Story Title: Wardrobe Malfunction

Release date: July 16, 2018

Originally released in the collection ‘Left Hand Path: 13 more tales of black magick.’

Wardrobe Malfunction

 

The funeral was tough to sit through.

I loved my Grandfather.  To me, he was my father, having never known my real dad.

He taught me so many different skills and showed me how to be the man I am today, which left me with a void I wasn’t sure how to fill.

Afterwards, we went back to his house and served some food.  I wasn’t in the mood to really mingle, make small talk, or have any of my older relatives cry hysterically on my shoulder.

So I did what I often did when I was a young kid at my Grandparents place, and I wandered upstairs.  I had never really been in my grandparent’s bedroom before, so I took this time to go in, hoping to find a bit of connection, one last time.

My grandmother had died over a decade ago.  I was in grade ten when cancer finally caught her, and my grandfather had steadfastly refused to sell the place, move to an assisted living facility and live an easier life.  He took pride in maintaining the yard, the appearance of the house and even how polished his car was.

Having never been inside their bedroom, at least that I could remember, made me a bit nervous.  So I entered tentatively, feeling like I was invading their privacy.

The bedroom was pretty sparse; bed, television on a dresser and an old chair.  The chair still had a pair of my grandfather’s pants flipped over the back, waiting for an owner that would never put them on.  I sat in the chair looking around.  He didn’t have any pictures on the walls in here which I found odd, considering all of the pictures throughout the house, a number of them put up in recent years, showcasing the extended family.

The closet door was open a crack, left ajar for who knows how long.  Curiosity got the better of me.

I opened it, searched with my hand for the pull string for the light, and pulled it down, illuminating the small closet.

There was almost nothing in it.  He must have kept everything else in the dresser, I thought.  Flipping through the five jackets that were hanging on the clothes rod, I pulled my hand back quickly when I felt a sharp zap.  Weird, I thought, there wasn’t any carpet in the bedroom to create a shock.

Turning back to the closest, I chuckled, as I realized he had the jackets arranged by the decade they came from.

On the far left, there was a striking corduroy jacket, light brown in color.  It had some large round buttons, darker than the jacket material, that fastened it closed, and it had a built in waist belt, made out of the same material as the rest of the jacket.  Clearly this was his 1960’s get up.  He probably wore this to court my Grandmother, I thought, smiling.

Next to that was his 70’s jacket.  A fetching jean jacket, with a really soft white lining.  I remembered seeing a number of pictures of my Grandfather wearing this exact jacket, looking handsome and cool at the same time.

His 80’s jacket was next, and I laughed out loud at the absurdity of my Grandfather wearing it.  It was a dark brown, patent leather jacket, with a V-neck front.  He would have looked like a singer of an 80’s pop band wearing this, the image making me laugh out loud.

Next was his 90’s jacket, and this brought back a lot of memories for me.  I thought, when I was a young kid that it was adorable that my Grandparents had matching neon colored track suits, made from that horrendous slippery material.  My Grandfather loved his neon green jacket, and I would have to ask my Mom for confirmation, but I was sure that he also loved wearing his matching fanny pack as well.

Finally, on the far right, was his 2000’s jacket.  This wasn’t that exciting, just a black leather jacket.  Everyone, it seems, eventually gets to the age, where a black leather jacket is their choice of jacket, I thought.

It felt good to see his jackets still preserved, hanging in his closet.  My Mom called out from the main floor, so I pulled the string, turned the light off and closed the door, and returned downstairs to see what she wanted.

I forgot about the closet and the jackets for months.  It didn’t come back into my thoughts until we went to the reading of my Grandfathers will.  My Mom told me that I needed to come as I had been included.  I wasn’t sure what my Grandfather would have to leave behind, or what he would be giving to me, but I was thankful to be included.

The reading was straight forward.  My Grandfather had some assets, cash and property, and they were divided pretty evenly.  My Mom received 50% of his life savings, and my Uncle received the other 50%.  He had some insurances and they were used to pay off the remaining mortgage on the house.  Finally, and to my surprise, my Grandfather left his house and all the possessions inside to me, free and clear.

I didn’t know how to process this news, but my Mom was very happy for me, and my Uncle said that it was an excellent choice.  He added, that if I needed any help with maintenance or had any questions, to just let him know.

It took another two weeks to get all of the forms signed, notarized and official, and then I was handed the keys to my house.

