The Beast Under the House

The Beast Under the House

Commissioned by: Zeroth17

Written by: Danni Lynn

Word Count: 8,500 words

April 5th, 2023

 Synopsis: 
When a hired contractor working on preparing a mansion to go on the market finds a strange door in the basement, everything he knew about the house, job, and situation are turned upside down. Can he handle the strange discover downstairs, or should he be more worried about the infestation of fur beetles in the kitchen? With only a few days until the open house, can he handle the stress and get everything done in time?

This story is inspired by the Cellar Story episode in Are You Afraid of the Dark.

Rating: Rated PG-13 for violence, scary moments, character death, and language. Nothing explicit.

A large New England style family home with two stories, dormer windows, a grand entry way, and two sets of screened porches sit at the top of a curved driveway. The home stands as a grandeur of the past, its black shutters dress the front, and overgrown shrubbery lines the sidewalk to the front door. Tall pines and oak trees surround the property.

A man wearing a brown sweater, patchy blue jeans, and a work belt slung low around his waist stand beside a white work van in the driveway. Finishing off the last swing of his canned beer, he set it down by the van’s tire and walks up to the house. The contractor has been working on this home over the last few months. Piles of discarded floors and packaging are on the lawn and piles of tools, a saw, and the crews’ lunch boxes crowd the front step.

Today dragged on like any other day in the home, but as the contractor entered the house, he knew today would be a desperate turning point for the renovation project. It is time to let his crew go, despite the renovations not being complete in the kitchen and basement yet.

Stepping through the front door, the contractor enters a large marble-lined foyer and walks through the home to the kitchen in the back. Two men are working on nailing in the crown molding around the cabinets while a third comes in from the other end with a bucket of scraps in his hands from removing the old caulking around a bathroom’s shower.

“Hey boss, what’s shakin’?” the man coming from the bathroom asks. He sets down his bucket and wipes his hands on his pants. “I’m getting ready to sand the bathroom wall and prep it for the plaster. Are the tiles in yet for the shower wall?”

“They’ll be coming in tomorrow,” the contractor answers. He wipes his thumb across his nose and sniffles. He should have had another beer. “But don’t worry about it, I’ll handle it when the delivery comes.”

“No way, you already have too much on your hands,” the man responds.

A nail gun in one of the workers hands snaps as it sends a nail into the cabinet’s molding. “You said you were working on the flooring tomorrow, boss,” one of the cabinet workers says.

“I’ll get that done too,” the contractor says. “Actually, guys, the owner is going to be here in a few minutes, and he wants the house cleared out before he arrives.”

“Sure thing.”

“I’ll go dump this trash. Are we taking a break, then?”

“I don’t mean on a break... he actually wants you all gone. Renon called me this morning and said he’s running out of money for the renovations and wants the house’s showing date pushed up to rush the sale,” the contractor explains. His throat burns as he speaks, and he curls his hands into fists. The three workers look at him with a mix of disbelief and flickers of anger on their faces. “He wants me to finish up the project myself which I think is a hell of a thing to do.”

“You said we had a few more weeks of work for this gig!” one of the cabinet workers snap.

“Are you firing us?”

“I’m not firing anyone—we are just trying to cut back on expenses. I swear, the next project I get, you’ll be the first ones I call to hire,” the contractor answers.

The man who came from the bathroom hacks and spits on the floor with a look of disgust. “Fine, but good luck getting this heap of trash ready for the market.” The two other men set down their nail guns and let a piece of the molding hang loosely from the wall, with only one staple holding it secure.

“Good luck, man.”

Everyone heads outside. The contractor follows last, rubbing his temple as he wonders how he will get everything done himself. Outside, a black BMW is pulling up the drive. It’s Renon. The car pulls over and Renon, unseen behind the tinted windows, watches as the three workers pick up their tools, lunch boxes, and then get into their trucks and leave. When the contractor is the only one left outside, the BMV starts up, pulls around, and leaves the property. Renon was just making sure he stuck to his word and fired the other men on his crew. Some idiot. If he wants his renovations to be done well, he should be willing to fork over a little extra cash for it.

The contractor heads back inside and makes a beeline for the living room. Out on the plush carpeting, a couch has been dragged away from the wall and sits close to a built-in cabinet with a TV. Old beer cans, boxes of take out, and crumpled napkins cover the place. This is where the contractor has been staying during the renovations. It’s always easier to stay on site at a job instead of worrying about commuting or taking any time off to go home. Maybe if his job is going to turn out as desperate as this one, maybe he should have stayed home. It would have saved him a lot of trouble, but he knew he must get this job done if he is going to get a decent paycheck.

The contractor heads to a small mini fridge plugged into the wall and takes out another beer. Popping the tab open, he steps over the garbage on the ground and heads back into the kitchen. Taking a swig of his beer, he crouches and begins to check the cabinets the men installed the day before. The molding, paneling, and hardware were being worked on today.

