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The Basement

A dark tale

By Adrianna Anastasiades Published 6 months ago 5 min read
The Basement
Photo by Malik Shibly on Unsplash

A group of people were sitting in a circle, looking glum and lifeless. They were in an empty hall with only one long table that had different stale snacks for them to eat. A short, bald man who wore round glasses stood up and cleared his throat. "Good morning everyone. Welcome to our very first AA meeting. Let's go round in a circle and introduce ourselves shall we? Don't forget that this is a safe space to tell your story." He announced.

A young woman with a pixie blonde haircut and piercing blue eyes stood up. "Hi everyone. My name is Ronnie." She said quietly. Everyone greeted her in a monotonous tone, "Hi Ronnie." She slowly cracked a smile, but was obviously nervous to speak first. "This is my first meeting. I came here because I decided to quit my bad habit. I am fighting with all of my strength to become healthy again, and to finally have a fresh start." She confessed.

The host of the meeting clapped his hands, and encouraged the others to clap along with him. "Welcome, and thank you Ronnie for your honesty. You are next." He said, as he pointed next to a man sitting next to Ronnie. The man had a large build. He had short brown hair and stubble, and wore a flannel shirt. His eyes were fixed on his hands, as he was twiddling his thumbs. His heart was pounding through his chest. He cleared his throat and slowly stood up. "Uh...Hi. My name is Richie." He said quietly. Everyone also greeted him monotonously, "Hi Richie."

Richie smiled and sat down. He cleared his throat once more, he couldn't look up and stare at anyone eye to eye. Instead, he kept on twiddling with his thumbs.

"I uh...I struggle to sleep at night. You know, I keep on having these bad dreams and it occurs every night." He said a little loudly. The room was dead silent as they listened to him talk. "I uh...I go to this bar often alone, to clear my thoughts. At first it was a one time thing, but then I just found myself there every night, drinking. But lately, I don't feel like I am alone. I feel like something follows me." He said with a disdain taste in his mouth.

His face grimaced, as if he was thinking of a flashback memory. It was of him walking home drunkenly on a quiet street. It was pitch black, and no one was around. It was so quiet that he could hear himself breathing. He was whistling loudly, and rummaging through his pocket to try to find his house keys, but he was unable to focus since he was stumbling everywhere.

Then, he heard someone else whistle. He was suddenly alert and turned around, but no one was there. As he looked forward he saw a silhouette standing in the middle of the road. It looked almost like a creature; it was tall but with a crooked back and it had long limbs. It whistled again. Richie's heart was pacing fast. "HEY." He shouted at the silhouette. This time it didn't make a sound.

Richie stood there, not wanting to go forward. A big, white truck made a loud honking sound as it drove down the road, with its headlights on. When the truck was driving towards the silhouette, the headlights shone on it, but nothing appeared.

Richie's palms were sweaty as he stopped thinking about the flashback and tried to continue telling his story. "Sometimes I feel like I am carrying baggage around with me, and I don't know how to get rid of it. They say that everybody has a skeleton in the closet, but how do you repent from your sins?" He said as he refused to look up at the others who were listening.

He then thought of another flashback, but this time he was in his house. He was sitting alone in the living room, with empty glass beer bottles on the floor. He was falling asleep in front of the television, but then got up to go to the kitchen to grab another bottle of beer.

As he walked through the corridor, he looked down at the narrow stairs that led to his basement. The light started flickering, and he heard someone whistling. This time, he felt something close to him; so close that he felt goosebumps all over his body. Even though he was drunk, he was scared and focused on his surroundings. The whistle echoed in his ears and the light was flickering so much, that the bulb went out and it was suddenly pitch black. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around, only to see his window had been opened and the curtain was dancing in the air.

"There's a reason why I can't put the bottle down; I just want to escape from my thoughts. I don't know how to get rid of them." He wailed loudly.

Richie then thought of the time when he was drunk and ran down to the basement, because he had heard a loud clanging noise. It was dark and empty, and the noise had stopped. "SHOW YOURSELF!" He yelled at the top of his lungs. It was quiet, but he heard the whistle again. Richie fell to his knees and started crying. The door of the basement had slammed shut. "I AM SORRY." He shouted, as he continued to cry. The whistling had suddenly gotten louder.

As Richie thought of the flashback, he started crying infront of everyone. Ronnie tried to comfort him, but he pushed her away. "No, no. I did something wrong." He confessed. The host of the meeting was intruiged by Richie's story. "Remember Richie, this is a safe space." He said calmly.

Richie nodded and wiped his tears away. He wanted to tell them the truth, but he couldn't get the words out of his mouth. He only had one reoccurring flashback playing in his head. Richie had blood on his hands, and a body laid there lifeless in his basement.

thrillerShort StoryHorror

About the Creator

Adrianna Anastasiades

Born and raised in London. Living in Seoul, South Korea. Studied BA (Hons) Magazine Journalism and Feature Writing at Southampton Solent University.

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  • Kendall Defoe 6 months ago


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