I was in awe when I unlocked the door for the first time as the owner, and walked inside.  It still smelled like my Grandfather and I half expected to hear him in the kitchen, making coffee or singing an obscure song.

I puttered around, exploring each room, making a list of things I would need to throw out, box up and store, replace or things I would like to get.  It took me a few hours to go through the main floor and another hour to finish the three bedrooms upstairs.  In the last bedroom, the master bedroom, I was pleasantly reminded of my Grandfather’s five hanging jackets.  I would have to take care of those later on.

After I was finished, I went out to grab some food, needing to stock up my empty fridge.

On my way back, I came down a side street that I had never walked, and thought it was odd that there was a small window that looked to have been boarded up.

Did the house have a basement?  I never remembered ever going down into a basement, or even a doorway to get down to a basement.

I spent some time investigating the house, but found no trace of a potential basement.  There wasn’t even a spot where a door would have been hidden, no open wall spaces that made any sense.  I called my Uncle and asked about a basement, telling him about the small window I spotted.

“Your Grandfather purchased the house a little after your Mom and I left for college.  The house we grew up in, I recall, became too much for Mom and Dad, and he grew really sour about it fast.  I left for college and then when your Mom left the following year, that was it.  House went up for sale and they moved to the new place.  I know at some point your Grandfather did a fairly extensive kitchen renovation, but I honestly don’t remember a basement.  I was so busy with school, I didn’t come to the new house for a few years.  Maybe ask your Mom?  She may have a better memory.  Sorry kiddo.”

“No worries.  Thanks, I’ll ask her.”

I looked at the kitchen a bit, trying to maybe find a place for an old door, but still struck out.  So I called Mom and asked her.

“You know what, there was a basement I think.  I’m pretty sure they decided it wasn’t worth renovating, so they boarded it up and that was that.  I believe the entrance was behind the refrigerator.  Let me know if you find it, would love to see what’s down there.”

“Awesome.  Thanks Mom, will do.”

I went into the kitchen, eyed up the fridge, and pulled it out from the wall, as far as I could without having to unplug it.  The wall behind didn’t scream entrance to me.  I went up and knocked on it, expecting it to sound hollow, but it was solid.  My Grandfather must have removed the previous door and dry walled it closed.

It was getting late, so I decided to call it a day, go grab some dinner and inspect things further when I woke up.

That night I tossed and turned, my sleep restless.  I woke up from a hazy dream, and saw that the closet door was open.  Weird, I thought, I was pretty sure I had left it shut.  I went over, pulled the light switch, and was greeted by the jackets.  The 1960’s jacket was oddly pushed all the way over to one side, while the other four were pushed to the other, leaving a good three feet of space between them.

I reached out for the corduroy jacket, drawn to it, and felt a surge as my hand made contact with the material.  I pulled it from its hanger, flipped it over my shoulders and felt my arms slide through the silky inner lining.  The moment it was fully on me I was transported, and quickly realized I was having a flashback through someone else’s eyes.

My Grandfathers eyes, back in the 1960’s.

We were walking near a park and ahead I could see a lady with long, brunette hair.  She kept looking back in my direction, as she hurried away.  I could feel my Grandfather’s breathing increase, and suddenly we were running, running towards the lady, as she tried to run away.  Then we jumped, landing on her, pinning her down, she was screaming and crying out for help.  I felt our hand pull back, and we pummelled her face.  Then we looked down, we retrieved a knife from inside the corduroy jacket, and quickly pulled it across her neck, tight and firm.  Blood spurted out and she began gagging and gurgling.  We stood up and checked to make sure no blood had spattered onto the jacket.  We looked around, making sure no one was watching, then walked away, leaving the body behind.

I ripped the jacket off, throwing it onto the floor, returning to the bed.  My heart was pounding and I felt cold and sweaty.  What had I just witnessed?

I looked at the closet.  There were four more jackets still hanging there.

I slammed the door shut, left the room and went down to the kitchen.  I was horrified.  Had what I witnessed been real?  Maybe my Grandfather had used a lot of LSD and I had a mental trip when I put the jacket on?

I knew this wasn’t the case.  I also knew that I would be putting the other jackets on.  The basement.  There was no way the basement wasn’t involved with this.

I went into the kitchen, and pulled the fridge back out, scrutinizing the wall behind where the appliance was.

I still couldn’t make out any sort of opening, and came to the decision that I would need to get a sledge hammer and knock out the wall.  I went out to the garage, looking through the old tools that my Grandfather had accumulated, but didn’t find one.

