Contest Entries - The Basement Game.

Okay, here we go:

--Vote for your 1st and 2nd place choices.*

--PM your votes to me by midnight February 16th, 2008 (this Saturday).

--Winners and prizes will be announced on the 17th. (Prizes might be announced sooner...as soon as we see what we have in the prize box. Um...it's in the basement though and we're skeered to go down there right now.)

*the 3 Runner ups will also get a prize!

In our basement, something lives. My parents always told us never to open the door and go down there. They kept the door locked and bolted, with the keys safely out of our reach. But my brother, Will, was curious about what was down there. We heard strange noises at night when we were safely tucked in our beds; noises that sounded not quite human, but almost. One night curiosity overcame Will and he snuck downstairs to fetch the keys.

“You stay here, Bobby,” he said, as he pulled on his sneakers. “Only one of us needs to get into trouble.”

“But something’s down there Will,” I whispered. “Something bad. Don’t go.”

"I gotta," he said. I saw that stupid dare thing he did with his eyes, bugging them out like before he climbed to the top of the old pine tree in the backyard -- then fell out and broke his arm.

"Here." I gave Will my lucky Spyhunter flashlight. "Y'know the lights are gonna go out. Dad never goes down without one."

Will clicked on the light and tucked it under his chin. "But if I have a light, what monsters will come out to play."

'Stop it!" I tossed my blankets over my head. I hated it when he did that.

I lay there trembling, my teeth chattering so hard I needed to grind them together to hear myself think. A floorboard creaked, then another as he headed back down. Go after him you stupid chicken! I thought, willing my legs obey. The thing was chained. I'd heard the rattle often enough as it dragged it across the cement. But there was no way Will could know how far the chain would stretch. What if it jumped from the shadows and got a hold of him? I saw my brother lying on the cold floor in a pool of blood and--that was it.

There were times I hated Will and wanted to punch his ugly face, but he was my brother. He'd put an end to a bully for me once at school. I couldn't let him go down there alone.
It wasn't easy, but I forced myself to follow him. I crept downstairs and into the kitchen. I paused by the basement door, sucked in a deep breath, then pushed it open and stepped onto the first stair. It made an audible groan.

"Will?" I whispered as loud as I dared. "Will, where are you?" I listened, but there was no response.

Two more steps.

The basement was deathly quiet and completely void of light. Why did I have to give Will that stupid flashlight?"

One more step.

Something brushed across my forehead. I froze, then frantically pawed at my face until I found the problem. Nothing but a stupid cobweb.I had to laugh at myself. Guess I really am a chicken. It took another full minute for my heart to stop pounding.

Then the basement door slammed shut behind me, and I heard the bolt slide home.
"Will." I growled, as I spun to face the stairs. My fear was replaced with a sense of foolishness, thinking my brother had outsmarted me. I clenched my fists as I pictured him behind the door at the top of the steps, smirking at me. Then, a rustling sound in the darkness caught me off guard.

Something else was down here.

I stood stock still, listening hard, as I held my breath. A soft whimper off to my left caught my attention. There was a faint light, like a flashlight beam fed by weakening batteries, coming from behind a large box. I crept towards it, the whimpering growing slightly louder as I moved; hoping what I found there would only be my imagination.

Instead, I found Will: curled into a ball, his eyes wide with fear.

“Will?” I said, hoping this was part of his joke.

"Bobby...It's...it's loose."
Will pulled me down behind the box and shushed me with a hand clapped over my mouth. Movement ticked across the basement floor like a Morse Code of talon taps, and an odor wafted on the close brush of breeze. It smelled like Rufus, the time he rolled in the dead squirrel and had to be banished to the garage until Dad came home to bathe him.

Where was Rufus, anyway? We should have brought him with us. He was probably still snuggled up at the foot of my bed, in one of his twitching dog dreams.
We creeped to the stairs, then up to the door.

I heard a giggle . Mina. That airhead mother pays to ‘watch ‘ us. As if that waste of breath would be of any help, she freaks if the cat has to go out.

I banged on the door and was rewarded with a low chuckle. Rolf. The other half of God’s serious mistake.

“Afraid o’ th’ boogeyman, squinks? Too bad cause you gonna….oh..yeah…”
“Let me out!!! Something’s wrong.…”

They weren’t listening. Mina was on her knees and Rolf was…

Chains rattled and stopped. A scraping noise followed by an all too liquid slurping. Something warm landed on my head. I pulled it off, afraid, yet knowing what it had to be.

“Will…” I whispered.

“Shhhhhh, stupid,” he hissed pulling me with him, and we fell, back into the darkness, as something rushed the stairs, shattering the door.
I awoke with a splitting headache, not knowing where I was or how long I'd been there. Gradually my memory returned, and along with it, my fears. Will was nowhere to be seen, and I had never felt so all alone in my life.

