I Live in Your Basement (2 page)

“It was kind of a frightening call,” I said. “Why would somebody call and say
they lived in our basement?”

Mom placed a cool hand on my hot forehead. “I—I’m a little worried about
you, Marco,” she said softly.

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“You have to take things slowly,” she replied. “You didn’t listen to my
warnings. And you had a very bad hit on the head.”

“But, Mom, that phone call I got—”

Her chin quivered again. “You’re not thinking clearly, Marco,” she said.

“Why? Why do you say that?” I demanded.

She narrowed her eyes at me. “There’s no phone in this room,” she said.

I woke up early the next morning. I sat up, feeling alert. Refreshed. Before
I even stood up, I knew I was a lot better.

My head didn’t throb. My muscles didn’t ache.

I took a long shower. The water felt so crisp and sharp on my skin.

I was drying myself when I realized I no longer had the bandage on my head. I
spotted it on the floor by my bed. I guessed it had fallen off during the night.

Stepping up to the medicine chest mirror, I checked out the damage. Not too
bad. I had an ugly purple bruise on my right temple. It had swelled up like a
giant mosquito bite.

But the rest of my head had its normal shape.

I winked at myself. My eyes seemed sharp and clear.

I let out a loud cheer. My throat didn’t hurt. I was so happy to be feeling
strong again.

I pulled on a pair of baggy jeans and a sweatshirt. And I hurried down to the kitchen for breakfast.

“Don’t run in the kitchen like that,” Mom warned. “You’ll bang into the
counter and break your kneecap.”

Kneecap?

That was a
new
one!

“I’m starving!” I cried. I poured myself a big bowl of my favorite cereal
combo—Frosted Flakes and Corn Pops, all mixed together. I grabbed a spoon and
began gobbling hungrily.

“Don’t eat cereal so fast,” Mom warned. “It’ll clog your stomach pipes.”

I’d heard that one before.

“Guess you’re feeling better,” Mom said. She smiled at me and squeezed my
hand.

I nodded. “I feel fine,” I told her. “What day is it?”

“Saturday,” she replied. Her smile faded. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.
But I want you to stay in today.”

“You always want me to stay in,” I grumbled.

“You’re still weak,” she said. “You might faint and hit your head on the
sidewalk.”

“I’ll stay in,” I promised.

A loud
THUD THUD
made me jump. “What was
that
?” I yelped.

Mom stood up. She studied me. “It’s just someone knocking on the door,” she
said. “See? You’re still not yourself, Marco.”

“I
said
I won’t go out,” I groaned.

Jeremy came into the kitchen. He stopped halfway across the room and stared
at me. “Are you alive?” he asked.

I pinched my arm. “Yeah,” I told him.

“Don’t pinch yourself. You’ll make a bruise,” Mom warned.

Jeremy didn’t come any closer. He stood in the middle of the kitchen and
stared at me.

“Why don’t you sit down while I finish my cereal?” I asked him. “It’s okay to
come over here. You won’t catch what I’ve got.”

“Did you eat breakfast?” Mom asked Jeremy. “Never go out on an empty stomach.
Your whole system will stop working.”

Jeremy walked slowly to the table. “I just keep picturing Gwynnie swinging
that bat,” he said. He swallowed hard. “It was so horrible. I saw the whole
thing.”

He dropped into the chair next to me and sighed. “I thought she knocked your
head off, Marco. I really did. I was sick. I thought I was going to heave up my
lunch on the grass.”

“Don’t talk about heaving at the breakfast table,” Mom scolded. She started
for the door. “I have to leave for a short while, Marco. Remember your promise.
Don’t go out.”

“I remember,” I muttered.

“And take it easy,” she instructed. “Just sit and talk. Don’t do anything
else. You’ll pass out.”

When she disappeared, Jeremy turned to me. “You really okay?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yeah. I don’t feel bad at all.” I finished the last of the cereal
and poured myself a glass of orange juice. “I feel a lot better than yesterday,”
I declared.

“Gwynnie called me last night,” Jeremy said. “She wanted to know how you were
doing. She was really messed up. You know. About hitting you.”