Setting his beer on the counter, the contractor kneels and opens a cabinet. Something scurries past him and darts into the corner of the cabinet. Leaping back, he curses and stomps on the ground. A minute scuffle erupts and several fur beetles scatter across the ground and run to the safety of the main hall’s carpeting.

It’s an infestation.

“Damn it!”

***

The contractor’s boots thud down a set of stairs as he hurries into the old home’s basement. Grasping a small cord hanging above his head, he gives it a tug and a lightbulb hanging from the ceiling flickers to life with an orange glow.

The basement has a worn poured-cement floor with wood paneling along the walls, exposed drywall, and both the furnace and water heater crouch off in a corner behind the stairs. As soon as the light flicked on, the floor comes to life and hundreds of little fur beetles scatter into the darkness under the stairs and within the exposed walls.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” the contractor spits. Pounding a fist on the railing, he stomps down onto the floor and looks around. A few tables line one wall with age-worn boxes and yellowing labels. Some seasonal decorations sit on the ground and on the wall just to the right of the stairs is a single door. The door is ordinary. It is made of wooden planks and a rusted lock hangs heavily from its face.

The contractor kicks around the basement, looking for anything to help him handle the bugs. How could he have missed them while working on the renovations earlier? The boss said they couldn’t spend any money on finishing up. Firing his crew was the worst way he’s ever had to cut back for a budget, but according to Renon, they didn’t have much of a choice.

Grabbing a bottle of bleach and picking up a bucket from under the stairs, the contractor makes his way to go back upstairs but freezes with one foot on the bottom step. Setting the bucket down and putting the bleach gallon inside it, he turns around to look back at the door on the wall. He’s never noticed it before. Not that he goes into the basement often, but he didn’t remember the house’s blueprints having another room down here either.

Pulling a rag off his tool belt, the contractor wipes his forehead and drapes the cloth over his shoulders. Maybe he can start cleaning out the basement first and plugging any holes in the wall to help contain the infestation. Taking his iPhone out of his pocket, he pulls up Spotify and starts the upbeat “It’s Not Unusual” by Tom Jones.

“It’s not unusual to be loved by anyone…” The contractor starts poking around the walls, looking for places he’ll need to patch, and where to work on next.

As he passes the door, there is a sudden rattle, and the door in the wall swings open a crack. Skipping backwards, the old hinges protest and the wooden frame releases the door from its hold. A sliver of darkness appears within the crack, and an unknown dark room sits beyond the entryway. Startled, the contractor approaches the door with one hand outstretched, as if to catch the handle and push the door back shut.

“It’s not unusual to go out at any time. / But when I see you out and about it’s such a crime…”

Grasping the cold metal handle, the contractor goes to shut the door when a pair of red eyes appear out of the darkness. Red like fire, or a searing piece of steel in flames, the two red orbs hover, disembodied, until they squint and transform, like some unknown creature focusing its sight on him, glaring, the red slanting into a look that can only be malice.

The contractor falls onto the floor and scoots backward toward the stairs in a panic. He kicks his feet and scrambles for the steps. It had been just a door. There was nothing weird about it—he was just going to close it! Maybe he drank too much on the job today, maybe it was the LSD he took last night... could it still be in his system? The contractor flips over onto his knees and lunges for the stairs and grabs his phone. In his rush, he hits the phone’s power button, and the screen goes dark, cutting the music off mid-lyric.

Bam!

The contractor freezes. In the sudden silence of the basement, he is stretched out on his stomach with his hands on the stairs. He slowly pulls his knees up to his chest as his tool belt catches the ground and he rises into a crouch. He swallows hard.

Just turn around and take a look. Don’t let it get you with your back turned! Sweat beads on the contractor’s forehead and his stomach is acidic with fear. His hands tremble as he squeezes his eyes shut, reopens them, and then slowly turns around to the door and the monster within.

The door sits just as before. The old wood paneling is parallel to the wall as the door is tightly shut, undisturbed. The handle reflects a little of the lightbulb’s light and no sounds come from behind the door. It’s as if it never opened. Had it actually opened? He never touched it so maybe he was seeing things.

Rubbing his face, the contractor sits for a moment before a shiver goes through his entire body. He grits his teeth. There is no way he could have imagined that. Those eyes were there as bright as day. As obvious as his own eyes were on his face. There was a reason the owner never told him there was a spare room in the basement, right? Maybe it was something he didn’t even know about but how could such a secret be hidden?

Leaping upright, the contractor takes the stairs two at a time, leaving the light on in the otherwise dark basement. Bursting back onto the ground floor, he runs through the home and skids around a corner and into the living room. Knocking aside boxes and reaching between two bottles on the table beside the couch, he snatches up his copy of the home’s blueprints. Knocking trash off a coffee table before the television, he opens up and spreads out the prints. The blue paper and white lines stare up at the contractor mockingly as he flips them around and locates the outline dictating the perimeter of the basement.