The quiet was stifling. There was no question I had to get out of there. My back hurt like hell and I was pretty sure I had sprained my right wrist, but I pushed myself to my feet and approached the stairway. I looked up toward the kitchen and saw the door lying back against the stove. Something had ripped it clear off its hinges and had nearly broken it in two.

What could have done that? And what could it have done with Will?
I thought basement stairs only creaked in the movies, but halfway up the staircase, I hit a real groaner. I pulled my foot back and froze, balancing on the other foot. A shuffling thump echoed from the left of the open doorway.

I waited, but all went quiet. I skipping the complaining stair and stretched my foot up to the next one, and let my weight settle gradually.

Nothing.

I shifted by weight, pulling on the handrail, and the step let out a gripe louder than the first. I stopped mid-pull and tried my best to control my breathing. The whistling in my ears pulsed a back-beat to my wheezes.

Another shuffle-thump snapped my head upward. Whatever was there seemed to be moving closer to the open doorway, just a few feet in front of me. I stretched my neck so my head was level with the kitchen floor and peeked as far as I could in the direction of the noises, looking for moving shadows, some hint of the size of the noise-maker. Anything.
My bladder pressed against my lower stomach, its contents swishing like a washing machine, as its evacuation hose retracted like a turtle head into a shell. I leaned forward and placed my fingertips on the top step, easing my weight forward. The walls of the hallway danced with the shadows of trees, thrown in spasms from the streetlights through the unprotected windows.

I leaned my weight forward slightly on trembling fingers. Could the thing be further down the hall? Could it be inches from the doorframe with jaws already opened wide like a bear trap? The waving shadows seemed to be urging me to retreat. But I had to do it. If I could just lean forward a few more inches, I’d be able to see down the hallway.
My hand slipped, nearly pitching me head first through the ruined door. Wildly, I scrabbled behind me, grabbing hold of the door frame and catching myself just before I fell. I paused a second to catch my breath, my heart beating so hard it shook my entire body. Steadying myself, I leaned forward again. And gagged.

The remnants of Rufus's silver studded black leather collar lay in shreds, just inches from my face. Something red pooled on the floor around it; something I was pretty sure was his leg lay shattered on the kitchen tile.
Hot tears filled my eyes as I slumped to the floor, thinking about Rufus. He had been my one true friend; a companion I could always count on when I felt small and vulnerable.

Then a rage inside me grew like hot coals catching a breeze and bursting into flames.

“I’m not going to be afraid anymore, Rufus,” I said as I stood up, my fists clenched so hard my fingernails drawing blood from my palms. “I’m gonna find this thing. And I’m gonna get you some payback.”

I knew where my father kept a sawed off shotgun hidden in the garage. There was a flashlight mount on it, too, and a box of buckshot shells in the cabinet above. This would be my first stop, as the door leading to the garage was in the hallway.

Hopefully, the thing, whatever it was, hadn’t gone into the garage.
I sniffed the air. The smell! It came to me in a flash. The stench of dead things rotting hung around Rufus' remains, but it wasn't Rufus. It was the distinct odor of the creature. It was not nearby, but I could track it with my nose.

This in mind, I hurried through the kitchen door that lead out to the garage. Inside, I found Dad's gun cabinet unlocked and standing open. I grabbed the 7.5 mm. It was only medium sized, but deadly in velocity, and so easy to handle Dad let me practice using it.

In the drawer where he kept the boxes of bullets separate from the rifles, I found Dad's antique darringer also missing. Mina? Will? My heart swelled with sudden hope, but that meant there were two things to watch for...the monster...and whoever else carried a gun.
Strange that. I mean a moment before I was scared to death but now? I remembered how old man Jones had told Will and me never to go under Wadkins bridge because something bad lived there. We had laughed and told each other let's go. We did and there was not a thing there that we could see but I remember the breeze that blew under that bridge and the smell. It was the same stink, yes that stink of our basement.

"Excuse me young man. Are you Will's little brother?" There was a hand on my shoulder. Well it seemed like a hand but something sharp dug deeply. Mother had often talked to Will and me of God and the Devil. Mom told us that God's voice was one of pure love. I don't think this was that voice then I heard my brother's scream.
“Bloody hell,” The voice was the gravelly baritone of Old Man Jones. He jerked his hand from my shoulder, and in the same motion leveled the crossbow he carried at the bushes next to the garage. The bolt thudded home, transfixing whatever loathsome creature that lurked there.


“Stay,” he said pushing me back as he advanced. I took the safety off the 7.5 and followed anyway.


I wish I hadn’t. In the bushes lay Rolf. Or what was left of Rolf. From the chest down he was nothing but bone, and the bone oxidized as I looked.


