked on. Dust covered every inch of the basement. The wooden stairs creaked underneath me as I slowly descended step-by-step, pausing every few steps to listen for any noises from upstairs.
“Bill?” I whispered, drawing in a breath. A cricket chirped in the corner somewhere. “Bill?” I whispered again.
I squinted, letting my eyes roam around the darkness. What looked like an old couch covered in plastic was shoved against the back right wall. There was a brown coffee table placed about two inches in front of it, the glass top covered in filth. Shelves and cases were pressed against the walls, covered in bubble-wrapped items.
To the left was a white bookshelf rising to the ceiling, books covering every inch of space. Stacks of boxes crowded around it, some piled higher than others. A big, bold D was scribbled across the front of every box. I sighed, slumping my shoulders. What exactly was I looking for? I shut my eyes, trying to remember what had just happened, but I couldn't. I couldn't make any sense of what Bill had said, and I had no memory of that... what had that been? A vision?
I sighed. It was too dark to see anything, and the small light was no help. I stepped forward towards the piles of boxes, peering around, letting my eyes sweep across the room. Something on the floor caught my eye. I squeezed between two stacks of boxes, leaning down to pick it up. Feeling it, I realized it was a lighter. I flipped open the lid, watching as the flames jumped to life. I held up the lighter, watching as the orange glow played on the walls. I skimmed the top of the boxes, reading the Sharpie through the dust. Baby photos, Vacation Photos, Yearbooks, Talent Show. None of these seemed to be what I was supposed to be looking for.
I narrowed my eyes, reaching for one of the boxes. A book sat on top, its pages yellow, the dust cover torn from the bottom right corner to the center of the cover. I turned it in my hands, holding the lighter closer, examining the spine. I blinked, taking in a sharp breath. Doghouse Publishing gleamed from the spine. I quickly dropped the book back on top of the box, watching as a cloud of dust rose into the air. I spun around, taking a few steps closer to the bookcase.
I held up the lighter, my breath catching in my throat. They all said Doghouse Publishing on the spine.
A musty smell hit my nose almost immediately, my eyes watering as I tried to hold back a cough. I reached out for the light switch, the overhead light bulb flickering as it clicked on. Dust covered every inch of the basement. The wooden stairs creaked underneath me as I slowly descended step-by-step, pausing every few steps to listen for any noises from upstairs.
“Bill?” I whispered, drawing in a breath. A cricket chirped in the corner somewhere. “Bill?” I whispered again.
I squinted, letting my eyes roam around the darkness. What looked like an old couch covered in plastic was shoved against the back right wall. There was a brown coffee table placed about two inches in front of it, the glass top covered in filth. Shelves and cases were pressed against the walls, covered in bubble-wrapped items.
To the left was a white bookshelf rising to the ceiling, books covering every inch of space. Stacks of boxes crowded around it, some piled higher than others. A big, bold D was scribbled across the front of every box. I sighed, slumping my shoulders. What exactly was I looking for? I shut my eyes, trying to remember what had just happened, but I couldn't. I couldn't make any sense of what Bill had said, and I had no memory of that... what had that been? A vision?
I sighed. It was too dark to see anything, and the small light was no help. I stepped forward towards the piles of boxes, peering around, letting my eyes sweep across the room. Something on the floor caught my eye. I squeezed between two stacks of boxes, leaning down to pick it up. Feeling it, I realized it was a lighter. I flipped open the lid, watching as the flames jumped to life. I held up the lighter, watching as the orange glow played on the walls. I skimmed the top of the boxes, reading the Sharpie through the dust. Baby photos, Vacation Photos, Yearbooks, Talent Show. None of these seemed to be what I was supposed to be looking for.
I narrowed my eyes, reaching for one of the boxes. A book sat on top, its pages yellow, the dust cover torn from the bottom right corner to the center of the cover. I turned it in my hands, holding the lighter closer, examining the spine. I blinked, taking in a sharp breath. Doghouse Publishing gleamed from the spine. I quickly dropped the book back on top of the box, watching as a cloud of dust rose into the air. I spun around, taking a few steps closer to the bookcase.
I held up the lighter, my breath catching in my throat. They all said Doghouse Publishing on the spine.