BY AJ SORDI
Copyright is held by the author.
CATHERINE FELL asleep at the crack of dawn, as usual, but was woken up only a few hours later by a pounding at the ancient wooden door. Cath sleepily rolled out of bed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants, and stumbled downstairs to see who was interrupting her rest. There stood Isabelle, holding a grease-spotted white bag and a coffee. The sight of food caused her stomach to grumble loudly. As she’d discovered since moving out, she really couldn’t cook. “Hey, Cath!” Izzie announced cheerily, leaning forward to kiss Cath’s cheek and inviting herself inside. “Wow, look at this place!” She handed her the food and the cup and spun in a circle, gazing up at the grandiose, arched ceiling. “I want to live here.”
“Well, mi casa es su casa.” Cath rubbed her eyes blearily. “What are you doing here this early, Iz?”
“I came to give you a ride to class, and to see your new place. You never come to Intro to Psych anymore,” she said, pouting slightly. She collapsed onto the antique couch, sending up a puff of dust that seemed to hang in the air above her head.
“You act like you haven’t seen me in weeks, when really I only missed two classes.” Cath pulled out the sandwich, bit into it, and took a long sip of coffee, letting the warmth fill her with energy. “Thanks for the food, by the way. And I do have a reason for skipping.”
Izzie raised an eyebrow and patted the chair next to her. “We have time before Psych starts. And I’m just sayin’, this better be a good excuse.”
Cath told her all about the noises and how she hadn’t been able to sleep. The little crease on Izzie’s forehead grew deeper in worry as the story progressed.
It went like this: she had been pissed off, extremely sleep-deprived, and a little insane. It was the sixth day since it had started, and to top it all off she kept missing some of her favourite classes. She’d picked up her softball bat with its battered end and worn grip, and for the first time during the night, she crept downstairs. She had been downstairs before — how else would she make toast? Or, for that matter, enter her house? But she hadn’t been down there in the dark, no. She hadn’t expected it to be much different, but it was like a whole other world, a sort of shadow dimension. Everything was black as pitch, every piece of furniture felt like it had some sort of monster hiding behind it, and every board seemed to make it its personal mission to let out the loudest creak known to man.
She had glanced at her watch, and it had lit up. 11:58. The crashing would start any minute now, if the schedule was correct. She’d pressed her back against the tiles of the kitchen wall, clutching her bat. It was dumb to be scared in her own house, but there she was, terrified.
11:59. She’d taken a handful of goldfish crackers from the box on the counter and shoved them in her mouth, needing the comfort. She had a sickening sense of dread growing in her stomach. She didn’t want to die. Well, at least not before finals hit. If she was gone, who would bring Isabelle coffee during their afternoon classes (two shots of decaf espresso, one shot of vanilla) and tell her stupid jokes? Who would listen to her brother about some random girl? Who would send her friends funny birthday cards? Who would win all the track meets for her school?
Then the house had given a violent tremble and an angry bang, and the hand on her light-up watch clicked over to 12:00. Cath had let out a small, panicked shriek, but quickly got a hold of herself and looked around; even though it sounded like it was coming from downstairs from her bedroom upstairs, it still sounded like it was coming from downstairs… even though she was already downstairs.
Then it had hit her. Duh! The basement. Oh, crap, the basement. No way was she going into the basement in the middle of the night. That would be begging for a serial killer to pop out of the vent, or a vengeful ghost deciding he wasn’t content with just rattling the house after all. Bat in tow, she turned and hauled for the stairs, then, thinking twice, she grabbed the box of goldfish crackers and escaped back up to her bedroom. She resolved to spend another sleepless night with her music cranked up high.
This was the sixth night in a row it had happened. Cath could tell by now it wasn’t a coincidence. The noises had started the day after she had moved in. Every night, at 12:00 A.M. on the dot, the bumps and thumps would rattle the house until the sun rose. She’d barely gotten a wink of sleep this whole week.
She was just an innocent college student who needed a cheap place to shack up. Why was this happening to her? She couldn’t afford to move houses again, but she might have to if this continued. She had started missing her morning classes because in the past few days she had been falling asleep the second the sun rose, her body giving out from exhaustion.
Cath couldn’t leave, no. If she left, the only place she had to go was with Isabelle, and she hated being such a burden to her. Her poor girlfriend already put up with so much of her stupidity as it was, and Cath had lived with Izzie and her family since she was emancipated 2 years ago.
Of course, Cath had no earthly clue what the noises were. People who seemed brave in the day, like her, would always cower under the covers once the night came. She’d learned in her Intro to Psychology class, before she started sleeping through it, that every human had a fundamental fear of the dark. It was a survival instinct to keep us safe from predators, the professor had said. And what sane person would get out of bed and investigate something like that in the middle of the night, in an old creaky house like this? That was how people got murdered in horror movies.
She’d tried earplugs, she’d tried music, but the bumps were just too loud. They made her bed rattle and her teeth chatter. It was actually starting to get ridiculous, so mundane that she’d roll her eyes when the noises started up again.
Cath sat back in her chair and stifled a yawn. “So that’s what’s been happening to me.”
“Wow,” Izzie murmured. She stole Cath’s coffee cup from her hands and took a long gulp before Cath made an angry noise and snatched it back. “And you haven’t investigated other than waving a bat at your basement door?”
“I told you, there’s no way in hell I’m going into the basement alone at night.” Cath rolled her eyes. “I’m not about to be that squealy girl in the horror movie that dies first.”
“Then all you have to do is not get drunk, and never say ‘be right back’,” Izzie joked. “And plus, you won’t be alone tonight.”
“Huh?”