Another scream. I turned. Mina. Sitting in the back of Old Man Jones’ new pick up, covered in blood. Rolf’s I guessed. I walked over to ask her what happened and saw Will, lying there, bundled in a blanket. His eyes were open, moving, yet unseeing, his mouth working toward another scream.
I clawed wildly at the tailgate as I tried to get to Will. My hands slipped in the blood that dripped from Mina's shirt and torn jeans, but I finally managed to haul myself up. Nearly tumbling on top of him, I grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "Will! Are you hurt?"

I pulled the blanket back but didn't see any wounds. His face contorted in a grimace that drew his lips back and I could see where he had gnawed them raw. Something had nearly scared him to death. Mina didn't look so hot, either.
I looked up at Mina. "I...I...."

I wanted to tell her how sorry I was about her boyfriend. Even more, I wanted to know why she'd locked us into the basement. I looked at her again, my mouth struggling to form the words...and she began to cry.

"I'm sorry!" she wailed between sobs. "Oh my God, Rolf! Rolf! What have I done?"

"So you're the one loosed it?" Old man Jones asked, climbing into the cab of the truck and starting it up.

Why, I wondered, was the old man here. And why did he seem to know all about this thing that had been locked in our basement. As the truck pulled away, I asked the only question that made sense. "Did you see it, Mina? What the hell is it?"
I asked the question, the answer had no time. "Get in the truck, can't you smell it? Get in the truck hurry!" There had been a light breeze surrounding the house. Nothing to see, nothing but black clouds suckinig the breeze inside, stinking black clouds that chased the truck as old man Jones turned the key and the truck died.

Entry #1 by III​

A shadow moved behind Mina and the driver’s door sprung open. Old Man Jones gave a muffled “wumf” followed by the sound of his body smacking wetly against the pavement of the driveway.

Mina reacted as I sat frozen. She screamed, scrambling toward the tailgate and toppling over the edge, kicking me in the face as she escaped. My nose instantly filled with bees and I felt as though I was underwater.

The gun! What happened to the gun I was holding? Oh God, I should have run!

“Will!” I gasped. One hand grasped my nose as the other flailed to find the gun in the darkness. My hands felt nothing but the dirty metal ridges of the bed. I heard a scratching sound on Will’s side of the truck. For a moment I hoped wildly that he had snapped out of it; that by some miracle my big brother would take control and make this nightmare stop. But it wasn’t Will making the noise. It was the thing crawling over him.
It was a thing with long, matted hair.

And it was crying.

My hands swept desperately across the bed, searching for the gun. The beast crawled across Will and onto the metal, closing in on me. In their blind search for the gun, my hands tangled in coarse hair. I reflexively tried to pull away, but I was stuck like a fly in a web. The creature came closer.

It was in that moment, with panic threatening to overtake me, with eyes still blurred by tears, that the clouds parted. For one moment, the moonlight illuminated her face.

It made no sense. But there was no denying what I saw.

“Mom?” I whispered.

She screamed then and I pulled my hand away, yanking with it a mitt of hair. Her hunched body scooted closer, pinning me in the corner of the truck bed. She wailed and gasped like a wounded animal. With each gasping breath, a mist of her snot slicked my face. Her breath reeked like hot sickness.

“Mmmwhy! Mmmmyeeeewww hurt mmmmmeee!”
In a panic, I jerked to the side trying to throw her off, but her arms and legs snapped around me like a bear trap. Her muscles were sinewy and hard as stone. Long toenails dug into my calves, grabbing like hands.

As I drew deep panicked breaths, her dirty hair filled my mouth, mixing with my own mucus. Her left hand released its grip, darting between our bodies down my belly. I pulled my hips back but there was no more room. Her mouth was right next to my ear. Her breathing was quick, like mine.
I wished I was wearing jeans. I wished I was wearing armor. But all I had were flannel pajamas, and they offered no protection as she grabbed between my legs. She grabbed all of it.

Her cry rose, filling my world. “MmmmmmmWHY!! HURT! HURT! MMMMHURTME!!!! Mmmmwith THIS!!!”

I thrashed like a fish on a pike as she squeezed. The pain a white-hot wire, travelling from my exploding balls through the core of my body, crushing the breath from my lungs and shattering my mind. I was vaguely aware of her toenails peeling the muscles of my hamstring like slices of cheese from their wrappers.

She screamed.

I screamed.

And then the night exploded.

***********

The smell of alcohol.

Faint beeping.

Heavy blanket.

My body immersed in warm, wet cement.

“As for his left leg, we were able to reattach some of the muscle. We were also able to salvage enough of the arterial network to keep a decent blood flow into the limb, so although he’ll never be able to walk, he’ll at least keep the leg.”

Whimpering. Mom.

“What about the rest?” Dad.

