I slowly opened the car door to get out. I had finally returned to my great grandparent’s house. The house was a large two-story with white siding, red frames around the numerous windows were painted red and it had a porch off to the side that had a glider swing that I spent many summers on. My brother and I enjoyed school breaks and weekends here. It held such good memories, but also hid horror I always felt but had yet to discover. I wondered as I looked at the house, if I would find anything when I walked through the door. It had been twenty years since I had been here. I felt anticipation, yet at the same time trepidation. Nothing had ever been proven, although I knew to trust my feelings.
As I walked into the house, I felt like I was home. I knew I had to explore the house before I ventured to the basement. I hoped that the feelings I had for the basement were something that was a childhood thing, but I knew they weren’t. As the daylight started fading, I began turning on lights as I walked through the rooms letting the memories of my Grammy and Pappy wash over me. There was Pappy’s recliner in the living room with the odd assortment of knick-knacks on the fireplace mantle. I remembered the two black cats that stood guard over them at each end of the mantle. Somewhere on there was a plastic little boy with a blue shirt and red pants that peed water when you pulled his pants down. If Pappy had been there, a baseball game would be on TV, preferably the Pittsburgh Pirates.
I walked into the dining room, avoiding the cellar door. I thought of the large holiday dinners that had taken place and the hunters that came from all over to stay during deer season. The table still looked the same, covered with a tablecloth and a centerpiece as if waiting for it to be Christmas once more. I next went into the kitchen. As I looked around I could recall learning how to cook and bake with my Grammy teaching me. I could almost smell the wonderful aromas of pumpkin and apple pies. Oh, how I missed this house and my grandparents. With tears in my eyes, I decided to head upstairs. The sunlight was fading fast, so I knew it would be getting dark up there. I stood at the bottom of the steps and looked up. I felt the familiar hands of fear grabbing at me and the feeling of eyes watching me as I stood there. So, I did what I always had when faced with going upstairs when the light was off. I ran up those stairs as fast as I could to get the light switch turned on. Once the light was on, all fears disappeared.
I opened the door on my left. This was the bedroom Jimmy and I slept in with Pappy and Grammy. Jimmy in Pappy’s double bed and I was in Grammy’s. I could just imagine the smell of the Downy softened sheets on the bed. I left the room and opened the door in front of me, the spare bedroom that my grandparents had built for me and Jimmy. We had never used it though, feeling safer in the other room. The bathroom was beside the spare bedroom. I could just about see my Grammy fixing her hair in there, spraying it with Aqua Net to make sure it stayed in place for a few more days until she went to get her hair done. The blue bedroom was last; at least that’s what I always thought of it as. This was the room I wasn’t allowed in unless Grammy was with me or if I snuck in there. I never knew why I wasn’t allowed in alone seeing as visiting relatives could stay in there. This room always held a sense of awe and peace for me.
The tour of the house that harbored good memories for me was finished. I had one more stop, the one that scared me the most. I headed downstairs, went into the dining room, and over to the cellar door. This door was always kept shut for reasons unknown to me. I never understood it since there was another door at the top of the steps. The landing was right below the upstairs landing and just standing in either place brought fear to I. I opened the outer door and took a step onto the landing. A chill went down my back as I put my hand on the other door knob. I opened the door to darkness unlike any I had ever known. Jimmy and me were never allowed to go down there without Pappy or Grammy standing at the top and that was only to get one of the many jars of canned food on the shelves right at the bottom of the steps. There was a door to the right that led outside. We were completely forbidden, at any time, to go to the left of the steps. I looked down into the pitch black, knowing I would have to go halfway down the steps to pull the cord that turned the light on. Cold sweat started trickling down between my shoulder blades.
I grabbed the flashlight off the shelf by the door and prayed the batteries still worked. I turned it on and let a nervous sigh of relief escape as the flashlight lit up. I shined it down the steps and quickly descended to pull the string for the light. The single bulb gave off just enough light to see the jars of vegetables that had been there for a multitude of years. As I went the rest of the way down, my uneasiness grew. I shined the light to the left and slowly walked over to the room that I had heard was down there. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I had a sinking feeling in my gut. I entered the room and the beam of the flashlight lit up the corner of the room. A scream bubbled up in my throat. There standing in front of me was creature more hideous than I had ever imagined. It had black shards of teeth, green gleaming eyes, and oozing sores all over its body. It was hunched over what looked to be the remnants of its dinner. The creature drooled and growled as the light shone on it and I couldn’t do anything, but stare. I now knew my feelings I had when I was younger had merit. There had been stories I overheard when I was little about people from the area going missing, never to be found. As I turned to flee, I heard the cellar door creak shut. A terrifying snap was heard throughout the cellar as my world went dark.
