 #1 (permalink) Mon Aug 17, 2009 13:17 pm The thing in the Cellar. |
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It is often said that thoughts are merely unfulfilled fantasies, and so I do believe
Ever since I was a little boy I've believed there was a killer in our cellar, but never more than today.
My mother had gone shopping leaving me alone as I said it was too warm to go shopping with her.
She had not long left the house when I was sure that I could hear someone walking and mumbling in the dark cellar below.
Although I was a little afraid I wasn't prepared to run out of the house and make a fool of myself, so I locked the cellar door with the key.
Then I heard the footsteps slowly climbing the cellar stairs.
My eyes were riveted on the door handle and I clearly saw it slowly turn forward and back, forward and back.
The sound of heavy breathing was clear in the still air of the sitting room.
I dared not breath myself, fearful that the door would burst open and that the killer would come charging into the room.
Slowly the footsteps descended the stairs and all was still once more.
I was still transfixed with terror, and when the door-bell rang I almost had an heart-attack.
My visitor was the butcher-boy delivering our weekly joint of beef.
I invited him in and we talked for a while about football and television.
Fearing that he would leave before my mother returned, I suggested that we have a nice cold drink.
Going into the kitchen I said that there was a selection of cold bottles in the cellar, and he should go and choose one whilst I found two clean glasses.
He went down the cellar stairs whistling, and I held my breath.
The screams, when they came, were chilling.
I stood rooted to the spot, and then I heard the footsteps once more, coming up the stairs, and the heavy breathing.
The butcher boy collapsed on the living room floor with a huge carving knife sticking from his back.
I rushed across and relocked the cellar door. Like a fool I tried to pry the knife from his back, and realising it was beyond me, I phoned for an ambulance.
The ambulance and the police arrived simultaneously, and the paramedic shook his head woefully. The boy was dead.
The detective questioned me, and when I told him my story he sent two constables down into the cellar.
Of course they found no-one there, and now I find myself being charged with the murder of the butcher's boy. Woe is me.
Kitos.
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 Kitosdad
Language Coach
Joined: 04 Mar 2009
Posts: 13417
Location: ESSEN, Germany, (but English.)
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