“Well, we’ve got him catheterized right now. The good news is, he doesn’t need a colostomy bag, but I’m afraid there’s no way we can repair the damage. I’ve already contacted the Prosthetics Department and scheduled an appointment for tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Dad says in his solemn voice.

Quiet footsteps. The rattle of curtain rings.

Mom breaks down. “Oh my poor little Bobby!” Her voice is muffled, probably against Dad’s shoulder.

“We’ll get through this, Honey.”

“Oh John, he’ll be a freak!”

“NO!” my father barks. My heart jumps. Dad never yells. “Our Bobby died that night. This thing is not him.”

More whimpering.

“Will you …” Mom starts.

Pause. “We’ll keep it in the basement,” Dad answers.

Soft crying.

“Will you … will you use it?” Mother whispers. “Use it like the last one?”

“I know how hard this is for you Sweetheart, but I’m the one who was born with the bad stuff. I have to get it out, you know that. And you don’t want me putting it in you, do you?”

“No, you’re right. I suppose we should be thankful that we have this thing to replace the one we lost, right?”

“That’s right. And I promise, I won’t make you watch when I use it. You’ll never have to watch again, okay?”

Oh Mama. Your own daughter. Oh God.

“And at least we still have William,” my father continues in a suddenly cheerful voice, as if William has just been born.

“You’re right,” says Mother, sniffing back her tears and putting on a brave voice. “Our perfect little boy.”

Oh Mama. Why did you have to be so weak?

Entry #2 by Kerr​

Jones threw the gears into park and turned the key again. The engine sputtered and that was it. The odor of gasoline wafted up from below to mix with the cloud of burnt rubber, and the stench of something out of nightmares. It was coming. The black cloud began to whirl.

"Get down, Mina!" I pulled her across my lap and raised the rifle. We were pinned beneath the streetlight like ducks in a gallery. I could only hope that if the cloud hid the creature, it hid us, as well. The engine sputtered again and caught. A squeal of tires, then we were moving, gaining speed. The cloud, thinning as it followed the motion of the truck, revealed two golden, hate-filled eyes, eyes that seemed to hold...recognition? I pulled the trigger and listened to the agonized roar as the bullet punched home.

Beside me, Will arched his back and groaned, then rolled to his stomach and lay still. Mina had clamped her fists against her ears, the nearest gripping what looked like Rufus' collar. "Our Father, who...who art.... The words! What are the words?"

I pushed her off my legs. "Get a grip! I think we got away." Mina only curled into a ball and went on with her prayer. I struggled to my knees and tapped on the window. Mr. Jones reached behind and opened the latch. There was a sound of glass grinding against dirt as I pulled the window open. "We got to get these guys somewhere safe. I think they're in shock." I'd never seen a person in shock, but could easily imagine.

Mr Jones took his eyes from the road long enough to glance back. "Mebbe, mebbe not. Keep an eye on them and your rifle ready. I'm heading to the bridge. Should be safe enough if we get there." He slid the window in place and I heard the click of the latch. The bridge? Wadkins' bridge? I hoped it was another because Wadkins hadn't a building in sight, only a parking lot and a ramp for boats to access the river.

I slid back down to the truck bed, listened to Will's groaning and Mina's ongoing prayer. We were on the main road now and whizzing along. I sniffed at the cold, clean wind washing past, squinted against it as I peered into the black tree line set off from the road. I caught the crack of timber and struggled to make out movement in the shadows, decided it was something long dead at last breaking loose.

Another squeal of tires as Mr. Jones pulled into Wadkins' lot. He jumped out, grabbed Will and tossed him like a sack of flour over a shoulder. "Get the girl moving, Son. Let's go!" He opened the tailgate with his free arm. I pushed against Mina with both legs as he pulled. We got her to the edge and I jumped down. Between the two of us, we got her on her feet, Mina's arm stretched across my shoulder.

"Can you manage?" Mr Jones asked. I nodded, uncertain where we were headed, but clinging to Mina as I followed along. It was strange, though, Mina was half out of it and no lightweight, yet I was having no trouble at all. I decided she must be helping more than I thought.

We passed the ramp and the bridge and started across a span of well trimmed lawn. About twenty feet out the grass had gone to seed, this graduating to taller varieties of field grass, as well. Will's moans became continuous. Mr. Jones moved faster, disappearing out of sight behind a stand of elephant grass. I followed his trail between plants, surprised to discover a metal door standing open just beyond. Inside was black as pitch.

"Get in! Close the door!"

Inside, a darker outline appeared to be a chair. I ran a hand along the edge of padded corduroy, then settled Mina there. "Our Father...Our Father...." she repeated like a mantra. The door swung closed with a resounding bang and click, completing the darkness. I tried it again and found that it was locked. An odd red light now came from somewhere further back in the complex. It bathed the room in a soft glow. On the opposite side of the room, Mr. Jones laid Will on a sofa. He tossed a blanket haphazardly across him, then hurried back to the door. There was a screech of metal as he locked a secondary bolt in place.