Tracing his finger around the white walls of the basement, he finds nothing. There is no room marked nor are there any entryways or crawlspaces he does not know of on the map. No matter how much he drank on the job, he never messed up the house he was in. He knew his projects inside out from how many rooms there were, the wiring in a home, and even how the foundation lay in these old houses. How could he miss something like this?

As if not believing what he saw, the contractor peeks back into the basement to assure himself that the door is still really there. Not going more than two steps down the stairs, he retreats back upstairs, closes the basement door shut, and opens up his phone and calls the owner.

***

“What do you mean there is an infestation?!” Mike Renon yells. The contractor winces and holds his phone away from his ear as the owner explodes on the other end.

“There is a fur beetle infestation in the kitchen and in the bathroom—but your not listening to what I’m saying,” the contractor argues. “There is something in the basement—”

“Yeah, bugs! How did you not notice this before? How was this not in your original estimate of the home? I swear, if you do not fix this before the showing—”

“I will, I will, but please listen to me. The bugs are not our biggest problem here.”

The contractor is outside the home with a beer can in his hand as he paces anxiously across the front lawn. There is a pause from the other line as Renon tries to control himself.

“What? What could be worse than an infestation? I do not have the money for an exterminator, so you better hope you can figure this out on your own.”

The contractor shakes his head and holds the phone to his mouth. A vein stands out on his forehead. “Why didn’t you tell me what is in the basement?! Why isn’t that spare room on the house’s blueprints?!”

A strangled yell echoes from the phone’s speakers. The contractor can just imagine Renon’s round face turning red and spit flying from his mouth as he responds. “What spare room are you talking about?!  I want you to take care of this situation and I want you to take care of it now!”

“I will! But how do you exterminate a monster?! There is something in that basement. The door past the stairs opened up while I was down there and there were these big... big red eyes! Red eyes stared out at me after the door opened on its own,” the contractor explains frantically. He takes another swig of his drink and wipes his wrist across his forehead. “I-it was freaky. I don’t know how to explain it. I think you should come out here and take a look at it so you can tell me what it is.”

Renon sighs. “You’re telling me there is a monster in the basement?”

“I know it sounds crazy.”

“With big red eyes?”

“Yes. Renon—”

“Do you take me as a fool?!” Renon snaps. “My great-uncle lived on this property for a lifetime. I think I would know if something was wrong with it! Maybe you should stop lazing about and actually try doing your job for once. You are supposed to be finishing up the kitchen anyways, what are you doing in the basement? Are you sneaking down there to do drugs on the job? Are you high right now?!”

“Sir—”

“If you don’t get your work done, I will come over there myself and beat you within an inch of your life. Do you understand me?!”

“I understand—”

“The house’s viewing is only one week away. If things are not finished—and the bugs are not exterminated! –you will be paying the price. Get rid of this infestation. Get the renovations done. And leave that basement alone!”

The line goes dead in the contractor’s hand as Renon hangs up. His phone screen lights up and returns to his home screen where the picture of a woman, looking off into the distance, is shown. Grimacing, the contractor turns off the screen and shoves his phone back into his pocket.

“Dammit!” Throwing his beer onto the grass, he stomps and smacks his head before falling into a crouch. What the hell is he supposed to do? Finish the renovations without a crew and handle all the bugs? This is turning out to be one heck of a job...

***

A few days later, the contractor is in the basement eating a lunch of a sub and beer. Sitting on the last step of the stairs, he stares at the door on the far wall. Chewing, he narrows his eyes at the old, paneled door.

All week, as he worked, he kept a wary eye over his shoulder while finishing in the kitchen. When he was busy tiling in the bathroom shower, he put his work box in front of the basement door, hopefully blocking it and trapping whatever was down there in case it decided to come out when he was working upstairs. After a few days of nothing happening and the showing coming closer, the contractor could not stop thinking about what he saw behind the door.

What he thought he saw, at least. He hasn’t taken any LSD since and tried to cut back on drinking on the job to just a beer at lunch, but he was so jittery as a result, he could hardly focus on his work anymore. He wants to know what is behind that door and if he can get it to come out again.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” the contractor says to the door. He pulls out his phone and opens Spotify again. “Your door hasn’t opened since I was last down here. You haven’t snuck up into the house, you haven’t shown yourself...” As if the thing—if there is anything—could hear or understand what he is saying. But, talking out loud made it a little less scary. He imagines he is talking to the bugs in the walls or maybe an invisible pet. It’s better than sitting here and thinking to yourself, fearing a monster behind a door. Something about silence forces your brain to fill in the gaps. If you sit still for too long, your mind starts making you think you hear things. The hair rises on the back of his neck, and he takes another bite of his sandwich.

