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The Traumatizing Basement

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Ok, I know the name may be a little overused, but give me a break. It's my first creepy pasta, and what am I gonna call a story about a Basement? 'The Floor Below The Ground Leveled Floor'? That's not creepy! Anyway, enjoy :)

The Basement

Growing up we have all had a fear of the basement at one point.  Whether it’s the furnace that has a mouth of flames that continuously burn in the darkness of what lies beneath, or for other reasons. For example, my experience earns its spot in the ‘other’ category.  Growing up me and my brother, Joseph, always had a fear of the basement, one that would stick with us our whole life. You see, it all started when we were younger, about 5-6 years old.

Our house was relatively small so we had to share a bedroom which was located right next to the staircase the lowered down into the dark abyss below our house. Every night, I would wake to Joseph whispering

“Timmy, wake up, I’m scared.” He would crawl into my bed and snuggle up tight next to me, when I asked what’s wrong he told me he woke up needing to pee. I played with his hair a bit, curling it around my fingers then pulling it out. I do this when he comes into my bed, it calmed us both down.

“Then I got thirsty,” he continued “so I got some water. And I heard footsteps.”

“It was probably just mummy and daddy.” I interrupted, but he was persistent to finish his story, so I just let him continue “That’s what I thought, so I called out ‘Mummy, daddy I can’t sleep’ and they didn’t answer!” He looked me in the eyes, I could see the terror in his eyes. “Was it Huston?” I asked, Huston is our cat, we’ve had him since Joseph and I were born.

“No because fluffy was left outside.”

“Then maybe it was your own footsteps.”

“But Tim! I saw Daddy walk down into the basement.”

“And you came back here?”

“Of course not! I followed him.”

“Then what?”

“He turned around and saw me. And he said…” He looks around, this tells me that what Dad must have said wasn’t pretty. I lean my ear towards him and he whispers, very quietly that it took me a while to process what it was “Damn it Joseph go the fuck to sleep you idiot” I stare blankly at the wall as it sinks in, it’s not that bad, but I was around 6 at the time and couldn’t believe my own father said that to my little brother. I get comfy in bed and tell Joe he can sleep in my bed for tonight.

Dawn finally arrived; Joe and I got up, had breakfast and got dressed. It was the weekend but we just quietly played in our rooms on account that we’re not allowed to watch television or play videogames until 10:30 am. We don’t mention anything about last night, just remain playing with our action figures and toy cars until suddenly Joe said what was on our minds “What if… what if we go down there, before mummy and daddy wake up?”

It’s unfortunate at such a young age you have a sense of curiosity, and as I find myself at the top of the staircase about to walk down the creaky wooden steps I realize it’s a damn good idea to turn around, but I don’t. I’ve regret the first step I took into the basement my whole life. The first thing I notice is the smell, sort of like vomit, when it’s been sitting on the ground for a minute or so, or like urine. 

This was the first time I’ve come down here, and soon to discover, my last. I give Joseph the ok and he holds out his hand. I grab it as we continue to walk down the staircase. Something brushes past my face. I let out a small gasp that scares Joseph followed by the discovery of light switch, the kind that you pull down on. I give it a small tug and the flickers. It’s dull, but bright enough to see the following steps. We try to look down into the actual basement but it’s still too dark down there.

Perhaps there is a light switch down at the bottom of the staircase, I thought to myself. We finally reach the bottom and my hypothesis was correct. I flick the light switch and what churns my stomach has more of an impact on my younger sibling. He throws up on the ground upon the first glance of the several dissembled body parts. We hear the flies flying around and see maggots crawling around in the mouth of a disembodied head. I pull my shirt over my mouth and nose as my weaker stomached brother runs up the stairs but stopping suddenly.

“Joe…” I say. No reply.  What I do hear makes my stomach sink

“What are you boys doing here?” says the recognizable deep voice, the one that belongs to my father. My body freezes as he pulls out a gun and points it at us. “You two little shits sticking your nose into other people’s business” Joseph runs down half the stairs but his footsteps turn into the sound of tumbling after a deafening gun shot.

His scalp explodes as skull fragments fly around the room. I stood there, a tear rolled down my cheek stained by the blood of my younger brother, my best friend, died at only age 5. His fresh corpse slid in front of my feet. I bite down on my jumper, trying not to whimper in fear of loss of life. I stand there and examine my surroundings. I see a ball and look back at my dad. He notices as well “Don’t! Don’t even fucking move or you will end up like your brother!”  I go to pick it up and he shoots. Lucky he misses and the bullet gets lodged in the ribcage of a chest nailed to the wall. I throw the ball at his head and the distraction is successful. I run towards a cupboard and hide in it. I’m standing next to a half decayed upper torso that stands about my height.

The semi-decayed torso falls over and the head rests on my shoulder. The smell is god awful and I throw up in my mouth but swallow it back down. I slip my shirt over my nose and mouth again and try not to make a noise. A worm wriggles its way out of the victim’s empty eye socket and drops onto my shoulder. I brush it off and hear footsteps returning up stairs. I stay stationary as I hear a scream upstairs and another gunshot followed by police sirens. Everything was going so fast and slowly faded to black.

Not much happened after that. I woke up in a hospital and was greeted by my grandparents. I live with them now. The gunshot I heard was my mother trying to wrestle the gun off of my dad who pulled the trigger and forced a bullet into her pregnant stomach. My dad was put in an insane asylum. I went through several therapists before returning to school, a new school close to my grandparents. Ten years have passed and I don’t like explaining to people the incident and I tell them that my mother and brother died in a car crash and my dad was arrested for driving under the influence.  I can’t tell anyone, not even my new best friend, Mark.

In fact I’m about to tell him when I’m at his house, but get interrupted when he says he needs to get something out of his basement. I can’t tell him now, besides, it’s a different basement, and it can’t be that bad. We walk down the stairs of the well lit room. It’s all going well. We grab the box he came down for when we see a dead rat. I stand there staring at it.

“What are you boys doing down here?”

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