The wood popped on the fire as I sat bundled up on the old log. The chilly night was bright with the moon and stars. I huddled there watching my breath create little puffs of white; in-out-in-out. I was aware of my heart thumping along with the small clouds. It was so peaceful just sitting there; listening to the crackling of the fire and the chirping of the frogs. With the fire slowly warming my face, I began thinking about my trip to my great grandparent’s house; memories that flooded my mind. I smiled a little at the reminiscences. My smile faded as the recollections of the cellar bombarded my mind, too.
I just couldn’t fathom what was contained in that small room off to the left. I recalled all the stories I had heard growing up about the people that had disappeared from the area; none were ever found nor were the authorities contacted. I remember how my cousin, Tommy, Jimmy, and I would go into the woods at the bottom of the yard to play among the rusted, old cars that somehow ended up there. I can recollect the creaking of cars doors as we forced them open. We also had to be careful of the broken glass on the seats that seemed to be in almost every one of them. It appeared as if someone had taken a rock or bat and smashed the windows. The cars had a really odd smell to them, too, but they were thirty or forty years old. When I was ten, exploring those cars was such an adventure. I never imagined that those cars could be tied to something sinister. As the fire’s flames continued to dance in the moonlight, I thought about how fortunate we were to have never been injured or worse. It’s funny how I never connected the cars to what I imagined being in the cellar, even after I had heard the disappearing people stories. It was just always a fun place for us to play.
I jumped as an ember cracked and shot towards me. I was so lost in my thoughts, it almost sounded like a gun shot. I had to laugh at myself for reacting that way. The sound reminded me of the deer hunters that would stay at Pappy and Grammy’s during hunting season. I can still hear Grammy’s voice as she would warn us about going into the woods at that time. I always simply associated it with the time of year; not something evil. Looking back, I guess I never questioned it for the simple fact I was a young little girl. Only now, thirty years later, has the thought crossed my mind and also happens to involve my visit to the cellar; dank, dark, and terrifying with that little room to the left that was always forbidden.
The fire began dying down, so I decided to crawl into the tent and try to get some sleep. I know there is more to the horrible discovery down there than what I found. I was thinking about this as I burrowed into my sleeping bag. When I finally dredged up the courage to enter that room, I had the frightening experience of my flashlight dying as the cellar door slammed shut. Thankfully, I had enough sense to quickly fish my lighter out of my pocket. As I flicked it, I backed quickly away from whatever that thing was and raced up the stairs. I imagined hands grabbing at my feet as I fumbled with the door to the dining room. As I continued thinking back on that day, the whispers of sleep tugged at my eyelids and they slowly drifted shut.
I tugged on the heavy, worn, thick oak door, and warily slipped slowly into the smelly, dark tavern. The dense smoke hung low and seemed to eerily encircle the tall flames of the stubby day worn candles. They were giving off their last little bits of light as they sat on the dirty wooden slab bar. The tavern, once know as Carl’s, had changed tremendously since the last time I had walked through that door.
The bartender was a scrawny, nerdy looking man that in no way fit in the atmosphere. Gone was John and Owen, the men who tended the bar when my great-grandmother, Olive, was the cook and my grandmother, Verna, was a waitress. I could remember coming in when I was young, and getting to sit at the bar, ordering Shirley Temple’s. Gone was the plexiglass covered dance floor that had Christmas lights underneath around the edges. In its place was a small stage with a fireman’s pole for the strippers. No longer were families sitting quietly at tables enjoying the food that Olive had prepared and Verna delivered. Instead, drunks were spilling beer and throwing empty cans onto the floor.
The Crossroad’s, as it was now called, had become a nasty, stinking hole that the undesirables and so-called badasses came to get drunk and watch girls slither on the pole. I began to think revisiting this part of my youth was a huge mistake; it made me sad to see the once loved community bar and grill fall into such disarray. I wondered how such a thing could happen. Did the family of the founder and owner, Carl, have some hardships that caused them to sell out or did it go much deeper than that? After what I had seen at my great-grandparents’ house, I began to suspect that the troubles may have extended further than the house and just might involve the entire community.
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