Noises From the Basement
by
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"I--I think mom has the flu. I woke up with it this morning." Stephanie joined him, staring at his lips. They were ever-so-slightly blue tinged, like he’d been eating blueberries or a grape popsicle. He winced again as he flexed his arm muscles and stretched his legs out straight. "Stephanie, I couldn’t even think about football practice today. Coach is gonna be pissed. But . . . I . . . ache all over," he finished tiredly. They both fell silent as Omar appeared around the corner. Omar apparently had forgotten how to walk. Spying Stephanie, he tried to bound over to her for a marathon petting session, as was his custom, but instead, he weaved drunkenly, tangled his legs, and fell face first into the driveway dirt. Very un-catlike. Embarrassed at his folly, he slunk away, no longer interested in Stephanie or petting. "Now that was different," Daniel offered in a slow monotone. Any other time, Stephanie might have found the whole incident hysterically funny. At least Daniel hadn’t lost his sense of humor. But she liked Omar, and what if he’d gotten into rat poison or something? If that was so, then perhaps the old man coming up the street had been into rat poison too. Stephanie had noticed him earlier while walking home because he’d been dressed like a scarecrow. But it was only September. He lurched a few steps, stopped, swayed from side to side, then repeated the process. Seeing the kids on the porch, he made his way towards them. The man had on a floppy hat, weathered blue jeans--on wrong side out, a bright purple-checkered shirt showed from underneath a dirty overcoat. But it was the fuzzy pink house shoes that added the finishing touch. Like Omar, the man tangled his feet and rolled over the curb into the dirt. Stephanie could well imagine just how the coat had come to get so dirty. She ran over to the flailing man, but kept a wary distance. "Mister, are you alright?" She involuntarily wrinkled her nose, then clapped her hand over it because it was rude. The man smelled like the bloated fish that got stranded when the creek dried up in the summer. And something else that was worse-- "The army did it!" the man hollered. "I can’t remember all of it, but it’s all right there in that dirt. IT’S ALL UNDER THESE HOUSES! Worked on it myself . . ." The man seemed lost in thought.
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About the Book
Noises From the Basement
This book is based upon the inexplicable dread a person feels when he or she is warm and safe in bed, and there’s a noise from the basement; yet, every ounce of one’s being screams not to go down there. The stories herein prey upon irrational human fears and continually ask the question, "What if?" regarding the occult and the unthinkable. These 10 stories contain characters and storylines that, I hope, are deliciously flawed and twisted. Hence, I have done my job.
About the Author
C. A. Lawrence was told at the ripe old age of 6 that it was when the lights were on that monsters could see how to get you. It worked. She was never scared of the dark again. Now, her only fears are spiders and crazy people. To date, she divides her time between writing her Master’s thesis for the University of Denver, and scuba diving in Hawaii and learning underwater photography for her Ph.D. She lives in Denver, Colorado with her two Silver Persians, Antibes and Sydney. Her next book is already in progress.