“I’m staying here, and we’ll go into the scary basement together.” She leaned over and nudged Cath’s arm. “You said you didn’t wanna do it alone, right? Well, here I am. It’ll be an adventure! Bonding time!”
“I lived with you for 2 years, Iz. We don’t need any more bonding time.”
Izzie pressed a hand to her chest. “I’m offended. You also couldn’t get rid of me if you tried. Please? Pretty, pretty please? I loooove youuuu — ”
“Okay!” Cath relented. “Okay, you can stay and check out the basement with me.”
“Yes!” Izzie pumped her fist. “I’m totally stealing your clothes.”
Cath chugged the rest of her coffee and launched the cup toward the trash can. It hit the side and rolled away. “Would it stop you if I said no?”
“Hm.” Izzie tapped her chin. “No. Come on, we’re going to be late for class!” She grabbed Cath’s hand and began to drag her towards the door. Cath just managed to snag her keys from the hanger and backpack from the bannister rail before they were out the door.
That night, after four classes, dinner at a little cafe along the river (including one of those fancy lattes with a flower of cream drawn in the foam that Izzie took several snaps of while Cath stole croutons off of her salad), and a round of charades with some random stoners they had made friends with outside the campus library, the two girls giggled their way back to the car and played the radio much too loudly on the 10-minute drive back to Cath’s ancient rental. Cath threw a pair of sweatpants and an oversized band tee at Izzie’s head and then they watched a few episodes of Friends, cuddled up on the grand bed, until it was dark outside and nearly time to go downstairs.
Cath felt that lurking, anxious dread again, and it screamed it’s not safe! Grab Izzie and run as far as you can! It was her prey instinct again, warning her that the dark was full of predators. Izzie had no such qualms, as she had already turned into G.I. Jane. She was hopping around with a frying pan and swinging it at imaginary enemies, making explosion noises. Cath sighed and picked up her bat.
Izzie held her wrist up to her mouth and made a noise that sounded something like krcchhh, her approximation of a walkie-talkie. “Come in, Catherine the Great. Over.”
“Seriously? Iz, this is important — ” Izzie pretended not to hear her and casually studied her nails. “IZZIE!” Izzie let out an exaggerated yawn. Cath rolled her eyes, but she started to smile despite herself. She held her hand up to her lips like Izzie was doing. “Catherine the Great to Izzie the Adequate. This is dumb and unnecessary.” Izzie raised her eyebrows at her, and she sighed. “Over.”
“Thank you for that opinion. It’s valuable. However, I don’t care. Over.” She cheerfully swung the pan over her shoulder and tossed Cath a second chunky flashlight, keeping the first one for herself.
Cath barely caught the flashlight, cupping it to her chest. “You’re being ridiculous. But somehow, it’s helping.” Cath glanced at the clock on the wall. It was already 11:58. “Oh, God. Okay, let’s go.”
Izzie cheered and yanked the door open. It banged against the wall as she ran down the stairs. Cath wondered how she could be so unafraid. She mentally revised her Psych notes to say every human — except Izzie Chavez — was fundamentally afraid of the dark.
She crept down after Izzie, who was already rattling and pulling at the basement door. “It won’t open!” Cath turned the doorknob and pushed. “Oh.” Right on cue, a thump that rocked the walls echoed out of the room. “Be right back,” Izzie joked.
“That’s not funny.”
The two girls tiptoed down the creaky basement stairs, trying their best not to make any noise. The bumps got louder and louder as they got closer to the grimy concrete floor. It looked like no one had been down there for ages; the beams holding up the ceiling were covered with cobwebs, and the air felt thick, musty and gelatinous, like she was drinking it. Izzie snuck to the right and motioned in the opposite direction, indicating that Cath should go that way.
There was nothing Cath wanted less than to split up, but Izzie had already vanished into the dark, so she didn’t really have a choice. She let the beam of light dart about the room, and, as she walked further back, the noises crescendoed until Cath dropped her bat and lamp to cover her ears. The light zinged chaotically, bouncing along the walls and pipes as the flashlight fell. She leaned to pick up her flashlight, one hand still over the ear closest to the sound, and just ahead of her, the light landed on the source of the banging, a big, hulking, old-as-dirt… furnace.
Cath stared at the monstrous machine for a moment, transfixed, and then let out a howl of laughter. “Look at you, all scared of a furnace. What are you, five?” She muttered to herself, but it was lost in the din. She moved toward it and ran her hands along the back of it. Sure enough, she felt a timer switch, and when she flipped it, the noises died down. She grinned triumphantly and stepped back, picking up her bat and pointing it at the furnace like it was a vanquished enemy and she was a noble knight. “Not so scary now, are you?” she murmured. “Hey, Iz, I fixed it! It was the furnace!” she called over her shoulder, but she was met with nothing but silence. It was something she’d been craving for so long, but now that nothingness chilled her to the bone.
Cath turned and pointed her flashlight into the dark. It barely lit up anything. “Iz?” No answer. Not even a snicker. “Izzie? Hey, look, this isn’t funny.” A scream ripped through the basement, so loud and filled with terror that it made the hairs on Cath’s arms stand straight up. It was Izzie’s scream.
Cath moved to run, but what felt like a cold hand slid up her back. There was a jolt of adrenaline and she froze in place, breath rattling in her chest, a sudden pinch of pain on the nape of her neck, and she let out a weak “help me…” before her vision slowly faded out.
Upstairs, the cup on the floor rolled just slightly, and the bumping and crashing started up again.
***
AJ Sordi (he/they) is a sophomore at Sierra College studying English. He loves wrestling, witches, villains, and vampires, not necessarily in that order. This is his first time being published anywhere.