I snickered. “You mean she didn’t brag about what a great swing she has?”

“No way!” Jeremy insisted.

“Well, it wasn’t her fault,” I said. “I ran right into her bat. It was a real
smooth move.”

We talked about the accident for a while longer. Then I asked Jeremy if he
wanted to feel the purple bump on the side of my head.

“Hey—no way!” he cried, making a sick face.

I knew that would gross him out.

He helped me put away the breakfast stuff. “What do you want to do?” I asked
him.

“Your mom said you can’t go out,” Jeremy reminded me.

“So we’ll stay in,” I replied.

“Want to play pool?” he suggested.

We have a pool table in our basement. It’s a regulation-size table, and there
isn’t quite enough room for it. You have to tilt your pool cue up and play
around the concrete beams.

“Yeah. I’ll play you,” I agreed. He’s a much better pool player than I am.
But sometimes I get lucky and beat him.

I finished shoving the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher. Then I led the
way to the basement door.

I reached for the doorknob—then stopped.

I live in your basement.

I remembered the boy’s voice on the phone. So flat and cold.

You’re going to take care of me from now on…. I live in your basement.

His words came back to me. They made me hesitate at the door.

But I only imagined that call, I told myself.

There was no boy. No voice. No Keith.

I imagined it because I got hit on the head.

Right?

I pulled open the door. I gazed down the basement steps.

Then, gripping the banister, I led the way down.

As soon as I reached the basement, I ran around turning on all the lights.
Even in the laundry room.

Jeremy picked up a pool cue and began to chalk the tip. “What is your
problem, Marco?” he called. “Are we going to play or not?”

“I like a lot of light,” I told him.

I peeked behind the big stack of cartons near the furnace. Then I squeezed
behind the furnace to see if anyone was living back there.

Nothing but a tall mountain of dust. I was beginning to feel a little silly.

Why would anyone be living in my basement? The whole idea was crazy.

I trotted over to the pool table and picked out a cue. Then Jeremy and I
began to play.

He sank the three ball in a side pocket. On his next shot, balls clattered
all over the table. But nothing dropped in.

My turn. I had to squeeze between the table and a concrete pole and tilt the cue up toward the ceiling. Not an easy shot.

I missed everything.

“Did you ever play pool with Gwynnie?” Jeremy asked, moving around the table
to find his best shot.

“No. Never,” I told him. “Is she any good?”

He snickered. “She plays pool the way she plays softball. She hits the balls
so hard, she
cracks
them. A bunch of us were playing once at the Youth
Center. Gwynnie sent a ball flying off the table, and it sailed out the window!”

“Maybe she thinks she has to hit a home run!” I joked.

We both laughed. Laughing made the side of my head hurt.

Thinking about Gwynnie made my head hurt!

Jeremy bounced the seven ball into the eight ball. The eight ball almost
dropped into a corner pocket. “That was close!” He sighed.

Maybe you don’t know the rules of pool. If the eight ball goes in, you lose.

That’s the only way I ever beat Jeremy.

“The Franklin twins were playing at the Youth Center too,” Jeremy continued.
“And they got into a fight.”

I rolled my eyes. “So what else is new?”

“It was so dumb,” Jeremy said. “They were arguing over which is the six ball
and which is the nine ball. They started fencing with their pool cues. And then they smeared blue chalk all over each other.”

“Nice,” I murmured. I hit the twelve ball a solid shot, but it didn’t go in.
“Why do you think the Franklin twins fight all the time?” I asked.

Jeremy thought about it for a moment. “Because they’re twins,” he said
finally. “Even
they
can’t tell each other apart. And so they have to
prove they’re different from each other.”

“That’s very deep,” I replied. I wanted to think about that.

But a strange sound made me spin away from the table.

A scratching sound. Very close.

A scratch. Then a
BUMP.

“Did you hear that?” I whispered to Jeremy.

He nodded. “Yes.” He pointed to the stairs.

Another
BUMP.

We have a large pantry cabinet under the stairwell. The noises were coming
from inside the cabinet.

We both stared at the wooden cabinet door.

Another
BUMP.

“There’s someone in there,” I muttered. “Someone trying to get out.”