I would need to make a trip to a hardware store.  It was now too late for that, so I did the next best thing I could think of.  I grabbed a flashlight, went outside, and walked around the house, coming up to the little window I had spotted.

Shining the flashlight into the glass, I was quickly disappointed. The inside of the window was covered in a thick layer of dust and dirt.  It also appeared as though it had been boarded up from the inside as well.

I would have to wait to get into the basement space.

I went up to the bedroom, ready to call it a night, exhausted from that unexpected adrenaline burst.  What I saw when I entered the room startled me.  The closet door was wide open and the jean jacket was now laying across the bed.  I didn’t even hesitate, I walked over, grabbed the jacket, feeling the same jolt as the corduroy jacket, and slipped it on.

Once again I was hurled through time and was witnessing the world through my Grandfathers eyes.

I was sitting in his car watching some people walk by.  Slow Ride by Foghat was playing on the radio and I was tapping my fingers on the steering wheel.  I noticed my Grandfather had his wedding ring on, which after the last vision, gave me a queasy feeling in my stomach.  Did my Grandmother know about any of this?

We heard a knock on the passenger window and looking over, saw a young man standing there.

“Get in,” we said, and the man, maybe 20 years old, got in and closed the door.  The car started and began to drive, neither of them saying a word.

Finally we pulled the car into a deserted parking lot, and I recognized that it was near the place where the previous lady had been killed.

“You going to play shy?” My Grandfather asked, reaching over and grabbing the young man’s crotch.  “You got the stuff?” He asked, not pushing our hand away.

“Of course,” we said, and reaching into the jean jacket, we pulled out what appeared to be a bag of coke.

“Blow for blow?” My Grandfather retorted, chuckling.

“Nah man, I don’t go that way, I got the cash for you though.”

The young man produced a thick envelope of cash.

“Count it,” my Grandfather said, and the man rattled it off.  $5000 in cash laying on the seat.

“Great, thanks for the donation,” my Grandfather said, and before I could even notice it, we jabbed out our hand, pushing his knife through the young man’s neck up into his mouth, forcing it shut.

The man made a bunch of horrific noises before slumping over.  We got out, opened the passenger door, and pulled his body out.  We then went to the trunk of the car, retrieved a jerry can, and poured the fluid all over the man.  The smell of gas hit our nose and made us cough.  Producing a match, we struck it, and tossed it on the body.  The flames erupted and the man thrashed and howled.  We got back in the car, scooped up the money, put it into the glove box and drove away.

I took the coat off slowly.  I went over and hung it on the hanger, closing the door behind me.  I laid on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

Was this what my Grandfather was doing all of these years?

It took some time, laying there in turmoil, but eventually I fell asleep.

The next day I ate breakfast, aware that I hadn’t pushed the fridge back in, but not caring as I knew I was going to smash the wall in behind it.

I got dressed and then went to the local hardware store and started to look around.  A customer service agent came over and asked me if I needed help.

“Actually I do.  I believe the house I just purchased has a basement to it, but it has been boarded up some time ago.  What would you suggest I need to get into it?”

The agent whistled in excitement.

“That is so awesome!  Just imagine all the neat stuff you might find!  Maybe old newspapers, a time capsule, or maybe even some forgotten gold bars?”

Or, I thought, a freezer full of body parts.  My face must have changed a bit as his faced scrunched up, and so I smiled back and replied, “Who knows!”

He helped me go around and grab a few things; a large sledge hammer, a face mask for mold or dust, industrial sized plastic bags for debris and a battery powered lantern.  The agent surmised that it was possible the basement’s power supply would have been cut off when it was boarded up, so they thought the lantern may come in handy.

I thanked him, paid and made my way back home, curious as to what I would find.

Standing in front of the wall, holding the sledge hammer in my hands, I realized I wasn’t really sure how to begin.  Was I supposed to just start swinging away?  Maybe I was supposed to start high and go low?  I was confused.  So I did what any new home owner would do.

I searched on the internet.

I didn’t find any specific directions, but for the most part, it all said to just break the wall down.

So I went back to the blank wall and, after swinging hard, busted through the outer layer of drywall.  After bashing down most of the panel, I wasn’t surprised to see an old door frame outline.

I swung three times without making a dent in the brick, before I decided that my Grandfather had done an awfully good job of protecting the basement entry.

I took a break and being curious, went upstairs.