“Do you like music?” He cringes. Fake talking to something that isn’t there is bad enough but asking a question and receiving only silence is scarier. Setting down his sub and drink, the contractor gets up and goes to the table along the wall with the labelled boxes and old decorations. Clearing off the boxes, he pulls the fold-out table to the middle of the room and flips it on its side, the tabletop now facing the old door. Squatting behind the table like a shield, the contractor flips through his playlist.

“That’s what I’ve been thinking about. You only came out when I played music but then went away when I turned it off. I might have been seeing things... but nothing else has drawn you back out.” The contractor looks up a soft rock piece, “Hotel California” by the Eagles.

The first dreamy, plucked notes of “Hotel California” echo into the empty basement, building into a journey of sound as the damp stone making up the foundation and the boxed-up decorations all sit unmoving around the contractor. Crouching low, the contractor dips behind the table and peeks out, only his eyes looking over the tabletop. His fingers curl above the edge. The wooden door sits still as a chord is played and he begins to feel stupid. What is he thinking? Of course, this won’t work. Either he was imagining things or there was no monster to begin with. Why would it listen to music anyways if it was even real?

Reaching down for his phone to turn it off, a sudden creak entwines with the building music. A long moan comes from the door as rusted hinges inch open and a sliver of the dark room beyond appears between the door and cracked frame.

The contractor freezes, his fingers hovering above the screen of his phone as two red eyes appear again, wedge shaped as if some creature is glaring out at him.

“On a dark desert highway/ Cool wind in my hair...” The song plays on, but the words lose all meaning to the contractor. A song that always brought him peace and a mellow relaxation now spikes his nerves. The chords sound twisted with the addition of the eyes in the room. All melody warps with the stink of a cold-sweat fear. As the eyes stare him down, the contractor seeks the dark, looking all around the eyes for some revealing shape or form to decipher what the monster might be. Is it an animal? A person? A creature? No gray light or outlines from any outside light penetrate the darkness. The lightbulb above flickers and casts only a dim golden glow. Maybe he can entice it to come outside? To step over the threshold? The contractor reaches his arm out past the table and brings his fingers together, ready to snap, but the eyes slant tighter, expressing the possibility of a threat or rage. Pulling back, he doesn’t think this is a good idea.

“I saw a shimmering light/ My head grew heavy and my heart grew dim...”

Maybe he should try to record this or take a picture as proof. Trembling, the contractor grabs his phone and balances it on the edge of the table. Tapping the screen to pause the music and downsize the app, the song stops and the eyes behind the door close.

“Wait—”

The door slams shut. A puff of dust stirs into the air and a few fur beetles scatter across the floor.

“Holy shit,” the contractor whispers. He taps on his phone again to reopen Spotify and continue playing the song, but a new tune strikes up from his phone instead. A carnival-esque tune plays with sharp cornets and trumpets bouncing along to a common theme. An ad pops up on his Spotify for a carnival mobile game, showing cheery-eyed clowns, and carneys with too many hats on their heads. Before the contractor can stop the ad and replay “Hotel California,” there is another creak, and the door opens again. This time, the figure of a round man appears in the doorway. Stooping to step out, he is gray-skinned with a round middle, thick mustache, and is dressed like a ringmaster. He brandishes a walking stick and dips into a bow, flourishing a top hat. His ruby coattails flare out behind him and the darkness of the doorway trails after him like a smoky shadow.

The contractor leaps backward at the sudden intrusion and waves his hands in the air.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—who are you?!” he yelps. The ringmaster twirls his hat a few more times then falls still. He stands as still as a statue of wax, not breathing. Then, he lifts his face slowly, an oily hairline, thin arched eyebrows, and empty eyes. Below it all is a twisting grin full of long teeth. The contractor gasps and jumps upright. His phone slips out of his hand and it hits the ground with a crack. The music falls silent.

Suddenly, the door to the mysterious room slams shut again and the ringmaster has disappeared.

The contractor scoops up his phone and turns down the sound to mute in case something random plays again.

“This isn’t good,” he mutters. “Maybe I should call someone.” But who would he call? Renon already made it clear he wasn’t going to be any help. Or believe him, for that matter. And how would he tell someone that there is a red eyed monster and a circus freak in the basement?

Pulling the collapsible table on its side closer to the stairs, the contractor sits down again and selects another song. He needs to understand what he is dealing with here. Maybe if he learns more about it and experiments a little, he’ll be able to figure out what to do.

Taking a steadying breath, he selects a new song, a soft lullaby. Soft fingered chords play out the melody of “You are my Sunshine.” Setting down his phone, the contractor watches the door. The door handle begins to turn, and the long creak joins the song once more but instead of eerie eyes or a crazed man, there is the sound of soft footsteps, small heels striking stone, and a woman dressed in a flowing dress steps out of the door and into the basement.

“The other night dear, as I lay sleeping...” Johnny Cash croons.