Jeremy narrowed his eyes at me. “Why would someone be hiding in your
cabinet?”

I made my way over to the cabinet door. “Who’s in there?” I called.

No reply.

A scraping sound. Someone right behind the door.

“Who is it?” I repeated.

No reply.

I grabbed the cabinet door. Took a deep breath. Tugged it open.

And screamed as a creature leaped out at me.

“A squirrel!” Jeremy cried.

Yes. A fat gray squirrel jumped from the closet—onto my leg.

It fell off. Hit the floor, its eyes wild, its legs thrashing the air.
Sliding on the linoleum, it took off across the basement.

“How did a squirrel get in there?” Jeremy asked.

I was still too startled to reply. I watched the squirrel try to climb one of
the concrete beams. It slipped off, turned, and ran toward the laundry room.

I finally found my voice. “We’ve got to get it out of here!” I shrieked. “Mom
freaks out when animals get in the house. You know. They have germs.”

The squirrel was staring back at us from the laundry room door. “Get him!” I
cried.

Jeremy and I chased after the squirrel.

It darted around the laundry room. Behind the dryer. Nowhere to run now.

“I’ve got it!” I shrieked. I stretched out my hands and made a wild dive.

But the squirrel scampered right over my back. Dodged past Jeremy. And raced
back into the main room.

My head started to throb. I was breathing hard.

I darted out of the laundry room. The squirrel ran under the pool table, its
bushy tail standing straight up.

I checked to make sure both basement windows were open. Then I grabbed an old
fishing net from against the wall.

The frightened animal stopped running and turned back to Jeremy and me. Its
whole body trembled. Its little black eyes pleaded with us.

“Here, squirrel! Here, squirrel!” I called to it, waving the net. “We’re not
going to hurt you.”

I swiped the net at it. Missed.

The squirrel took off. Jeremy dove for it. He missed too.

As we watched helplessly, the squirrel jumped onto the pile of cartons by the
furnace. Climbed to the top. And leaped out of the basement window.

“Yesssss!”
Jeremy and I both cheered and slapped each other a high five.

“Victory over all squirrels!” Jeremy boomed in his deepest voice.

I didn’t know what that was supposed to mean. But we both burst out laughing.

Mom’s voice from the top of the stairs cut our laughter short. “What’s going
on down there?” she called.

“Nothing,” I replied quickly. “Just playing pool.”

“Marco—be careful with those pool sticks,” she shouted. “You’ll poke your
eye out.”

Jeremy and I played a few games. He beat me easily each time. But we had fun.
And we didn’t poke out any eyes.

Mom made us sandwiches and chicken noodle soup for lunch. She kept warning us
to blow on the soup or else we’d burn the skin off our tongues.

Yuck.

After lunch, I started to feel tired. So Jeremy went home.

“Go up to your room and watch TV or take a nap,” Mom advised. “I warned you
not to overdo it.”

“I didn’t overdo it,” I grumbled. But I went upstairs and took a long nap.

Too long. Late that night, I couldn’t get to sleep. I felt wide awake.

I read for a while. Then I did a little channel surfing, but I didn’t find
anything good to watch.

I glanced at my bed table clock. A few minutes after midnight.

My stomach growled. Maybe I need a midnight snack, I decided.

I clicked on the hall light and made my way downstairs to the kitchen. But I
didn’t get as far as the kitchen. To my surprise, the basement door stood open.

“Weird,” I muttered. Mom always keeps that door closed. She’s a nut about
keeping doors shut.

I walked over to the door. And started to push it closed.

But I stopped when I heard a scraping sound down there.

Footsteps?

I poked my head into the opening and peered down into the darkness. “Who—who’s down there?” I called.

I heard more scraping steps.

And then a boy’s voice called up. “It’s me. Keith. Don’t you remember? I live
down here.”

“No! You don’t exist!”

The words burst from my mouth. My cry sounded shrill and frightened.

I heard more footsteps on the linoleum floor. Then the basement light flashed
on.

And I stared down at—Mom!

“Huh?” I gasped.

“Marco—why aren’t you asleep?” she demanded, frowning up at me, hands at
her waist.