The patent leather jacket was swinging slowly back and forth on the hanger, the door to the closet open again even though I knew I had closed it.

I grabbed it, slipped it on and was transported for the third time.

We were now in a night club, 80’s dance pop playing, something from Frankie Goes to Hollywood.  I saw our reflection in the mirror, my Grandfather wearing the jacket, paired with some white pants and sporting a mustache.  His hair was styled with a lot of gel, high in the front.  We walked over and tapped a lady on her shoulder.  She turned and I gasped.  It was my Grandmother.

“Hey you made it!  Great.  Let’s dance,” she said, and the two of them went onto the dance floor and began gyrating.  I felt very uncomfortable dancing this close to my Grandmother, but unfortunately I had no way to stop.  When the song finished, we walked over to the bar, and my Grandfather ordered two drinks.

We leaned in close to my Grandmother when the drinks arrived.

“You see any prospects?” We asked.

“Mmm hmmm,” she said, taking a long drink, “Right there.  Two of em.”

She was pointing towards two younger females, both mid-twenties, both wearing tight clothes and dancing.

My vision then flashed to us driving away in the car, my Grandmother in the passenger seat.  The music was playing as they drove through the night.  When the song ended, I could hear screams coming from the trunk of the car.

It then flashed to us parking near the same place as my two prior visions.  We got out of the car, walked to the trunk and my Grandmother popped it open.  As it swung open, I saw the two young ladies bound with tape, laying in the trunk.  My Grandmother turned and asked my Grandfather a simple question.

“Which one you hate more?”

“That one,” we said, pointing at the shorter of the two.

My Grandmother produced a hammer and began to smack the shorter one in the head, eliciting screams of pain from her, and howls of fright from the other one.

“SHUT UP!” We yelled, as we grabbed the other girl from the trunk and tossed her on the ground.

My Grandmother was still smacking away but the noises from the lady had stopped.

“You can stop, she’s gone.  Help me with this one please, dear.”

My Grandmother tossed the hammer in the trunk and pulled the shorter girl’s body from the car.  It was limp and covered with a lot of blood.  Her face had no discernible features left on it.

“You got any money?” My Grandfather asked the other girl.

“Please, please don’t kill me,” she begged.

“She’s as stupid as the other one,” my Grandmother piped up, before kicking her hard in the back of the head.  The girl screamed in pain and began crying again.

“I can’t take the crying,” we said, kneeling down in front of her.

“I’m sorry, honey, but you need to shut up,” we said, as we slit her throat from ear to ear.

She flopped over onto her side, blood pooling quickly.

“Load em up.  I’ll dispose of them,” we said, and my Grandmother helped us put the bodies in the trunk.

I took the jacket off, reeling with the knowledge that my Grandmother not only knew about all of this, but was a willing and active participant.

I didn’t know how to go further.  Did I call and tell my Mom?  My Uncle?  Tell them what exactly?  That I tried on my Grandfathers jacket and had weird visions?  I needed to get into that basement.  This was obviously where my strange little journey was headed.

There were two jackets left; the neon green track suit jacket and the black leather jacket.  I decided I would try on the track suit jacket now.  I needed to see this through.  Both of my Grandparents were gone and ultimately couldn’t answer for any of this, but now I was thinking of these poor people, murdered, their families probably still looking for justice.  I know the murders hadn’t been solved as my Grandparents never spent a day in jail.

I pulled the neon green monstrosity from the closet, feeling how smooth the material was.  I went through the ritual of putting it on quickly, not wanting to delay the inevitable.

Just like the previous three jackets, I was immediately swept away, once again looking at the world through my Grandfather’s eyes.  This time though, was only 20 years ago.

My Grandfather and Grandmother were on a brisk early morning walk.  It appeared like they were power walking and keeping track of their time, as we kept looking down at our watch.

“No, no, no, we should get him some rollerblades, even if his Mom doesn’t want him to have them,” we said, and I realized they were discussing what to get me for my upcoming birthday.

“She won’t be happy.  She made it clear she doesn’t want him in those death traps.”

“Well, we are the Grandparents, we are supposed to spoil him, and we can just play dumb.  Blame it on being old.  Just like whenever the cops come snooping around.  People always give a wide path for us old-timers,” we said with a chuckle.

My Grandparents did in fact get me roller blades for my birthday.  I broke my wrist the first time I ever tried to skate in them.  My Mom was not happy.