"Wha...what is this place?" I struggled to ask, fingers of doom creeping along my spine.

"An old maintenance bunker. I used to work for the town and confiscated the blue print when they upgraded equipment. Now, they've forgotten it even exists. I live here." He paused in passing to look at me. His eyes grew wide. "Come on! Follow me. There's much you need to know. Your mother's back here."

"Maa...ham?" My voice seemed thick, heavy, the word escaping my throat like a child's toy block popping from the passage. In the back room, Mom sat before a computer, which explained the glow. She turned her chair toward us, seemed to take in the situation, pursed her lips as I'd seen her do a thousand times, then nodded to Mr. Jones in silent resignation.

"Mah...ham?" Terror bolted along my arms and legs, causing them to spasm. I was panting like the women I'd seen on TV giving birth. Tears rushed to my eyes.

"Darling, sit here!"

Mr. Jones was on one side and Mom on the other. They eased me into a recliner. "Whaaa?"

"Shhh," Mom laid my arm along the arm of the chair as Mr. Jones did the same. Suddenly, heavy metal clamps snapped into place, securing me.

"Mrrr...omm?" A jolt ran the length of my spine, my back arching in response. Two semi-circular plates were drawn up from the base of the chair and snapped in place around my waist. Paralyzed by pain, I stared into Mom's tear-filled eyes.

"I'm sorry, Sweetheart. It's the way it must be. We needed to protect ourselves... from you, and you from yourself. It's the curse, your heritage, the way it had to be. You've killed your Dad...." She paused and brushed away the tears that coursed down her cheeks. "It had to be a son. Only a son could kill him."

Mom nodded to Mr. Jones. "This is your uncle, Honey, your Dad's brother. He looked after him his whole life until I was added into the equation. For a long time, they thought that they could just contain the evil until their line ended. As you can see, though, Uncle Jon aged, and your father did not. 'Only through the son.' Those were the words on your grandfather's dying lips. And Uncle Jon was old and tired even before you and Will came along. They needed release. But we did hope it would be Will, with you, the younger, there to look after him that much longer."

Mom came along the back of the chair and bent to kiss my forehead. My head jerked up in joyful abandon, wanting nothing more than to catch her throat between my teeth and feel her blood pulse across my tongue. Uncle Jon had her arm, and pulled her away in time. They headed for the door, another made of heavy plated steel. "I'm sorry that we must leave you, Bobby, but we'll be right outside. We're not certain your father's chair will hold you while you're so young. It will only be till morning, I promise. I know you're afraid, but this time will be the worst of the changes to come."

A clang of the door. Another screech as a bolt slid into place. I wasn't afraid. Not now. The worst of the pain had passed, pain that seemed to radiate out from deep inside. Now, I only felt strong, exhilarated. A sound came of teeth and jaws snapping closed. I stared down along my nose at my heaving chest, swelling with new muscle and uncontrollable rage--and a dead certainty the chair would never hold.

Entry #3 by Jaycinth​

Jones swore, twisting the key again. This time the engine roared to life. He gave it gas, turned the wheel, and the truck skidded in a half circle before racing down the drive to the main road.

It was too late for Mina. As we headed toward the road. I heard her scream and turned as the obscenity dragged her from the truck. I was glad it wasn’t Will. I never felt guilty about that.

Approaching the main road, I glimpsed my parent’s truck upended in the trees.
"I saw it passing by, boy. I knew something was wrong then, so I drove on up, just in time to see it rushing your brother." He patted the crossbow. "Special arrows, boy." Then he whispered, "some of them are just born mad."
"What d’you mean?"
"I meant crazy. Aren’t supposed to be around here. Your dad knew that."
The look he gave could only be translated one way. I shut up. Eventually I fell asleep.

I woke up in Jone’s place. It was musty and a godawful mess but I felt safe. Will snored on the sofa. That was normal. I went to the fridge and had pancakes and eggs ready by the time Jones walked in, the crossbow in hand.

"It’s done. I torched the place, too." He looked at me, then Will, then the food.
Will woke and had the first of what I called ‘terrors’.
I sat on him and Jones held his arms. It passed in five minuets
"I’m not dealing with this crap. I saved your life, which settles my debt." He coughed. "You ain’t stayin’ here. You got other family?"
"Aunt Connie . . . "
"She live around here?"
"Just over the state line."
"Ok. We’ll eat, then drive. I’ll have you with your Auntie in a few hours."