The contractor sits up straight, forgetting all caution as the graceful figure stands before him. She has long flowing strawberry-blonde hair and is looking around the room as if she sees a different scene before her. She is simply enchanting.

“Who are you?” the contractor asks. His voice is soft as if speaking too loudly would cause the vision before him to dissipate. He tests the words in his mouth softly before trying them, lowering his tone into soft earthy whispers. “What are you?”

The young woman turns her face to him, but her eyes look right through him. Is this the same being he had seen just minutes ago? Swallowing hard, he tears his eyes down and turns on the next song that comes up. Spotify teases an unknown algorithm, and a hymn begins to play.

A single voice shimmers into the air at the beginning of Eric Whitacre’s “Alleluia.” Voices rise and blur together, lilting and holding out a long heavenly tone. The many moving parts create a soft wave of sound, enough to create a shimmering feeling within the contractor’s mind and body, despite the confusion and fear echoing in his chest. As the voices build, the lightbulb above him flickers and shadows slink along the woman’s feet. She disappears into a cloud of shadow before reappearing with a different face, as a woman in a long bridal gown. A white veil covers her downcast eyes and a long train traces across the ground and stretches back into the dark doorway behind her.

As the singers’ voices rise, the contractor begins to stand up. His hands shake but, in an urge to reach for her, to touch the form before him. She turns ever so slightly, her shoulders pulling the fabric wrapped around her body into a gentle wave of motion. A tenor presents a solo above the singing choir, and she tips her head back. A dark color forms on her face, darkening the veil. The stain spreads and soon a blossoming red runs down her chest and stains her dress. Blood.

The contractor is rooted to the spot with his hand outstretched. The beauty, the horror—it all captivates him. He forgets to breath for a moment as his mouth is open, wanting to say something, anything, to call her attention to him.

The voices of the choir break apart into a quiet section, dying down from the swelling heights of the song. The woman covers her face with her hands and the song comes to an end.

Shadows appear and her form dissolves away. The shadows rush back into the room and the door, once again, slams shut.

The contractor’s world suddenly comes back into view as the mildewy smell of the basement taints his breath and the damp air is heavy on his skin. Shaking, he sits back down, scuffing the dirty floor, and picks up his phone.

“What the hell was that?” he croaks. Looking over the table and to the floor, there is nothing to suggest the woman had been standing there moments ago. No footprints, no blood, nothing. The contractor goes up to the door to double check. Reaching out a hand and raising a fist, he gives three sharp knocks. Wincing, as if the door was going to burst open and suck him in. He freezes in anticipation. A few moments later, he relaxes. Nothing happens.

“I don’t get it,” he whispers. Grasping the door handle, the contractor jiggles it and tries to open it but the door will not budge. Running his hands through his hair, he shakes himself. He puts his phone in his pocket and grabs a hammer from his belt. He holds it up to the door and squares himself up with a hinge. He raises the hammer, but then freezes. If he breaks down the door, finds nothing, and further finds out he has been hallucinating this whole time... then he would have to fix it and explain to Renon why he thought he should break down a door in his basement, only three days before the viewing.

“Bad idea, man,” the contractor says. Relaxing, he puts the hammer back in his belt. “Enough messing around.” Turning away from the door, the contractor puts the table back where it belongs and restacks the boxes on top of it and kicks some decorations back underneath the table.

***

Wiping down the counters in the kitchen, the contractor is double-checking over the house as bright sunshine pours in through the windows, and he taps an anxious song out on the counters, cabinets, and everything he touches. After spending two days setting up little traps and filling any hole he could find in the house to dissuade the fur beetle infestation to the best of his abilities, he is pretty sure he got everything covered. He better have. The living room where he slept is still a mess, but the areas he renovated are in tip-top shape.

Whipping his cloth over his shoulders, the contractor opens all cabinets, makes sure there is no residue dust from installation, and checks over the bathrooms where thick white lines of caulk are all now perfectly dried where he previously applied it around windows, at the master bedroom’s tub, and in the seams of the showers. After working all day and night, he is confident everything is done well, as long as no pesky bugs decide to scare the visitors, or any monsters get out of the basement...

Grimacing, the contractor makes his way to the front of the house. He twists his hands together and is eager for something to take the edge off. A sleepless night is visible by the dark shadows plastered across his face, under his eyes, in his gaunt cheeks, and under his constant frown. The house better be all ready and look good enough for the landlord. Once Renon arrives, he’ll show him around but will make a point to stay out of the basement at all costs. As long as everything goes fine, he can demand the rest of his pay and get the hell out of here. All he needs is that money. Enough money will keep him silent on the quality of this entire project and on how the landlord treats his workers. He’ll say anything just to get that dime. He might not take any time off work, since he’ll look for his next gig immediately, but money will always make everything better for sure.

Rubbing his hands together, the contractor enters the front foyer and opens the door just as the landlord, Mike Renon, raises his keys to unlock the door himself.

