The Haunted Basement

When I was eight years old, my family spent Thanksgiving with relatives in Utah. Our Utah relatives had a basement, something we did not have in California. I was both fascinated and scared by it.

The first night my sisters and I were up late playing slumber party games with our herd of cousins. After a rousing round of “Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board” it was decided we needed a board game from the basement.

Earlier that day my cousins, and aunt, told scary stories of a ghost they claimed lived in the basement. It was an Old Lady Ghost that would rock in a rocking chair and wander the lowest level of their home. She never hurt anyone but I was terrified of her ghostly presence.

After midnight I drew the short straw, which seems to be my lot in life, and I was chosen to retrieve the board game from the basement. As a child I hated all things scary. I could stomach true life crime stories, no problem. Upside down rides, horror movies or anything that made adrenaline pump, a big problem. Terrified, I practically worked myself into a panic attack as I turned the doorknob to the basement door.

I moved as quietly and carefully down the basement steps as possible. Not only did I have to worry about disturbing the Old Lady Ghost, my parents were asleep in the basement which meant I was walking into a pitch-dark, haunted basement.

I heard noises when I reached the bottom of the stairs; the creaking of the rocking chair and muffled, ghostly moans.

I froze, paralyzed with fear and barely able to breathe. From the darkness I heard my father yell...

Who, who’s there?!
Who is it?!
(unintelligible grumble)
WHO IS DOWN HERE?!!

My fear turned to complete disgust. I quickly ran up the stairs without saying a word, not wanting to be caught when I realized I had caught my parents having SEX in the darkened basement. At the age of eight I would rather have run into the Old Lady Ghost than lose hope that my parents had only done “it” the necessary three times to produce myself and my sisters.


Epilogue
As I was writing this my television set turned on by itself. The crescendo of a local newscast theme song burst into my living room! I was not sitting near the remote control, nor was anything touching it. Looks like I might have a ghost in my apartment. I think I’ll leave out milk and cookies tonight. Oh shit, that’s for Santa. What do I leave for a ghost?