The Basement of Doom: Difference between revisions

I looked at Them. I pondered Them. I wondered why They kept showing up even after I left that house. Were They still wanting to be my protectors or was there a much sinister reason?

 

 

===Ch. 2—An Explanation===

 

The shaman turned out to be an old raven, and like many of his kind who inhabited the Faerie Territories, he was highly intelligent as well as versed in the magical arts. He listened silently as I briefly described the dream that kept pestering me. His sharp, piercing gaze made me a tad uncomfortable, as if he was looking right into my soul.

Finally he cleared his throat and spoke in a grating voice.

 

 

I shuffled my feet, feeling a bit uncomfortable to answer. I had left out that part of my story partly out of fear and embarrassment.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That I knew already- about the first owner, at least. Perhaps I should start from the very beginning so you have a clue as to what exactly going on.

 

 

 

And get this, it even jumped to humanoid species. Even though the Faire Folk cities didn’t have such poor hygiene and sanitation as the rest of medieval Europe, they still were vulnerable due to a lack of immunity to human diseases (most likely due to living in small populations and a decline of protective magic).

 

===Ch. 4—Past History===

 

The Lum House, as it was called, was approximately six miles out of town, and it was a very scenic drive. As we turned onto Kjer Road I noticed the area around us was rich with Neolithic and Celto-Liguria relics. Funny how there wasn’t any traffic. I would have expected to see coaches and omni-buses stopped along this curvy road with tourists milling about, snapping pictures. We seemed to be the only people around for miles. Occasionally, I would see signs of civilization—gravel or dirt pathways leading off into shadowy tunnels of trees. I strained to catch a glimpse of the picturesque farm buildings through them. As we came around a bend, the road abruptly gave way to a large clearing surrounded by tangled, wind-twisted trees. I soon noticed a long, gravel drive between the remains of a brick and granite wall, and then I noticed the house.

 

===Ch. 5—A Warning===

 

I was both relieved and excited at the rent being only $120 a month that I wasn’t at all suspicious when I signed the lease for a year. Sure, the rental had a dodgy past due to it being a secret tryst place for a wealthy human socialite and a gangster witch’s son. But all that happened a long time ago, and the mansion where the woman supposedly met her doom had been completely destroyed. So why should any supernatural stuff happen to me? Back on Saffrasia, I once lived in the former capital of Calpurnia, where nearly all the population was wiped out by the Scarlet Plague, and I never once had a clairvoyant experience. Of course, I was much too busy with day-to-day survival to pay any attention to psychic matters.

The atmosphere near the basement was once again dead still and heavy with that weird perfume smell. The longer I stood in front of that book, the more I started smelling an underlying current of death and decay. Not only that, it seemed like there was a crowd of people staring right back. Even though there was nobody in the room, I sensed them crowding around the door, thrusting their faces into mine.

 

 

Now friends, I know what you’re all thinking. DON’T EVER GO INTO A CREEPY BASEMENT! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?! DON’T YOU REMEMBER ONE OF THE BASIC RULES IN SCARY MOVIES? NEVER, EVER GO INTO THE BASEMENT OF A HAUNTED HOUSE, ESPECIALLY AFTER THE LANDLORD WARNED YOU ABOUT IT!

For a moment I hesitated. To go down into that strange place seemed rather idiotic; to search through that murky room for some sinister secret seemed really horrible. In fact, the very idea filled me with cold dread, and I almost decided to turn back. Then a sudden rush of rash courage came over me, and even though shivering and sweating with fear, I marched steadily down the stairs and clambered into that shadowy room.

 

 

Puzzled, I watched the late afternoon sun filter weakly from above. ''Why would such a small house have such a ridiculously large basement?'' I thought.

 

 

 

Even though I’d been down in the subbasement just a couple hours, I was already feeling knackered. This corridor alone was big enough to keep a team of explorers occupied for days. There were many smaller rooms dotting around the corridor, often separated by rusty iron gates and great doors with huge, wheel-like handles—the sort you find on bank safes and compartment doors of a ship. Some of these led to wine cellars or empty pantries, while others led on to further passageways. I kept on the main route. The last thing I wanted was to become disoriented and lost in one of those branching chambers.