“Hey! Good morning, you better have everything together,” Renon says. He is a fast talker who often spits his words. Even if someone manages to ever get on his good side, his tone will always sound like he is yelling at you. In the contractor’s experience, he is never near his good side but at least he always knew what to expect with Renon. Anger and lots of threats. What a piece of work.

Mike Renon is a paunchy man with a balding hairline, and his black hair only existing around his ears and at the back of his head. In contrast to his cueball head, he sports a thick untrimmed beard. Dressed for a day off, he wears a stained wife-beater shirt, faded green cargo pants, and black shoes. His blue eyes are piercing as he looks around the contractor and into the home behind him. His muscular arms bulge as he puts his hands on his hips and levels his gaze at the contractor.  

“Ugh, Mike, do you ever clean yourself up?” the contractor asks. He imagines Renon cleaning himself up for a house showing, squeezing into a too small and patchy suit jacket, jeans, and those same black shoes. Anyone looking to buy a home should run away when the landowner stinks like white trash and pretends to be a salesman in ill-fitting clothes.

“Why the hell should I? I’m coming out to check your shoddy work, ain’t I?” Renon retaliates.

“I guess so, come on in,” the contractor says. He’s pretty used to Renon’s attitude but it does get under his skin.

“Danny never wanted me to have this place. He used to shut himself up in this house and count his fortune. So I thought anyway. I might as well make my own fortune selling it, right?” Renon says. He looks into the living room, now clean of any filth and trash. The contractor leads him into the kitchen where the new cabinets, flooring, and trimming are on display.

“I think your great-uncle would like the changes made to this place,” the contractor says. “Here are the new cabinets. You’ll find new flooring throughout the house, fresh coat of paint on everything, replaced hardware, and all the requested repairs for electricity and water have been made too.”

Renon grunts and opens a cabinet and slams it shut, the wood bouncing off the little door stopper the contractor installed. Good thing he did.

“I guess this is fine,” Renon says. “No mistakes, the showing must go on tomorrow, as you know. Well, I hope you know. Considering how slow your progress was, I am surprised to see you got this much done.”

The contractor keeps his mouth shut, pulling his lips into a thin white line. As Renon continues to search through the cabinets a small fleck of color begins to move across the floor. A fur beetle. The contractor goes pale as he watches the little bug make its way across the kitchen floor. Quickly walking over to Renon, the contractor squashes the beetle with his shoe and leans against the counter.

“Have you seen the molding built around the fridge? It helps the appliance blend in with the rest of the room, instead of dominating the kitchen,” the contractor says. He grinds his foot on the ground for good measure as a bead of sweat crawls down his back. Renon looks at the fridge without much interest. He turns and opens up the stove instead, slams that shut, then walks over to the dishwasher. There is a small seam in the paneling around this section of counters. The contractor had finished installing the paneling yesterday but the temperatures plunged in the night and some of the wood shrank and shifted as a result. While all was still in place, a hairline gap can be seen between the dishwasher and the cabinet it was built into. The contractor watches Renon as he opens the dishwasher and closes it with a rattle, the machine jolting against the wood briefly.

A dark color appears from the crack and suddenly it looks like the very seam is moving on its own. Beetles. Dozens of little beetles are disturbed and squeeze out from the crack. Scrambling and dropping to the floor like a spilled box of raisins, the little creatures tumble over Renon’s shoes and rush for cover. Renon’s mouth opens wide and his gasp sucks all air from the room.

“WHAT IS THIS?!” Renon screams. The contractor backs away, dancing over the invasion of bugs and reaches inside another cabinet for a bottle of Raid that he had stored away in case of emergencies. Grasping the bottle, he turns around to see Renon advance with his arms raised.

“I told you to get rid of the infestation!” Renon roars. He swings an arm and knocks the Raid can out of the contractor’s grip. “I told you to get this house ready for the showing!” Renon swings again and his fist connects with the contractors face. Pain explodes from his cheekbone, shattering out across his face, into his head, and resounding down his neck. Buckling, the contractor catches his head in his hands before ducking. Renon strikes again and smashes a fist into the cabinet behind the contractor.

“Agh!” Renon screams. The contractor hurries away, stumbling at a crouch as Renon reels. “You piece of shit!” Renon advances and grabs the contractor by his work belt. A box of nails, sandpaper, rectangular pencils, and an unopened can of beer fall to the floor as he shakes him with his meaty hands. Renon’s arms bulge and veins pop up all over his sweaty forehead as he screams in rage. “I told you to get this all done! I hired you to finish this project right!”

Swinging again, Renon trips over the contractor’s can of beer and falls to the ground. The contractor steps around Renon and goes back into the kitchen with his hands out in front of him, like a animal tamer.

“Hold on now, I did the best I could,” the contractor argues. “Calm down Renon, don’t make a mess of this!”