Dad’s sister, Connie, wouldn’t have anything to do with us, although she’d been friendly enough at Christmas. Grandma Vartova took us for awhile, but Will’s terrors became both too frequent and violent so he was put in a home. I was fostered out to a family more interested in state money than my welfare.

I had my share of nightmares, too. I suppressed them. It took a lot more effort than a kid should have to use. But it was either that or take the psychologists’ drugs. That which pursued my subconscious was a thing of darkest insanity. No one, well almost no one, would ever believe my tale.

I left at sixteen and joined the army for a roof over my head and the promise of an education. I got both. But it was a lucky lottery ticket that allowed me to live the way I wanted to.

Needed to.

I grew older. I’d loved the sun as a kid, but now I burned so badly that I spent my days inside. I brought Will home. He’d suffered in the institutions. They claimed the only thing that calmed him were constant ice baths, so I kept his room only degrees above freezing. That allowed him to live comfortably. He never spoke or made a sound. Instead he tried to communicate using a fantastic sort of sign language. I never understood it, but the nurses who attended him knew when he was hungry or tired. I trusted them to care for him. He didn’t recognize me.

As the years passed, I found myself drawn to the arctic. I traveled to the North Pole. I spent time in Siberia and Greenland, always returning home to check on Will.

On one of those visits he died.

Now, nothing held me back. I planned a new trip, this time to Antarctica. Forming an expedition, we organized at Mac Murdo, enjoying their hospitality before heading to the interior.

An early sense of adventure prevailed, but as we crossed the glacier the strangeness began. Cracks and fissures appeared where recent satellite images showed none; Hank Akiro, a friend and fellow thrill seeker claimed to see huge translucent creatures following our sleds at sunset.

The days passed, it was apparent we were being forced from our intended goal. Hank insisted we turn back, yet when we did so, a storm arose blinding us with stinging ice crystals. We could make no progress so we made camp. The storm lasted three days. Joachim, our stoic Argentine guide, claimed he heard voices in the wind, and when Hank awoke on the third day, he found us abandoned, Joachim and our dogs, gone.

The landscape was changed. Glacial cliffs before us rose in stark majesty like tortured towers of an impossible city.

I was drawn to it. I began to pack and instructed my companions to do the same, but they wanted to sit and wait for rescue. Hank tried the radio then his sat phone with no luck, and then they agreed that we needed to move.
Hours later they realized I was leading them toward the icy towers not away. But it was too late then.

Yes, the power in that stinging ice storm was enough to release my true nature. The dogs did not run off, neither did Joachim. I took them, burned through them with the frigid, almost sentient mist that came from my body. I absorbed them.

I’m not human, you see. Not anymore. I suspected it from the time I saw the thing in the basement face to face. It all came to me then, at the foot of those icy, beckoning towers. Mother’s foreignness, her elongated limbs and translucent skin. Ice baths my father lovingly prepared for her. The sickness that kept her away from the house.

The excruciating, twisted parody of Will’s face on the thing in the basement, his twin.


The cold would never hurt me again. I threw off my clothing, surprising my two remaining companions. I felt the power surge through me as my true nature shed the last of the clinging human DNA. I was exhausted, so I fed.

Entry #4 by Anthony Matias​

“Damn this truck!” old man Jones said, hitting his fingerless hand against the steering wheel.

“What! What is it?” I questioned nervously.

The old man reached down again and gave the key a turn. Nothing. The truck was dead.

“We’re going to have to hunker down and stand our grand,” old man Jones said, spitting out a mouthful of tobacco.

“Stand our ground? Why the hell don’t we get away from here?” I argued, questioning his plans.

“Boy,” he replied. “You ain’t seen it yet…and you don’t know what yer up against.” He reached his right hand across his body to the door handle and pulled the lever.

Stepping out of the truck, he turned and said, “See this hand?”
I looked as his fingerless nub of a left hand.

“This is the hand that fed it, and by God…it won’t feed anymore on my body.”

I opened the door and stepped out of the passenger side of the cab. Looking over the side of the truck bed to check on Will and Mina, I jumped back in horror.

Slowly I walked towards the bed. My hands trembled terribly and the taste of vomit filled the back of my throat.

Lying in the truck bed was my brother and baby-sitter…or what I could make of them that is. The blanket was soaked in dark red blood. The skinless backs of the bodies were exposed and I could see the whites and pinks of the muscles, tendons and ligaments. Slowly the light colors flooded with the darkened color of blood.

“Will I exclaimed!” Tears filled my eyes.

Old man Jones looked on, with a cold heartless stare that showed no emotion for me and my loss.

“See boy. That’s what’s gonna happen to us if we don’t sit ourselves down tight and fight this thing,” he said, stuffing his mouth with a fresh pinch of tobacco.

“Ok,” I replied reluctantly. “What do I need to do.