We kept the pace up, glancing at our watch over and over.  Finally I understood it wasn’t for keeping track of the walk, but because my Grandparents wanted to be somewhere at a specific time.

We came around a corner and there was only one house left on the street, before the road ended and a path went out behind it.

“Car is gone, honey, just going to be her home alone.  Time’s now.”

My Grandmother went up to the front door and knocked, while we went around back, making sure no one was watching us.

We went to the back door and waited.  A few minutes later the back door opened, my Grandmother smiling back at us.

“She was alone, went down like a sack of bricks.”

We followed her into the living room, where I saw a lady on the floor, blood pooled around her head.  I couldn’t see if she was still breathing.

“Safe is over here,” my Grandmother said, and we went over, pulling away a panel on the wall, exposing a small safe.  We quickly entered a few digits and the safe popped open.

“To this day, I don’t know how you manage to figure out safe codes so fast,” my Grandmother said in astonishment.

“It’s a gift,” we said, as we opened the door.  There were stacks and stacks of money inside.  We pulled them out and shoved them into the fanny packs we had on.  Then we closed the safe, returning to the living room.  We walked over, as my Grandmother wiped down the door handles.

“She alive?” we asked.

My Grandmother shrugged her shoulders.

“If you don’t care, then I don’t care,” we said, walking over to the unconscious lady.  We knelt down and my Grandfather produced his trusty knife, pulling it quickly across her neck, causing the familiar blood fountain.  I had seen this a few times already, through his eyes, and I knew he got a sick feeling of joy from watching it.  I was horrified by the sight of it.

“Let’s go,” my Grandmother said and we left, walking briskly down the road, leaving the place behind.

I tossed the jacket off.  They used that dead woman’s money to buy my rollerblades, was all I could think in disgust.  My birthday present had been procured by their murdering.

I felt like my skin was covered in blood and just wanted to shower it all off.  I knew that I had one more jacket left.  I would try it on, see what horrors it brought, then tackle getting into that basement.

I tossed the ridiculous jacket into the corner of the closet, and grabbed the black leather jacket.  It easily slipped on and I was surprised at how heavy it was.

The weight didn’t stop the vision from happening though.

I was sitting in the living room of this very house.  I was talking to me.  I realized I was looking through my Grandfather’s eyes, at myself, talking to my Grandfather.  It was my Grandmother’s memorial.  I blabbered on about how much I would miss her.

“Come here son,” we said, and I came over and we hugged me tight.

“She will miss you so much too.  She’s in a better place now.”

I got up and said thanks, before leaving the room, leaving us to stare at the other folk in the room.

It was an unsettling feeling to watch myself walk away.  Knowing full well, that every vision I have had so far, resulted in someone being murdered.  It made me feel noxious that something happened at my Grandmother’s memorial.

We stood up, saying some words to people as we walked; Thanks for coming, it means a lot to have you here, I am going to miss her for sure.

All the while as we walked and talked, we kept glancing at one of the young women, who were there serving food.

Finally we made our way into the kitchen.  As the young lady came in to refill an empty tray, my Grandfather began sobbing.  I was shocked at how easy he began crying and from the inside of the vision, I could feel just how phoney the sobbing was.

“Oh, are you ok sir?” She said, putting the tray down quickly and coming over to our side.  She stood beside us, putting her arm around us.

“I can’t believe I am going to be all alone,” we sobbed, feeling her stroke our arm.

“You two were married for a long time then?”

We nodded as we faked sobs.

“She was so pretty when we married, just like you.  She had blonde hair, and hazel eyes, why, just like you.  You could be her younger version, if I didn’t know any better,” we said, making her smile and blush.

“That’s very kind sir.  Did you need me to stay here with you, or may I go back to serving the other guests?”

We sobbed harder and she squeezed in close.

“Maybe you could help an old man up to his room?”

She blushed at the question.

“I could make it worth your while?” We said, and I felt so disgusted that my Grandfather was saying this, at my Grandmother’s memorial, that I wanted to rip that jacket off.  But I had to play the long game and I needed to see what would happen.

“Come on.  I can give you a hand, if you are going to be generous,” she said, with a wink.

We started towards the stairs, when my Mom walked in, seeing the lady holding our hand.

“Dad?” She asked, a bit confused.

“I got some business to attend to.  Come give me a hand in fifteen minutes, please darling,” we said, and headed up the stairs.

We entered the bedroom, which I now stood in, wearing the same jacket.  She walked in, sat on the bed, and immediately began to undo her shirt.

