qnnplmr
08-18-2010, 07:49 PM
My second short story. Some comments I have gotten before complained of the lack of description of what actually was in his basement, but that is on purpose as AI want you, the reader, to imagine your own worst nightmare :)
What Lies Beneath
There was something strange going on in Michael Johnson's basement. He couldn't tell you what; he had never dared to venture down those dark stairs or even to open the solid oak door. All he knew was that the day that door opened would be the day that he died. Occasionally he would find himself sleepwalking; awoken by the cold touch of the brass doorknob in his hand. It was nights like that when the thing that lived in his basement had a palpable presence in his mind. He could feel it whispering lies and temptations into his subconscious, saying anything to get him to open that door and let it feast.
And then, on a seemingly peaceful Friday evening, things took a turn for the worse. The quiet whispers started growing louder, their subtle temptations turning into rage-fueled demands. Michael could no longer sleep more than an hour or two at a time before the peace was shattered by a disembodied voice screaming into his ear. As sleep deserted him, his sanity slowly followed suit. He never left the house any more. His hands clenched and unclenched spasmodically, and he had gotten a nervous twitch in one of his legs.
Finally, on the day that Michael Johnson died, he rolled out of bed after another sleepless night. He limped over to the counter and tried to pour cereal out into a bowl, his clenching hands making this task much more difficult than the norm. He heard a whisper again. Not a yell any more, just a single, nearly imperceptible command repeated over and over again with increasing speed until it was a single noise. Open the door. Tens, hundreds, thousands of times. His mind was filled with that single thought. Open the door. Michael staggered over to the solid oak door. He rested his tortured hand on the cold brass doorknob. He turned the doorknob slowly. As the doorknob reached the limit of its rotation, there was a small click as the locking mechanism slid back from the doorframe and into the door. Time stopped for a moment. Then with a single, resounding CRASH the door was blown off its hinges, sending the unfortunate Michael flying across the room. As his life slowly flickered out, he felt something of unimaginable strength grasp his leg and pull him towards the basement. When he crossed the threshold of the door, he knew no more.
What Lies Beneath
There was something strange going on in Michael Johnson's basement. He couldn't tell you what; he had never dared to venture down those dark stairs or even to open the solid oak door. All he knew was that the day that door opened would be the day that he died. Occasionally he would find himself sleepwalking; awoken by the cold touch of the brass doorknob in his hand. It was nights like that when the thing that lived in his basement had a palpable presence in his mind. He could feel it whispering lies and temptations into his subconscious, saying anything to get him to open that door and let it feast.
And then, on a seemingly peaceful Friday evening, things took a turn for the worse. The quiet whispers started growing louder, their subtle temptations turning into rage-fueled demands. Michael could no longer sleep more than an hour or two at a time before the peace was shattered by a disembodied voice screaming into his ear. As sleep deserted him, his sanity slowly followed suit. He never left the house any more. His hands clenched and unclenched spasmodically, and he had gotten a nervous twitch in one of his legs.
Finally, on the day that Michael Johnson died, he rolled out of bed after another sleepless night. He limped over to the counter and tried to pour cereal out into a bowl, his clenching hands making this task much more difficult than the norm. He heard a whisper again. Not a yell any more, just a single, nearly imperceptible command repeated over and over again with increasing speed until it was a single noise. Open the door. Tens, hundreds, thousands of times. His mind was filled with that single thought. Open the door. Michael staggered over to the solid oak door. He rested his tortured hand on the cold brass doorknob. He turned the doorknob slowly. As the doorknob reached the limit of its rotation, there was a small click as the locking mechanism slid back from the doorframe and into the door. Time stopped for a moment. Then with a single, resounding CRASH the door was blown off its hinges, sending the unfortunate Michael flying across the room. As his life slowly flickered out, he felt something of unimaginable strength grasp his leg and pull him towards the basement. When he crossed the threshold of the door, he knew no more.