I ventured down into my basement the other night to look for something, and the entire time I was down there, I had the feeling I was being watched. I had no idea who or what might be watching me, or where it might be hiding, but the feeling was so strong, I finally bolted back up the stairs, slammed the door and locked it.
To heck with what I was looking for, I thought. I’ll just buy another one.
Having a basement where I conveniently could store everything from my photo albums and collections, to household goods and seasonal items, always had been a dream of mine, mainly because in my previous home there was absolutely no storage space at all.
So for years, my husband and I rented an outdoor storage unit for our excess junk and valuable collectibles (both of which were just about the same, actually).
But one hot summer day, when I dug out my treasured Farrah Fawcett doll and discovered that her breasts had melted right through her thin white jumpsuit, I decided it might be time to ditch the outdoor storage-unit and splurge on a temperature-controlled indoor one.
So we did, and then our junk was safely stored at a comfy 60-something degrees all year round.
There was only one problem with the storage building, however…it was spooky. So whenever I ventured over there, my imagination usually ran wild.
For one thing, the place had absolutely no windows, other than the two in the front office, so walking through the aisles was so dark and shadowy, even in broad daylight, it reminded me of one of those Halloween haunted houses where at every turn, something hideous was preparing to pop out in front of me.
Even worse, when the people in the office went home for the night, they would shut off all of the lights except for a dim one in the front office, even though the storage building was open for another three hours.
One night, I happened to go over there just after dusk because I wanted to search my unit for some "treasures" to sell on eBay. I parked in the deserted parking lot and entered the front door, which opened into a short, dark hallway with a metal staircase to the left.
Immediately, every horror movie in which the killer (armed with a knife, machete, rope, gun, crowbar, bow and arrows, harpoon, chloroform, poison darts, etc.) was lurking underneath a staircase and waiting to pounce on his next victim, came to mind. I bolted past the stairs. Fortunately, my unit was on the ground floor.
Once my feet were firmly planted in the main hallway, I made a dash for the wall-switch so I could flip on the lights.
Even with the lights on, the long walk to my storage unit, four aisles away, did little to calm my feelings of uneasiness. The place was so empty, I could hear my footsteps echoing on the concrete floors. And each time I passed by a deserted unit with its overhead door wide open, I expected someone (or something) carrying one or more of the aforementioned weapons to leap out at me.
In an empty unit with the overhead door raised, three doors down from mine, there was a lone black sock lying on the otherwise naked floor. It was a big sock, for at least a size-13 foot, and made me wonder what had happened to the guy who owned it.
Perhaps, I thought, he was some notorious axe murderer who'd used the sock to strangle his latest victim and then had hidden the evidence in his storage unit. But that would make him a sock murderer, I reasoned, not an axe murderer. Somehow, that didn't sound quite as frightening.
Once I reached my storage unit, which just happened to be located in the darkest corner of the building where there was no overheard light, I unlocked it, lifted the door and dashed inside, as if I thought I would be safe in there.
The unit was dark and dusty…and very, very quiet. I turned on the battery-operated lantern I kept on a trunk near the doorway and began to search through boxes of Barbie dolls, Star Wars toys and an assortment of old mugs and dishes, hoping to find some incredibly rare item that would make me an instant thousand-aire on eBay.
Suddenly, I heard footsteps.
I stood upright and held my breath. The footsteps, slow and measured, sounded as if they belonged to a good-sized man…like maybe the owner of the big-footed black sock? They also sounded as if they were heading directly toward my aisle.
Could it be, I wondered, the sock murderer returning to collect the incriminating evidence?
Just as suddenly as the footsteps began, they stopped. I waited for them to start up again, hopefully heading back in the opposite direction. I also waited to hear the sound of a unit's overhead door being opened...or closed.
I heard nothing.
Visions of some drooling, alien life-form silently slithering toward my storage unit, made me search for a weapon. I picked up a lamp to whack it with, but then, considering the lamp had been a gift at my parents' wedding back in 1947, decided not to risk all of the money it possibly could be worth on eBay. So I reached for a metal curtain-rod instead.
When I still heard nothing, I feared I might be dealing with a Dracula-like villain who'd sprouted bat wings and was swooping through the aisles.
Allowing my overworked imagination to take control, I frantically grabbed a talking Steve Urkel doll and a set of Starsky and Hutch action figures, so my trip wouldn't be completely in vain, locked up the storage unit and then, with the curtain rod still in my hand, made a beeline for the exit.
With every step I took through the deserted aisles, I anticipated hearing footsteps approaching from behind me at any second…which made me walk even faster.
Finally, I reached the front door. Next to the staircase was a trash container piled with some empty cardboard boxes I hadn't noticed when I'd entered. Even though I was in a hurry, I grabbed several of the boxes, mainly because I wasn't about to pass up anything that might come in handy (and cheap) for mailing my eBay items.
Out in the parking lot, there was a pick-up truck parked right next to my car. I instantly assumed it belonged to the phantom aisle wanderer…then wondered if I should memorize the license plate.
When I was safely back home, I noticed that the label on one of the empty boxes I'd snatched from the storage building listed the contents as a set of Ginsu carving knives.
That did it. From then on, whenever I needed something from the storage unit, I sent my husband.
But now there is no one here to protect me from the evils that might be lurking in the dark, hidden recesses of my basement.
All I can say is if I ever see a big black sock lying on the concrete floor down there, I’m putting the house up for sale...immediately.
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