“No need for that sweetheart,” we said, and she looked up.

My Grandfather swiped the knife, quickly and smoothly, across her jugular.  The blood sprayed forward, covering her white shirt, and splashing onto the black leather jacket.

She gurgled and slurped, sputtered and spewed, but in a few seconds, she toppled over onto the bed.  My Grandfather sat down beside her, stroking her hair.

“Thank you,” we said out loud, and began to cry real tears.  I realized then, just how much my Grandfather loved and missed my Grandmother, no matter how disgusting or morbid it was.

As we sobbed, there was a soft knock on the door.  Looking up, we saw my Mom enter the room.

“Oh Dad… I thought with Mom gone. You wouldn’t be doing any of this stuff anymore,” she said, pained by what she saw.

When I saw my Grandmother was involved, I was shocked, but when my Mom spoke, and I heard she knew about what my Grandparents were up to, I was blown away.  How was this my family?  How did they know about this?  How did they let it keep happening?

“I know honey, but she’s gone, and I just miss her so much,” we said, crying into our hands.

“We all do Dad, but this has to end,” she said, coming over and consoling us.

“I know, I know,” we said.

I took the jacket off slowly and set it in the closet.   I closed the door and walked back over to the bed.  I sat down, in the same place I just sat within my Grandfather and the vision.

I didn’t know what to do anymore.  Did it even matter if I went into the basement?  I had to assume my Uncle knew about all of this as well.  Why didn’t my Mom or Uncle try and stop me from living here?  Or even from locating the basement?

“I’m going to get into that basement.   I need to get in there,” I said out loud, feeling like I needed to verbalize my plans, needing a kick in the pants to get my legs moving.

I went back to the hardware store and found the same friendly associate from last time.  I let him know that I had broken through the dry wall, but now couldn’t break through the cement behind it.

“No problem, if the sledge hammer you got isn’t cutting it, you can just rent a small jack hammer.  That will crack right through it.”

I agreed, a jack hammer it would need to be.  I paid the deposit and the fee for the next few days to rent it and then lugged it back home.

I was very excited to get started, and when I arrived home, I fired it up and got to work, hammering away into the exposed cement.  My hands and arms were vibrating like crazy, and my teeth rattled, but I held on, and began to make a dent.  Soon brick began to break away, opening up a hole in the wall.  Poking my head through, I was elated to see an old exposed stair case behind it, leading down to the basement.

I finished removing all of the brick from the wall, making a nice, clean entry way into the blocked off stairs.  I knew I had to be calm and rational about this entire thing.  So when I finished with the bricks, I packed up the jack hammer and took it back to the store.

“That was quick,” the associate said.

“It worked like a charm,” I replied, “Thank you so much for your help.”

I walked back quickly to the house, ready to explore.

The old stair case looked narrower and darker than I remembered.  I mentally thanked the sales associate from the store and grabbed the lantern they had suggested.  Turning it on, I saw that the stairs went down further than I expected, and also saw that they were of a normal width.  My mind and the shadows were playing tricks on me.

I felt like I needed to arm myself, half expecting to go down the stairs and discover a monster, hiding down there all this time.  I had the lantern in one hand and grabbed a hammer from the tool box, holding it in the other.  I made my way down the stairs, going slowly, waiting to hear a noise that would propel me back up the stairs.  I went down all of the stairs and made it to the bottom.  The lantern illuminated the basement and I hung it at the base of the stairs on an old hook, hanging from the roof.  It appeared to be a hook that you would hang a flower basket from.  Knowing how much my Grandmother loved gardening, I figured that was exactly what it had been used for.

To the right of the stairs was an old bedroom.  There was an old metal bedframe in the far corner, no sign of a mattress on it, and an old dresser.  Straight ahead of the stairs was an old washroom.  Just a sink, a toilet and a mirror were in it, no bathtub or shower in the small space.  Neither rooms had been used in years.

To the left of the stairs was an area that appeared to have had a lot of use.  The space was wide open with a number of desks set side by side.  An old office chair was pushed into the middle desk, covered in dust.  I was able to spot the boarded up window that I had discovered on the outside of the house.

There were bulletin boards on all of the walls, and I could see newspaper clippings everywhere.  Walking over, I could see that the desks were covered in clippings as well.

