“I don’t like it down here,” the boy said, “I’m scared!”
“Stop it. You have nothing to be afraid of. All you need to do is pour these bags into this bin and you can come meet me upstairs.”
“Wait? You’re leaving me? No!” The boy’s voice cracked.
“Yes, I am, and you’re going to do this and come up and do the dishes. You don’t like it down here, then do it fast.” And without another word the boy’s father left stomping up the wooden basement steps.

Just like that he was alone in the dark but for an old light which swayed back and forth, back and forth. It shined a defiance to the darkness- a finite stronghold in the center of the infinite space where nothing followed the laws of nature. His heart beating, he began pouring the sacks, upset that his father couldn’t just do it himself. The salt hissed out of each sack. Each time he poured thousands of vile whispers clouded his ears. He clamped his eyes while he worked.
That done, he turned and faced the dark. He couldn’t see through the purple-blue glaze from the light, now behind him swaying back and forth, back and forth. He would have to turn it off soon. He reached up and caught hold of the cord. His heart pumped a rally call. He surged as his body prepared to run. Turn the light off and run, he told himself. Turn the light off and run, turn the light off and run, turn the light off and run.

Just as he was about to make that first step, he froze. In that instant the darkness began to move. One corner snaked and hissed, another held the shapes of bodies murdered a thousand years ago hoping for revenge. In his gaze the stairs formed a skeleton. He glared at it until the path was ingrained in his mind. He leaned forward. And that was when the light went.
Something touched his leg. The two of them, no longer frozen, sprinted for the stairs as he screamed. He tripped on something. It felt like a thousand hands grabbed at him from the basement floor. Everything was wet and warm, everything was dirt and blood.
He crawled up the stairs scaring his throat with his screams. At the top he shouldered the door as hard as he could, stood up and slammed the door behind him as white whispers screeched their way into the light. His face a mess of snot and tears, he crawled away from the moaning door. He crawled until he hit the legs of a man. He looked up in terror to find his father, smiling down at him.
“You know, I used to pretend to do my basement chores when I was a kid. Used to piss grampa right off too. Up until he locked me alone in there and I realized that the only reason it was scary was because I invented horrors where there was only support beams, and saw skeletons when there were only garden tools.”
“B-but what about whispers?” Asked the boy.
“Whispers?” His father said, “Oh that’s just ol’ Ben- he was murdered down there ages ago and wants everyone to know about it. Now let’s to the dishes, eh?”

-ABK
12018/10/4

I’m not much for horror, but if you liked it be sure to share it! If you hated it, please tell me why it sucked, I need to know to improve! Featured image- Google images.

Click here for more October tales!

Advertisements

One thought on “Ol’ Ben

Tell me what you think!

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.