Ghost in the basement

                                                                      I want to live; I want to love.
                                                                     But it’s a long, hard road out of hell.

                                                                                                   Marilyn Manson



         He never stayed away long. Soon the door would open, and the basement stairs would creak and moan under his enormous frame. Earlier, he strapped the other girl to the table. Amy watched from her corner. His belly sagged from under his tattered Motley Crew shirt when he leaned over to strap her wrists and ankles. She writhed and screamed. Her cries echoed off the cinderblock walls in the musky, windowless room. He looked down at her through a cheap Casper the Friendly Ghost mask. Hate and anger radiated from Casper’s innocent smile.



         Pleas for mercy spilled from the table. She called out to a person who wasn’t there. “Please, God, no. Help, please, help me!” No one came, and she suffered until he grew bored. He ended her life with a hammer. His muffled grunts and the wet spattering of the hammerhead replaced her agonized howls.



         He finished, his hanging gut raised and fell as he caught his breath. Air wheezed as it rushed in and out of ventilation holes in the mask. He walked away from the lifeless woman and lumbered up the stairs. Casper’s mask string vanished under a roll on his bald head.



         He made a mistake and didn’t take the time to check Amy’s rope restraints before leaving. She’d studied his movements in the house. Dust fell from the floorboards under his heavy footfalls. With her bindings loose, she crept past the table, forcing her eyes away from the dead woman. He would be down soon. He’d return to play with his trophy or strap Amy to the table. She looked at the stairs, gathering the courage to move forward. She glanced at the floorboards, watching for plumes of dust.



         Her shaky hand massaged the muscles in the base of her neck, a coping technique from childhood. If I don’t get out of here, I’m next. She coward at the foot of the steps. Her brain strayed to the place of midnight thoughts. Before sleep takes over and the mind is left to drift in darkness. Those terrifying moments where you realize death is real and the world will move on without you someday. God, help me. She stretched her clammy hand toward the railing.



         The door crept open. Amy slid through, being careful to dampen the squealing hinges. It led her to the kitchen. The room reeked of rotting food and garbage. Trash and dirty dishes littered every surface. Her throat tightened, and she forced down an urge to gag. Barred windows blocked any chance of escape, leaving the hallway entrance as the only way out. She snuck toward it; her bare feet stuck to the filthy floors.



         He appeared at the end of the dark hallway; walking to a window to peek through a set of blinds. The mask was gone, revealing his unshaven face. Amy hurried into the closest room, a cramped bathroom. She slipped past the semitransparent shower curtain and laid in the dingy tub. Cold water dripped onto her hair, running to her scalp and sending chills down her body. The bathroom light flicked on; the man stood in the doorway facing the tub. Not like this, please not like this. He stepped in, his frame stretched the entire width of the curtain. The doorway disappeared behind him.



         The curtain indented.



         His blurred silhouette loomed over her.



         Color drained from her body.



         Water splattered as he relieved his bladder.



         The sharp stench of his urine filled the small space.



         She pinched her nose, fighting an impulse to vomit.



         The light blinked out, and he was gone. The basement door opened and slammed shut. Amy wrapped her fingers around the edge of the tub. What am I going to do? He’ll know I haven’t gone far. She felt hope fading away like a brick in quicksand. Life is bitter, hard, and cold. It may slip and give you an opportunity, you damned well better seize it too. Because it won’t make the same mistake twice. Amy slid from the tub and inched toward the hall.



         The basement door exploded open. The man returned, storming by Amy. Casper’s mask was back on his face. She squeezed herself into the narrow gap between the bathtub and the unflushed toilet. He wailed, too distraught to form words. Objects slammed against the wall as he frantically searched for her. Her preteens played in her mind like an old school projector. She thought about the horror movies her sister and she watched after their parents went to bed. They would yell at the bimbo, who either awkwardly tripped over everything or froze and gave the killer the opportunity to catch her.



         Getting out without a fight wasn’t likely. Amy was trapped in his domain, his world. She didn’t need to be faster or stronger than her attacker; she needed to be smarter. Her best option would be to go to the place he’d be least likely to look, the basement. She crawled forward, ignoring the screaming voice in her head. If her logic wanted her to stay still, logic was the enemy.









                                                                               ***



         She crept from the steps onto the cold basement floor. The level above her quaked from the violent search. His distant screams of rage resonated into the basement like waves crashing against rocks. Amy hurried along, searching for anything she could use as a weapon. She found the hammer still lying on the table, its handle resting in a pool of congealed, jelly-like blood. She used her shirt to clean the gore and moved to crouch by the wall that led to the steps. The noise at the upper level stopped. Dust fell from the ceiling in a cascading manner towards the basement entrance. She waited.







                                                                               ***



         He made his way down the hall, through the kitchen. His wide frame passed through the basement door.





                                                                               ***



         The stairs squealed and creaked. Amy tightened her fingers around the wooden handle. Her knuckles and fingers drained white. Her heart swelled in her chest as the heavy steps neared her. Please God, be with me. Help me hit him where it counts.



         He emerged past the wall.



         Amy swung the hammer, driving it into his kneecap.



         He fell forward, clutching his knee.



         Shrills of anguish escaped the mask.



         “Fuck you!” She drove the hammer down again, slamming it straight into Casper’s pleasant grin. She reigned blows on him until the noise stopped. The Moster she watched murder a helpless woman, lay at her feet, silent and twitching. Kim dropped the hammer and fled through the house.











                                                                               ***





                   Four hours later.





         Detective Dixon walked into the small interview room and handed Kim a Styrofoam cup full of coffee. She held the cup with both hands. “Did you find him?”



         The Detective sighed and took a seat in front of her. “Well, we found some things. Plenty to back up your statement, just not the man or woman you described.”



         “I’m confused. All of this happened at his house. How could you not know who he is?”



         “Ms. Parker, no one has lived in that house for almost six years. The person who did this is not the owner of the property. One of our deputies found an extension cord he was using to steal power from an elderly couple next door. We don’t believe he’d been there for long.”



         “What happens now?”



         Detective Dixon smiled. “What happens now is we get you home so we can find this guy and put him where he belongs.”



                                                                               ***





         A man sat in his van and watched the Edgewood Sheriff’s Office. A bloody Casper mask lay in the seat beside him.





Approximate word count: 1392