We spent the next couple hours watching for the creature that killed my brother. Old man Jones had a stockpile of semi-automatic assault weapons in the tool box in the back of the truck. Strategically, he placed the weapons around us, in case we needed to use them on the run and then we sat there and waited.

“Want some chaw?” he asked, pulling out the can.

“No thanks,” I replied.

“What did this anyways and why did my dad have such a thing in our basement?” I asked, pulling my knees to my chest, in an attempt to keep warm.

“36 years ago, yer dad and me went out to Wadkins bridge. It was a dark night, just like tonight and the clouds had been swirlin’ around like they are right now.” He looked up into the sky and then back down to the truck bed, staring as if in a trance.

“Yer dad and me come across this opening underneath the bridge and daring him in, we both entered to see what was there.”

“It was cold and dark and the smell was that of what were smellin’ right now. Well as we continued into the hole, I pulled out a lighter and used it to help us see a bit better.”

“Well son, as we got further, we done came across a creature,” old man Jones said, wiping the saliva from his chin. “We found a creature that stunk to high heaven and before we knew it, it had us trapped on the ground beneath it, diggin’ it’s talons into our chests.”

“It had long fangs and pointy ears; almost like what you’d see in on of them there werewolf type movies. Well that wolf like creature was about to send us up to see the Lord himself, but yer dad done maked it a deal to save our lives. He told it that if it would release us, then it could have fee dibs on our kids once we had ‘em.”

My eyes got big and began to say, “what the…”

Old man Jones stopped me in mid-sentence. “Yup boy, I know what you mean. Yer daddy done screwed things up for you, but you and yer brother done messed up to.”

“Messed up. What do you mean?” I questioned.

“If you and yer brother wouldn’t have gone to that bridge, then it wouldn’t have known you were alive. Ya see, its smell is dern good and when you went underneath there, it matched yer smell up with your daddy’s. Soon enough, it knew for sure that it was coming to get you two fellows.”

My heart was racing and my senses grew weary. I reached for my forehead and rubbed the sweat away. What the hell was I going to do? Will had been taken without any problem and I was in no condition to ward off anything of that magnitude.

“How do we stop it?” I asked the old man, who sat next to me digging inside his nose.

He pulled his finger out, wiping it on his flannel jacket. “I gotta plan ther’ boy. You don’t worry bout a thing. You just sit yer butt on the back of this truck and when it comes, I’ll take care of it fer ya.”

Old man Jones leaned forward and then stuck his nose up in the air. He scrunched his nose and puckered his lips, trying to breathe in the scent. He looked down at me and shook his head slightly. “Here it comes boy.”

The clouds around us began to whirl and whip about and then from the bushes came the creature that was after me.

Old man Jones rushed in front of it, raising a rifle towards the beast, but
the creature swatted him away, like he was a fly on a burger. Then jumping up onto the bed of the truck it stuck its nose towards me.

Pulling back the best I could, it grabbed me and lifted me high into the air above it. I screamed out for help!

“Help me!” I yelled to the old man, who was getting up slowly from the ground. “You said you could stop it!”

The old man once again, spit out the tobacco from his mouth and stuffed in a new pinch.

“Boy. I have to tell ya, I’m sorry.” He walked towards the bed of the truck and leaned up against it, looking up to me. “Ya see son…about 15 years ago, I found out I can’t have any kids of my own and so I done got a visit from this here creature. Well it basically did to me, what it’s doing to you right now. I figured I was a goner, but I done made a deal with it. Ya see son…I made a deal that it could take a finger for every child it though I should have and well…as you can see, it thought I should of had five.” He lifted his left hand up to me in proof.

“What about me?” I screamed back.

Lowering his head and shaking it in desolation, he said, “Boy. I done paid the price for my lack of offspring. Now it’s your turn to pay the price for being one.”

Slowly, old man Jones turned and walked out of sight.

Entry #5 by Rhymegirl​

“Oh crap, no!" I said. “We gotta get out of here.”

Old man Jones got out of the truck. He walked around to the back to face us. “This isn’t my fight,” he said. “You damn troublemaking kids are on your own.”

I couldn’t believe it when I saw him take off down the street. How could he just leave us like that? It made me think of the Jurassic Park movie when the bloodsucking lawyer bolted out of that car to get away from the T-Rex, leaving the kids to fend for themselves.

“He was a jerk anyway,” Mina said, wiping away some tears. “He killed Rolf. That bastard aimed at him, thinking it was that….that other THING.”


“What other thing? Mina, what did you and Will see?”

She shook her head back and forth, but wouldn’t answer me.

“Look, I’ve got a gun. See? Whatever it is, I can shoot it.”

“No, you can’t,” Mina said. “You can’t kill it. No gun is gonna work on that thing.”

Will started to make small, unintelligible sounds. Whatever had scared my brother this much had to be pretty bad.

