It's Not Me It's My Basement Novels & Stories

He stated with a shrug. The stairs down to the basement were damp and dingy, without electricity down here it was like stepping back into the Middle Ages, it was cold and actually a little creepy, with the creaks and random echo’s that filtered down from the rest of the house, a perfect place to store a couple of assholes who were well on their way to pissing me off.

Not without me there. ‘Sir, I picked up several breeches. I would say that you had more than one bug in here. And that is in here alone. You have another in the bathroom. So do with that what you like, but I sure as shit wouldn’t shower in there, but I can see that is too late. Our rooms seem to be clear as of now but still I would use the basement area for our meeting.’

I stood at the top of a basement door. It almost resembled the basement door of the new home that I just purchased. I could hear two people arguing at the bottom of the stairs. They were just around the corner from the landing, and I was unable to see the people. Why were two men arguing in my basement? The thought crossed my mind. As I stood at the top of the stairs suddenly, a loud shot rang out. It was so loud it seemed to vibrate the kitchen windows where the basement door was located.

Watching every second. “Good. Keep going.” Another vibration. Another message. This one contained a location. No street name. No coordinates. Just two words: THE BASEMENT. Alessio froze. The basement door sat at the far end of the hallway, half-hidden behind an old shelving unit. The only place in the entire house Noa refused to go. The one room that always felt colder than it should. Not cursed or supernatural, just badly built, badly insulated, forgotten. The kind of room that made your skin crawl for no reason.

If only he had an idea about who he was dealing with, then he wouldn’t have decided to go ahead on this cold war with me. Because in the end, he was doomed to fail. Averting my gaze from him, I placed a call through Aiden. “Are you ready, cousin? Have you found out about anything?” Aiden’s voice came from the other line. “With the secret cameras set over the place, I haven’t discovered anything yet. However, there is something off, I can see some women trooping into the basement. They look more like stylists” “There is a basement?!!” I sounded alarmed.

Envisioning myself at the stairwell that leads to the basement, I appear there, taking the ball of light with me. “Cool,” I say to myself, looking up at the glowing magical energy. It bobs along overhead as I go down the cement steps. “Eliza?” Something scuffles over the ground, echoing through the empty basement. I was drunk the last time I was down here and didn’t exactly take the time to look around. The stairs empty into a large room that’s used mostly for storage. At the opposite side is a single door, deadbolted and padlocked shut. “Bingo.”

I rush to it, trying to open it anyway, pushing with both palms and then slamming my shoulder into it, but it doesn’t budge. There’s a small rectangular slat at head height, and I pry and shove, but I can’t open it. I’m in a basement. Black mold creeps up the walls from rotting baseboards. The room is fairly big, as large as the supply shed, but there’s only one high glass-block window. Although it’s thick with dust, it lets in some light. It’s morning. How long was I out? Where’s Clay? My panic swells, and I grab for the bond and pull and pull. I know he’s there. I can feel him, his fury and anxiety, but I can’t tell if he’s close or if he feels me.

Chase said, trying to act innocent and indifferent. “Take a look at this,” I started. “That basement has no idea about me until we went there for charity. Even Hace didn’t know me, and before that charity, there had never been any charity done by the basement to anyone, so how did they just pick me out of the blue to pay for my rent and groceries?” I asked after analyzing it. Again, the more I talked about it, the clearer things seemed to be getting. Chase swallowed. “Chase, you own the basement, don’t you?” I asked him deeply.

Uncle snarls to someone I don’t see, and panic spreads. There’s no meeting room in our basement. No colorful rugs or chairs or even a window. The only thing in our basement are rats, cold, and mold. It’s a grave. It’s also the place I spent more time as a rebellious teenager than I spent anywhere else. So, it comes as no surprise that the thought of being flung back in there is enough to leave me bathed in a cold sweat. I can’t go back there.

he asked, after typing away for a couple of seconds and pocketing his phone again. “Through here,” I replied, opening the door to the basement. Which, of course, was pitch black and the perfect place for an ambush. I let out a small whine. Why did houses have to have basements and attics? As a rule, I think all basements and attics should be banned! It was always there all the really fucked up stuff that went down…