Voices again—now I could hear them quite clearly. It sounded to me like more than two people. What were they talking about that was taking so bloody long? The tension was overwhelming. Why don’t they just get it over with and leave so I could be on my way? Still I listened to the whispery conversation.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My heart leapt into my throat. Oh, great! They know about me.

 

 

 

 

 

Meanwhile, I crouched down in my hiding place, praying that these people would just go away. They didn’t. The speakers continued on their weird conference. All I knew was that there was some otherworldly evil bloke locked up somewhere and this group of possible maniacs was acting as prison guards. And they knew I lived upstairs and what my name was, although they were quite wrong about me being an orphan, because both my parents were alive and well and living in Oise on the coast.

I walked along the Dark Wall for a span, trailing my hand along it for a moment. Then I withdrew it, the long flawless fingers instantly vanishing to be replaced by the familiar scars and blemishes. Then I turned my attention to the Gray Wall. The moment I fixed my gaze upon it, the mirror immediately brightened to silver and images of rolling white clouds began to form.

 

 

 

===Ch. 15—His Nibs===

Yowling, I reeled back from the window, flailing my arm wildly, frantically trying to break the grip of that thing coming out of the pitch-black glass. Finally I broke free and, stumbling back, watched in crawling dread as still more misty appendages joined the first. Eventually, all these limbs merged into a shape—first a sphere, then a cloud, then an immense pillar. Finally I saw rising out of its churning, undulating depths a pale oval face framed by thick springy curls. In a moment the mist cleared and a figure in Baroque fashion of the late 17th century stood before me. I could only stare in numb shock as the big-wigged, beribboned dandy then gave me a dimpled smile.

 

 

Suddenly my nose twitched to a familiar and flowery scent—roses. Well, at least he wasn’t completely drenched in the stuff like those unwashed romantics back in Waldachia’s Classical Age. My heart then plummeted to the pit of my stomach when I finally guessed who was standing right before me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I hesitated. It would, I thought, be rather rude to turn down a royal invitation to a ball. It might even be suicidal to refuse the honor of accompanying a god to a ball, especially when this particular deity was of the death-dealing, soul devouring variety. Eventually, common sense prevailed and my mind quickly came up with a plausible excuse for not attending.

 

 

 

 

 

For one horrified instant I thought, ''He knows I’m lying! I’m going to get my soul sucked out through my nose!''

And then:

 

 

===Ch. 16—The Way Back, Or a Word of Warning===

Locked in a tight, fleshy grip, I could only watch in bug-eyed astonishment as I was dragged down the passage towards the patiently waiting trio. No sooner was I released from the massive coils, I was then pulled aside by the spiky-haired fella.

 

 

Puzzled, I studied the Rose Prince as he wrathfully drew his gilded sword and challenged the costumed and dyed-haired trio to a duel. I focused hard. Then like paper charring, Prince Francis’s face suddenly changed, revealing a gray, withered horror, blotched with dust and mold and eroded with decay. Only the eyes were alive, gleaming with hatred and malice from deep sockets. The golden hair was suddenly not hair at all, but a writhing, weed-like mass. Now I knew why this guy was called a lich god.

 

 

After passing through what seemed like miles of unfamiliar passageways, we finally arrived to the basement opening, the stairs leading upward with my cat still perched on the upper step. She looked at us in a mixture of curiosity and extreme annoyance.

I turned to look at my rescuer. Even though I couldn’t read his expression under his peculiar avian garb, I could sense he was smiling.

 

 

Thanking him and his comrades, I then offered him tea and crumpets, but he declined. Instead he placed in my hand a folded piece of parchment which he insisted that I read right away. Curiously, I read what was scrawled in bright red ink:

Oh crud!

 

 

Steps drew near. I tried to move, but couldn’t. My limbs were frozen stiff, still wrapped in the heavy web of sleep.

 

 

 

Panicked, I shot up in bed and flailed around for the lamp chain.

 

 

I spent the rest of the night packing and left around the crack of dawn. I never went back even after I heard the house burned down.