“We have to get out of here.” I jumped over the side of the truck and opened up the driver’s side door. I wasn’t old enough to drive but I’d watched Dad plenty of times and besides, this was an emergency. Will was out of commission and Mina was too upset to think straight. I turned the key in the ignition. Nothing. I kept turning it. Nothing. I pumped the gas pedal. Nothing happened. And then I smelled that horrible smell again. That stench of dead things rotting. The creature!

I looked out through the windshield, left, then right, then straight ahead. Where was it? It was very close. And I couldn’t get the truck to move! I turned my head to look back at Mina and Will when all of a sudden…

“Oh my God!” screamed Mina. “Oh my God!”

I whipped my head back around and there in front of the truck was…how do I describe it? This huge mass of black smoke that swirled and transformed right before my eyes, changing steadily from one ugly, hideous creature to another—the scariest-looking things you could ever imagine—fangs, then claws, then evil-looking eyes, then laser-sharp teeth, and huge tentacles reaching out, reaching around…

“Bobby, run!” Mina screamed and I looked back and watched her push Will over the back of the pickup and jump off beside him. She helped him up and ran off. But when I turned back around, the smoke thing was gone. All I saw was old man Jones staring at me through the windshield.

“You all right kid?” he called.

I didn’t get it at all. How could this be? One minute there’s this hideous collection of teeth, claws and eyes, and the next minute….

“I’m okay,” I said, opening the door of the truck, glad to see that he'd changed his mind. “What WAS that thing?”

Old man Jones stared at me, his mouth twisting into an evil grin. “That THING?” Then he let out a wicked-sounding laugh that almost made me pee my pants. “That thing is everything you fear, kid. Every rotten, evil, nasty, scary, scum of the earth bad thing that haunts your dreams, poisons your thoughts, and races your heart. It’s the unknown, the bully, the past, the future. It’s the chain rattling and scraping across the basement floor, the voices, groans and screams that scare the shit out of you, and the nice, wrinkled old man you really want to trust but can’t-- because he scares you out of your rotten little mind.”

And I’m not kidding, the moment he said that he vanished into that long black swirl of smoke. I swung the door shut and slammed down the lock, then scrambled over to the passenger side door and slammed that lock down, too. Could that thing get me inside the truck? My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. I closed my eyes tight. So this was what the monster in the basement was all along. Some kind of thing that could change into all different forms—whatever a person was afraid of, that’s what it turned into. Maybe that explained why at night whenever I was having a bad dream about monsters or zombies or old man Jones and his Doberman pinschers, I’d hear noises coming from the basement. Did I make that happen? Did we all make it happen? But where in the world did this thing come from?

Then suddenly, just as I was thinking this thought, I heard a car screech to a halt and somebody calling my name. “Bobby!” Somebody was calling Bobby. It was my dad!

That thing had spread out all around the truck with me trapped inside. I looked out the car window and saw Mina and Will over against the side of the house looking totally scared, clutching each other. But Dad was trying to tell them something, I couldn’t hear what. When I turned back, the smoke thing had turned into this big black leathery, mucous-spewing creature with sharp-looking teeth just like in Alien, Will’s favorite movie. If I wasn’t so scared I’d think it was funny. My big brother’s favorite movie but the one that scares me to death. I closed my eyes and willed it to go away. Please go away!

When I opened my eyes I saw Dad holding some kind of weapon in his hands. My dad, the museum curator and anthropologist, who knows everything about everything. If anybody could save me it would be him.

Dad pointed this weapon at the creature. I looked at it closely and suddenly I knew what it was—a proton gun. Like the kind they used in Ghostbusters! Dad aimed it right at the alien’s face and squeezed the trigger. But instead of bullets, this long stream of flashing light shot out of the gun and zapped the creature. It let out a scream and turned back into that big black swirl of smoke again, slowly whooshing towards Dad, sucked away into the proton gun. Finally, when all of it was inside, he turned and aimed the gun into this big urn on the ground. Dad must have transformed the creature into some other kind of matter and now was sucking it back in the urn.

As soon as I saw it was gone, I hurried over to Dad.

“Quick. Grab the cover, Bobby!” he yelled. “Over there on the ground.”

I fumbled around, found this round gold ceramic lid and clamped it down over the urn the second Dad moved the gun away.

He smiled at me and patted my shoulder. “Good job!”

So that was the day Will and I finally found out what had been living in our basement. Dad had stored this ancient urn down there for safekeeping, never telling us what was trapped inside it. And it would have stayed imprisoned in that urn if not for Will tripping in the darkness, knocking over the urn, loosening up the lid.

They keep that urn somewhere else now, someplace locked away. But I’ll never forget what I saw that day and even now I still have nightmares.

And I still can’t go down to the basement.

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