Nine years ago, almost a decade, I was annoying my eldest sister. And I must have annoyed her til the point she could not longer take. As punishment, my struggling unwilling body was pushed through the open basement door by a very agitated twelve year-old. Slowly my pink elephant socks slid on the tile floor. Where the tile of the kitchen floor ended the wooden unfinished stairs of the basement started. My feet hit the first step and the door was slammed shut behind me. I crouched down on the first step and sat as close to the door as I could. A wailing, whooshing sound started coming up the unlit stairs, the light switch was too far away. Shadows of demons and other unimaginable nightmares moved around at the bottom; waiting for me to move, for me to breath so they can sense where I was. I was not going to give the monsters the satisfaction of eating me. I did not breath. It had to be years later that the door was opened and I sprinted towards the light and the safety of my bedroom and stuffed animal friends. When my parents came home, my eldest sister was scolded after I told them of my punishment.
Now nine years past, I sit at my kitchen table doing homework. The house is silent, everybody has gone to the library. The heater in the basement kicks up with a small whurring cough and the basement door, which had been left open a foot, slams shut. And, in my mind, I see a little girl crouching at the top. My heart rate picks up as I walk over to the basement door. With all the lights in the kitchen turned on, I open the door and let the child that could be there escape the nightmares in the basement. The basement door will never stay shut again.
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