The basement seemed like the best place to keep the “problem”. It was cool and damp, just perfect. But also, under the house, it was relatively soundproof.
I sat in the kitchen, dabbing my wounds with Iodine, wincing with each touch. I swigged the whiskey bottle in front of my and sighed. I was in shock, but the adrenaline pumped through my system, a smile tweaked the corners of my mouth upwards.
Within minutes I hear it wake in the form of thumps echoing from below my feet, I shuddered with each impact.
The doorbell rang.
I contemplated leaving it, but if they hear the sounds from within, they may get help, I cannot have that, not after what I’ve been through.
Opening the door I snarled, “What do you want?”
“Have you every heard about the healing power of our…”
“Did you not read the sign?” I pointed aggressively to the *No Cold Callers – No Politicians – No Religious Groups* message that emblazoned the door.
“Can we come in for just one moment?”
I stopped and thought about it, “Uhh, sure. Let me guide you to my den, it’s more comfortable in there than the living room. Hey, would you like a coffee?”
“We’d love one, thank you.”
I opened the basement door and clicked on the light, “It’s a little dark on the way down, there’s a switch at the bottom though.”
“Oh, is there?” the man asked asked as I shut the door and dead-bolted it.