Horror Katrina Schroeder Horror Katrina Schroeder

Under the Basement Stairs

by Claire Jennings

Claire Jennings writes urban fantasy, magic realism, and suspense/mystery to create worlds where despite bumps, bruises, and injuries the protagonist overcomes by employing any methods at their disposal. Her other life includes working as a mental health therapist and, with her husband, wrangling multiple rescued dogs and cats. (The four-legged family members always win).


Amber rubbed her hands together, as much in glee and anticipation as for warmth. The basement, though only partially finished for Harold’s office and workout equipment, continued to be chilly. Losing the argument about spending extra money to upgrade and enclose the stairs was now in her favor. She would grab his ankles with both hands when Harold came down the steps. She lay prone with her head under the second step from the bottom. Two sofa cushions waited if he fell. She wanted him terrified, not injured.

Harold loved setting traps—as she called them—to scare her. Everything from red liquid in the shower spray to a grotesque hand on the back of her driver’s seat. She couldn’t count the times he’d rigged something to fall on or rise in front of her. She’d even fainted the time he’d rigged arms to grab her as she took out the trash. This time, he’d be the one to come around to her laughter.

Amber huddled under the open wooden steps, curling her toes into her sheepskin bedroom slippers. Did she have time to grab an afghan to cover her legs? Her black pajamas for camouflage seemed a good idea until she’d lain on the concrete floor.

She jerked and hit her forehead on the edge of the step at creaking in the kitchen. Just the stupid floor settling under the new stove and refrigerator. She’d won that argument over Harold’s protests that he now wanted to move. The house creeped him out. Something had entered. He was nuts, after all the expense of remodeling. His obsessions with creepy video games and horror movies had contaminated his imagination.

Though it was bizarre, he only felt safe in the basement. The danger in basements was a primary trope in horror movies. The only time he went upstairs was to sleep in their bedroom. She should have never agreed to a bathroom down here. After he came home tonight, the basement would no longer be his haven. A giggle escaped.

She gulped back her amusement at the sound of objects dropping in the foyer. Jesus, would he ever use the two heavy-duty hooks on the wall for his backpack and bicycle helmet? She’d parked her car two streets behind theirs so he wouldn’t call out or look for her.

Why hadn’t she heard the heavy front door close or his footsteps? Harold’s heavy tread could wake the dead six feet underground. More creaks and squeaks. How he had gotten to the kitchen?

Finally, the door to the basement opened. But no light? Had he realized her plan and was going to scare her? No, no way. She was terrible at practical jokes. Tonight had taken her months to come up with.

The first step on the basement stairs, then the second, creaked. Only eight more. Amber shivered with the thrill of anticipation. Wait? Why wasn’t he moving down?

No, another step creaked. She could see his shadow from the hallway light. Strange, how thin his shadow was.

Amber readied her hands into a semblance of two open hawk claws. The darkness of one ankle on the step in front of her eyes, then the other. With a guttural cry, Amber gripped both of his ankles.

The flesh and bone within her grasp transformed into moist putty.

She screamed as the figure melted through the steps oozing over her. She thrashed to escape, but the narrow space and support beams trapped her.

“Harold!” Amber gasped for air. “Get this off me!” Harold horribly turned her terrifying surprise back on her. How had he known her plan? How? Amber gagged at the rotted sludge enveloping her. “Harold!”

“Amber! Where are you?” The front door slammed. Heavy running overhead.

Something hissed, then in a heavy moan whispered, “You should have listened to Harold. He knows horror.”

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