The Cellar by Jacob for Sept. 17

This is my story called The Cellar, I hope you like it.



The Cellar
By Jacob Kutnicki

I remember tales of woe. Twisting, mysterious, serpentine stories of the macabre and darkness. Of course, as a youth not below the age of five and ten, I thought these stories were relayed upon my impressionable brain for their sheer fantastical value. It was only later when I became a young man that I learned the horrid truth of the stories I had heard as a child. Now you may think I am mad, that I should be relocated to the bowels of Hellgate, but I tell you that what I speak is true. There will be those who say that my Joie de Vivre lies within a bottle of a yellowish, opaline elixir, but I swear upon my father’s grave that the words crossing my lips ring as true as prayer bells. Twas’ nearly twenty years ago to the day that the fiction I knew as a child altered into the reality that I know as an adult.
My trade was as an apprentice to a printer. One of my final duties before retiring for the day was to clean the moveable type that had been used during production. I was in the process of rinsing off a capital “Q” when I heard a sound issue itself from below me. It seemed to be the faint sound of metal scratching metal. I slowly drew my eyes up from my work and stared at the wall in front of me. I stood stone still and listened with such vigor that I could literally feel the blood coursing through my body. I held my breath so as not to create any noise. The beating of my heart was all I could hear, and it threatened to become deafening. As I stood there, I scanned the room, tuning all my senses to their sharpest in an effort to see from where had this scratching sound come. After about three-quarters of a minute, I could hold my breath no longer. I let a slow and quiet gust of air escape my lungs. A wave of relief washed over me as I let go of my breath, for I feared I was about to collapse. I convinced myself that I had heard nothing. The building in which I worked in had been built in the mid 18th century, and as any engineer will tell you, when a building gets old it will let you know. I deduced that the old age of the building was guilty of causing my anxiety, so I took in a few more deep breaths and continued on with my work. I finished polishing the last type, donned my hat and jacket, and made my way home. I did not think of the noise again until I was readying myself to leave the workhouse the following day. This time the screeching pierced my ears, louder then before. I shudder even now to think of this awful sound. I was a curious lad so I mustered up all my mettle and made my way to the cellar door.
As I open the cellar door, a crack of light from the candle that lit my work room struck an eerie contrast to the pitch blackness that resided in the cellar. I lit a small taper and made my way down. With every step I felt as if the step beneath me would give way and deliver me to some horrible demise, paralyzed and bleeding in the dark among ruble in a cold cellar. I pressed on. Finally, after what seemed like a millennia I put my foot down upon solid ground. I could almost feel the cold stone of the floor below me. I turned and tried to illuminate the darkness with the candle so I could begin looking for this phantom that was haunting me with its wretched squeal. As I was looking around I hear very low breathing. In the stone silence of the cellar, I found it hard to fathom that anything, human or otherwise, could think that any sound could be concealed from the cavernous basement. The slightest drop of water became magnified tenfold. I called out “Who is there. Show yourself or I will send you back to hell from where you came!!” There was no answer. As soon as the echo of my voice finished it reverberations, I steadied myself and began to listen for the breathing again. After a few seconds, my ears found the breaths but this time they seemed louder. They seemed closer. I took a few steps toward the sound. I felt the dull thuds of my heart beat begin to increase and the sweat on my brow began to flow evermore. I took another step and felt a presence to my right. I turned quickly and I saw a hideous creature. A creature no man alive (other than myself) could describe. It had black shiny eyes that seemed to be in a permanent grimace, as if dealt with some great pain through all hours of the day. Its face was covered in scars and blood and random tufts of hair on its head that were matted and stuck to its scalp by sweat. It was rather large too, for it could meet my eye-line without difficulty. The horror that I felt in that moment surpasses any ever felt by another human. The creature let out a shriek and attacked me with the savagery of a wild beast, tearing at my clothes with its long sharp fingernails. I put my hands around the creature’s neck in an attempt to stop it from eviscerating me. During the struggle I dropped my candle and it rolled in to a stack of papers that must have been stored down there for ages. The stack was soon engulfed in flames and in minutes, half the room was on fire. I could see the flames mirrored in my assailants’ eyes, dancing and biting the air around them. I managed to grab an old wrench that had been left on the floor and hit the creature in the face. It let out another one of those horrid screams and fell backwards. I stood up and looked at it writhing in pain on the ground and I saw its body covered in boils and lesions. Its skin seemed tough as if it was calloused all over. Still very much afraid, I turned and ran up the creaky old stairs and slammed shut the cellar door behind me. Smoke curled up from beneath the door and heat was radiating from the floorboards. Then I heard a sound that to this day haunts me sleep. It was the creature being burned alive. The scream seemed to be filled with the anguish of a thousand souls and it echoed throughout the night sky. Tis’ a sound makes me wish I had never been born. I hurried myself to the front door and made my exit. I stood across the street and watched my once beloved workhouse turn to ash. I ran home, lit as many candles I could, and laid in my bed, afraid of what I would see if I closed my eyes.
The next morning I went back to the ruble where I once conducted my trade to see if I could find any evidence of the creature that had attacked me the night before. The smell of carbon and burnt paper stung my nostrils. I stood at the top of where the cellar stairs used to be. In the morning sun I could see a hand, burnt black as tar and severed at the elbow. Around the wrist was a thick metal ring that was attached to a chain that led to a wall placed at the back of the cellar. The creature didn’t reside in the cellar it was being held captive there! I was out of the town by nightfall. I ran to many towns in many places over the years, but I can never escape that sound, the scream of the creature being burned alive.

Epilogue

I had severed most of my ties with my old hometown, but I had kept correspondence with an old school acquaintance of mine. I had written him and asked him if there was any information about the fire in my old workhouse. This is what he wrote back:

So glad to hear from you my old friend, I have been enthralled by your tales of travel and adventure. I must admit, I am a bit jealous that you have escaped the dreariness of this town and embarked for a more meaningful life for yourself. In regards to your question about the fire, I went over to see my friend William Halverton, who you may remember as being the chief of the volunteer fire brigade. I asked about the details surrounding the fire. He said that the investigators had been through the ruins of the old house and found a hand that had been severed at the elbow. Around its wrist, a chain had been affixed that led to a wall. He also said that the area from where the arm had been severed was covered in bite marks. Something had chewed through bone and muscle, in a hurry no less, and torn the appendage from the body. Then William told me something that chilled my spine. He said that the bite marks where human. It had been confirmed by a doctor from the city. Whatever or whoever the previous owner of that hand was had gnawed its own arm off, no doubt in its attempt to escape from cellar as it was burning. There was a pool of burned blood and footsteps leading away from the house. What had been in that cellar chained to the wall was now free. I hope this letter finds you well my friend and I await your next correspondence.

Sincerely your friend

Nigel Adamson


When I finished the reading letter my blood turned to frost. For years that sound has followed my every move, stalking me at every turn. Now I fear I am being hunted, that I am prey for some unholy creature. I do not know if my predator is human or demon, I do know that this creature and I walk the same ground…. And I pray that hell does not follow with him.