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Twisted Dreams Series: The Basement
Her black hair hung delicately against her ivory skin, her khaki overalls blending into the vanilla interior of the basement warehouse. ‘Why is everything the same color’, she though to herself. But it was of no matter; her soul was swelled with joy.
She walked down three flights of stairs, hopped into the seat of an oversized rocking chair, and then hopped down to the floor. The basement was dusty, ill-light, items of strange form were hidden under plastic coverings, and numerous plastic sheets
hung from the ceiling as separators. Apparently, the warehouse was under some type of renovation. She began making her way through the maze of plastic, when she reached an odd shaped figure. She threw off the plastic cover, and discovered a Victorian style trunk.
A figure began taking shape within a plastic separator to her left, out of her sight. The figure formed into a hand. The hand was of the same vanilla color of the basement, composed of a deteriorated clay substance. The hand slowly reached from the plastic and into her direction.
She got down on bended knees, and opened the truck. It gave way with little resistance, only a mild squeak from its hinges. The objects inside were wrapped individually in red velvet cloth. She ran her fingers gently across the hidden figures.
To the right of her, another figure began to take shape with a plastic separator. The figure slowly shaped into a skeletal face. It pushed forward from the plastic separator, mouth wide open, letting out a muted scream.
She began removing the items from their velvet clothing, revealing a collection of bronze Chinese-like figurines. ‘A clash of cultures’, she thought to herself, ‘a Chinese collection in a Victorian trunk.’ Directly behind the trunk, another figure began to take form. The figure shaped into that of a skeletal man. He looked down at her, and slowly reached down to run his thin figures through her hair. Her natural reaction was a scream, which then she noticed the hand and head reaching for her direction. She stumbled back, regained her composure, and then ran into the opposing direction.
She didn’t know where she was headed; she just knew she needed to run. Through the plastic, she could see a blurry image of someone in blue jeans and an orange jacket standing next to a fireplace. She picked up speed, wildly throwing aside the plastic separators. Once she reached the opening, she dropped to her knees to catch her breath.
“What’s wrong? I heard you screaming”, he asked, walking in her direction. As he passed in front of the fireplace, a clay like arm shot out from the opening and grabbed his ankle. With a forceful pull, he fell face first onto the basement floor.
She screamed and began crying – shaking her head in disbelief. He lifted his head, blood poured freely from his broken nose, his wide eyes open with fright. Another forceful pull from the clay hand, and he was pulled partly into the fireplace. He used his free leg to brace against the outside edge of the fireplace, and used his hands to grip the opposing edge in desperation.
“What’s going on?!?! Help me?!?!?” he screamed, trying to keep his bracing as the arm yanked angrily at his leg.
“I’m sorry!!” she cried helplessly, “They’re my shadows! I’m sorry!!”
With a bone cracking noise, his free leg gave way, and he disappeared into the fireplace.
She cried hysterically on the basement floor, her body trembling uncontrollably. After a few moments had past, his body slowly glided from the fireplace. His body was crumbled in a disfigured position, face covered in deep lacerations, eyes covered with the thick vanilla colored clay.
- wake -