“Calm down?!” Renon snaps. He picks up the beer can and thrusts it in the contractor’s direction. “Is this why you’ve done such a shit job?! Are you drinking while working? If you’ve so much as taken your drugs on this property, I’m calling the cops! I will not have your filth here!” Renon throws the can and it smashes into the cabinet beside the contractor’s head, leaving a sizeable dent in the wood.

“I’m not fixing that!” the contractor snaps. Renon charges him with his arms out and punches his arm then swings again and brings a right hook up under to smash at the contractor’s chin.

“I’ll make sure no one ever hires you again. I’m make sure you can’t even use your hands to work," Renon says. The contractor tries to block Renon’s hits and ducks down to protect his body. Renon grabs the sleeves of his shirt and drags him out of the kitchen, into the hall and to the top of the basement stairs. The contractor tries to pull away and hooks a leg behind Renon’s. Renon loses his balance and tips backward, pulling the contractor with him. The contractor is weightless for a moment before his stomach flips itself inside out and they plunge down the stairs and into the basement.

Renon only falls halfway before his back connects with the stairs and he throws the contractor back over his head in a somersault. Both men tumble down the stairs, hitting the corners of steps, smashing shins into banisters, and hands into railings. Renon hits the basement floor face-first and lands half on top of the contractor. The contractor blinks hard, seeing stars as a white light burns his eyes. A sharp whine starts up in one ear as the whole room tips around him.

“I said I’d throttle you to an inch of your life,” Renon snaps, spitting blood from biting his tongue on the way down. “But I’ll kill you now, you can bet on it!” He slams the contractor’s head back onto the ground and gets up to kick him. The contractor’s phone flies out of his shirt pocket and skids across the floor.

The phone’s screen lights up and a song the contractor had been listening to earlier begins to play. Renon wraps his fingers around the contractor’s throat as the second chorus of Guiseppe Verdi and Masamichi Amano from Battle Royale burst into the air. The victorious fanfare of the opening explodes as a choir and trumpets add a soundtrack to the room spinning and blinking in and out of the contractor’s vision.

The contractor manages to wriggle free and bites down on Renon’s hand. Renon yelps and pulls away from him. The contractor sits up and pushes Renon away, smacking him across the face and driving a jab into his stomach. Renon falls flat on his back as the strange doorway behind him opens. A drumroll builds and fades into a symphony of strings as a blue light pours from the opening.

Leaping back and heading to the stairs, the contractor rushes upstairs without looking back. There is a rattle as the hinges open all the way and as he reaches the top step, there is a gurgle and a scream from down below.

Slamming the door shut, the contractor slumps to the floor as Renon’s screams echo up the stairs and ring in his ears. There is a terrible tearing noise, and the screams turn into gasping squeals. A shuffle breaks out and then, as sudden as it happened, all is silent.

Breathing into his hands, the contractor shakes as silence falls down on the house. Pressing his ear to the door, the contractor looks around the kitchen, at the dent on the cabinet door, and the fur beetles crossing the linoleum.

“What the fuck?” he mouths.

Getting up, the contractor pulls out his hammer and opens the basement door. The steps before him extend into darkness, revealing nothing of the previous struggle. Taking a deep breath, the contractor steps in and walks down the stairs, hammer first.

Reaching up into the darkness, he finds the cord to the light and pulls, turning the light on.

The basement comes into view in the dull light. The contractor’s phone is on the ground, with the music paused. The strange door is closed, and Renon is not there. Taking a few more steps, the contractor, trembling, approaches a duffle bag that now sits alone in the middle of the basement floor. Kneeling, he pokes the bag. Nothing happens. Reaching for the zipper, the contractor pulls it open to reveal a bagful of money.

***

“Hi, is this Mr. Goldman? Yes, this is Mr. Renon’s contractor, Nick Forrester.” Nick sits outside on the front steps as a storm rolls in from the distance. The trees around the property bend and a warm wind flips the leaves. His body is covered in cuts and bruises. His face is swelling, and one eye has swollen shut.

“Yes, I was told to let you know the house’s showing tomorrow is going to be postponed. We have some last-minute renovations to finish up. Can we reschedule in two weeks?” Nick dabs his bleeding knuckles on his pants. “Okay, I’ll see you then. Thanks.” Hanging up, Nick dials another number, and it rings until it ends at a voicemail.

“Hey, man. It’s me. I just got word from the boss that there is money to rehire everyone and finish the project. Can you call around and send some exterminators over for an estimate too? Thanks. Come in tomorrow if you get this message, the crew can get started them.” He hangs up.

Standing up, Nick goes back inside. Shutting the door behind him, he walks through the foyer, into the kitchen, and goes downstairs. He approaches the door. As it was before, there are no signs of struggle on the floor besides what he and Renon stirred up, and there is no blood from whatever the monster did to Renon.

