The Basement

The Basement

So I had submitted this story to a blog on tumblr, and got a 9 / 10 on the creep factor so I thought I would share it here also. 

When I was younger, up until I was 19, I lived on and off with my grandparents. Their home, the only home they had ever lived in together all their married life, was sort of like a rock in my unstable life. We moved around a lot when I lived with my parents, so knowing that 47 Bayard street was always going to be there was a comfort. 

It was a duplex. The upstairs neighbor, Ann was an older lady by any standard, and I'd known her all my life. She had lived up there for as long as I knew. She was friends with my grandparents, and knew my father and his brothers while they were growing up.

So I'm assuming she had just always lived there. She would watch me when my grandparents had to do errands before I got home from school. Her house was different layout than my grandparents, and she had a beautiful baby doll I coveted very much that I'd play with when I stayed upstairs with her. 

I don't remember how old I was but I woke up one morning to police cars and an ambulance outside the front yard, and my grandparents told me Ann had died. In the house. In her favorite chair in the livingroom. She just passed away in her sleep.

I was sad because of it, but knew she was better off than being sickly and in pain all the time.

As soon as her affairs were in order, my grandfather started renovations on the upstairs to prepare it for new tenants. Turned out to be college kids. Shortly after the redo, my grandparents had to go out to visit a friend of theirs whom I had known all my life as "Aunt Sid", because she was in the hospital.

She'd fallen at home. My grandparents didn't think I should go, and I didn't argue because I hate hospitals. So they trusted me to stay home alone after being given the whole speech about not opening the door for anyone, or answering the phone. 

About, 8pm I decided to get a Mountain Dew. We had two fridges in the house. One in our pantry where the everyday food stuff was. And then, in the basement, down two short flights of stairs in the back hall was their original fridge, that they used for Over stock of juice if they got it on sale, or when my grandmother would make a BIG pot of pasta sauce from scratch, she would put it there and when we made spaghetti (heh every monday and thursday in my house) we'd take from that.

It's also where they kept the mountain dew so I would have to go past my grandfather to get one. It was their way of controlling what I ate. But I digress. So I went downstairs and opened the fridge, and I had this eerie feeling.

It's always creepy in basements unless you've remodeled it to be a playroom or something ya know? The fridge is just at the foot of the stairs, to the immediate left is a shed type room, and then the room beyond is where the washer is, some clothes line to hang clothes (talk about old fashioned) and my old toys, beach chairs, pool floats, and the like.

I got this sense someone or something was watching me. 

I turned to look, and there was Ann. Plain as day. Looking right at me. It didn't register until I'd been looking at her for a minute maybe more that she was dead. She didn't look happy, or angry really, she just sorta stared with a blank expression that really creeped me out.

I'm fat, not even gonna lie, and normally fat girls don't really run, but when I tell you I never hauled butt so fast up stairs in all my life, you woulda thought I was a gazelle with my speed.

I hit the lights, locked the back door and spent the rest of the night in the livingroom as far away from the back door as I could.

I CLUNG to my grandmother when they came home. Couple months later, the creepy still hadn't worn off, and I asked my grandma, "Did Ann die in her sleep?" and she looked at me weird for asking, and said "She died while watching TV." So her heart had seized and she died with her eyes open. That look has NEVER left me for as long as I've lived. 

At 30, even now it still creeps me out. It's not the only incident I've ever had, but that's, another story. 

Thanks for reading.

Story Credit: Telli.


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