I started to pick a few up, glancing at the headlines and the bylines.  It didn’t take me long to realize that all of the clippings were about my Grandparents.  Unsolved murder after unsolved murder.  Missing persons reports, descriptions of people who were suspects and all the while my Grandparents were tracking the progress the police were making, doing their best to stay ahead of the game.  They had succeeded, and it made me wonder, if maybe the basement had been boarded up for a reason, to prevent the police from searching the house and finding anything like this.  In one vision my Grandfather had commented on how the police didn’t believe they did it, simply because they were old.

I pulled the chair out from the desk, brushed some of the dust off and sat down, beginning to read.

I read through most of the night, only stopping for some food, wanting to make a dent in the clippings.

I started to organize the articles by decade and was shocked to see how big the piles were getting.  I then spent the next morning grouping them together by incident.  When that day was all said and done, I wanted to throw up.  I had articles documenting almost three hundred and fifty murders and missing people.

I felt trapped, not sure where to go from here.  I knew my Mom was aware and involved in at least one incident, but surely from the vision, she was aware of much more, and knew what was going on.  I had one lifeline – my Uncle.  I hadn’t seen anything about him in any of the visions, and he wasn’t even fully aware of the basements existence.

I grabbed my phone and inhaling deeply, called my Uncle.

“I got into the basement.  I was wondering if you could come by, I need to ask you a few things.”

“Be right over kiddo,” he replied, with no hint of emotion in his voice.  Nothing to suggest that he knew what I found.

Thirty minutes later, my Uncle knocked on the front door, and I let him in.  I was a bit surprised to see my Mom with him, but ultimately it confirmed to me that my Uncle had known why I called.  He had known about my Grandparents all along.

“You two know why I called you over?”

“We do.  Come, let’s sit down and chat, this is a lot to take in.”

“You two knew that Grandma and Grandpa were serial killers and you did nothing?  No, sorry, I correct that, you two aided them, made sure they were never caught.  How could you?”

My Uncle got up, came over and sat beside me, resting his hand on my shoulder.

“Kiddo, your Grandparents had a sickness, and every so often it had to be acted on.”

“Three hundred and fifty times.  That’s what I counted in the articles downstairs, and that was just until the basement was closed up.  You let three hundred and fifty people stay murdered, their families hurting, and for what?  Your parents to not be in jail.  I have to go to the cops.”

“Oh kiddo,” my Uncle said, the tone in his voice dropping, “I wish you would keep your mouth shut.”

I then felt a pain shoot through my head, as I was hit from behind with something hard.

*

I woke up some time later, struggling against ropes that had me tied down.  I realized immediately I was tied to the metal bed frame in the basement.

My Uncle saw me struggle and walked over.

“Hey, glad to see you awake.  So the two of us spoke, and we just can’t trust you with not speaking, so we made a difficult decision.  I wish this had ended differently, but we have been protecting the truth far too long, to let you ruin this.” he said, turning and leaving the room.

I expected my Mom to walk in after he left, but instead all I heard was the sound of my Uncle walking up the stairs, leading to the kitchen.

I could then make out the sounds of bricks moving and my Mom and Uncle chatting.  In horror, I knew right away that they were resealing the basement.  I then heard a sliding noise and a soft thud, which I knew to be the fridge being moved back into place.  Shortly after, I could no longer hear any noise, and I knew that my Mom and Uncle had left.

How they could do this was beyond me.  I screamed and yelled, crying out in the hopes that anyone would hear me, but it was all in vain.  I tried kicking and flailing about on the metal frame, but the knots had been locked in tight, there was no way for me to free myself.

Finally my voice became so hoarse, I couldn’t scream anymore, and my eyes stung, unable to produce tears.  So I closed my eyes and shut my mouth, letting the gravity of my situation wash over my body.

I laid there for who knows how long.  I went to the washroom on myself with no way of freeing my arms or legs.  My stomach started to ache, having not eaten for some time and I was so thirsty that it felt like my lips ripped apart whenever I tried to open my mouth.

Finally the day came, and the lantern light flickered, flickered, and then went out.

I was in the dark and I knew I wouldn’t last much longer.

I didn’t expect anyone was going to come and save me, and I figured by this point, even if someone did find me, I was too far gone to save.

I didn’t hear any noise, inside or outside of the house.

Everything was black, so I closed my eyes.

As black as my Grandfathers jacket.

END

 

Author’s Note:

For ‘Wardrobe Malfunction’ I wanted to write a story that simply captured the reader’s attention. We never really know anyone, even those we consider closest.