Taking out his phone, Nick stares at the black screen. Just like the darkness behind the door, a pair of eyes stare at him from the blackness. This time, it’s his eyes as he stares at his reflection. Should he really mess with this creature? He is lucky it decided not to attack him, but he didn’t mean for Renon to be attacked either. He just wanted to survive the fight and get as far away from him as possible.

Wiping his thumb over the screen, he looks away from his reflection and then presses the phone against his forehead. Taking a steadying breath, the contractor turns on the screen and hits the play button, resuming the song that played earlier, at a lower volume.

The string-filled bridge of the Battle Royale soundtrack twinkles into being. Gripping his phone tightly, the music slips away measure by measure like a ticking bomb. Backing away from the door, Nick watches as the door creaks and cracks open once more. The door swings open, its hinges protesting as the entryway is revealed. A soft blue-light filters from the room, lighting up the space but not revealing the monster’s form.

“Where are you? What are you?” Nick asks.

A growl echoes from deep inside the room. Little motes of dust scintillate in the light, glittering like microscopic fireflies. The contractor slips his phone in his pocket, muffling the music, and keeps his hands free at his sides.

“You ask many questions, human. All you need to do is follow orders, there is no need to know the answers to your queries,” a voice says. Nick flinches. The voice cuts through the air with a gravely undertone. Disembodied, it feels as if the voice is floating around the room, surrounding Nick.

“I don’t know what you want,” Nick answers. His palms sweat and he licks his lips as his mouth goes dry.

“You’ve already served me well and you have been rewarded,” the monster answers.

The duffle bag that appeared in the basement still sits on the floor where Nick left it. Nick hadn’t even counted it, expecting it to disappear if he got too excited or believed in it too strongly.  

“So, this money is mine?” Nick asks.

“It is only the beginning of what you will receive,” the monster answers.

Nick hurries over to the bag and unzips it again, inhaling the metallic smell of the fresh bills. Piles of twenties are stacked and bound by rubber bands. This will be enough to finish the renovations and to hire an exterminator. Shoving his hands into the cash, Nick fingers the stacks and pulls one out, running the money between his fingers like a deck of cards. He smiles. With this, he could have a fortune for himself.

“How do I get more of this?” Nick asks.

“Eager, are you? If you do as I say, feed me any person I want, I will grant your wishes.”

Renon’s screams, the snapping of bones and tearing of flesh echo in Nick’s mind. The paper of the money slides in his fingers and as the song on his phone comes to an end, his fear is replaced with the dollar signs before him.

A knock echoes from upstairs. The door closes and the blue light disappears. Jumping up, Nick zips up the money and stashes the duffle bag under the stairs. Someone knocks on the front door again, pounding louder.

Running upstairs, Nick skids in the hall and hurries over the tiled flooring to the front door. He passes though the kitchen, runs by a staircase to the second floor, and passes the large, decorated living room. Maybe with all this money, he could buy this property himself. If anyone deserved it, he did. What if Renon’s old Great-Uncle, Danny Moose, knew of the monster in the basement and that’s why he was such a shut in? Skidding to the front door as another knock pounds through the door, Nick grasps the door handle and catches his breath.

Maybe that’s why Moose never wanted anyone to visit him, as Renon said. Maybe that’s why the secret room never made its way onto the house blueprints.

It was a secret.

Maybe with all this money, he can buy the property and make a name for himself. The idea of being rich has a nice ring to it. Maybe he’ll be able to buy back his girl and convince her to stay with him this time. Maybe with all this money he’ll stop being such a workaholic...

Twisting the door handle, Nick opens the door and swings it open wide. An older man stands there with his hands up to his eyes as he attempts to peer through the frosted glass of the front window.

“Ah!” The man stumbles back and regains his composure. Brushing his hands timidly on his jacket, he fixes Nick with a bewildered look. “What in the world happened to you?!” The man is wearing white shorts and a button-down shirt. He wears leather loafers, and his hair is neatly combed, and he wears a heavy watch on his wrist. His appearance stinks of money. He must be a neighbor or someone living nearby.

“I’m sorry to startle you,” Nick says, “I’ve had a rough day. How can I help you?”

The man shakes his head as if to banish his nosey curiosity. “Oh, I heard screaming, I wanted to check in and see if everything was alright? Is Mike here?”

“Are you a neighbor?” Nick asks.

“Yes, I live just next door. I could hear screaming.”

Nick rubs his head and beckons to the man. “Do you think you could help me? Thank you for checking in. Mr. Renon came over drunk as a skunk and got into a fight with me over the kitchen cabinets. He fell down the stairs and I can’t for the life of me get him back up.”

“Of course, what can I do?”

Nick looks up with a wide smile, stretching it far across his face. “No worries, I think he is okay. But I think the two of us can get him back upstairs. Can you follow me to the basement? I’ll show you the way.”

***

The End