Living in a house that pre-dated 1900 had its drawbacks. There was a network of gas valves through the walls for old-style gas lighting. Everything creaked and croaked as if people were running through the house even late at night, which was enough to wake anyone up, even my father who had the steely nerves any self-respecting prison guard (RUO) should have. And the bats would love to sneak in for warmth from the Michigan winters in the multiple old cracks in the house’s walls and roof.
But the part I hated most in the house I grew up in, was the basement. An old relic from a time before my great grandparents even, the stony and wood laden place felt like it was more of an Evil Dead set piece rather than a place to keep the boiler, washer, and dryer. It had those things, as well as a single toilet, and the room opposite my father kept his records, and his music equipment. It was his little ‘mancave’, more or less, and a sort of in-between for what felt like an “evil” aspect of the place I hated most in that house. There was also the back room that we never went in, a place with things left from previous owners that no one in my family wished to deal with… almost as if we could sense something was wrong with what was back there.
For years I’d have nightmares about a boy getting stuck down there, between a door and a maze that spanned under the house… and foul multi-legged creatures that often were harmless. But to this boy they weren’t harmless, because of an allergy he had to these “wolf spiders” specifically.
I’d wake up screaming, crying, alone in my room as shadows from the large trees outside clawed at my bedroom. My mother would console me, but my father was often annoyed. After all, he had work and a screaming child was a nuisance when you had to work a hard job like his to provide, so often it would be followed with him saying “It’s just a dream, Rensin—go back to sleep”, while my mother would stick in my room, and hold my hand till I fell asleep.
This went on for years, as did the concerning feeling of the basement. One summer however, I had it in my mind that I needed a computer. Games like Diablo and Ultima were out, and I wanted to play them—so I spent that summer earning money to buy myself a computer, a desk, the games, and even a subscription to Ultima, and my father agreed to put internet in as long as I kept my grades up. The caveat?
He didn’t want it to be in my room so that I wasn’t tempted to stay up and play my games. At the time this was reasonable—I was only just a teenager with the self-restraint of a dog facing a cake made of bacon. I hated that basement, but considering the investment I was going to make I was willing to deal with what I perceived at the time to be unwarranted fear.
I’d sit down there, happily playing my games, and often I’d hear the “pipes rattle”, and that noise of “running” I’d mentioned earlier that we’d always attributed to the house settling. But what started to spook me was I could swear I heard giggling sometimes, then crying. One night, there was a shriek, even—turned out the boiler had busted, but when that happened I almost shed my skin out of fright.
Eventually, I’d started to play my computer less and less as the unnerving feeling wouldn’t go away, and I was noticing spiders were getting bad down there. I’d never been afraid of them before, but the large wolf spiders were becoming more and more frequent, and my anxiety around them was constantly growing.
Years went by, and by the time I was going to graduate, my parents had split up and my dad was going to sell the house. So of course I was going to help him sell it, and therefore we had to clean. We dared to go into the room and see what was there. Odd carvings of wooden horses, a -very- creepy old doll, board games from a very old era… and a door with the carving in it. A carving I will never forget.
One side of it said “YOU X”, the other said “ME X”. And above both it said “You and me, Me and you.” Below it said “I’m above, and you’re below.”
Weird, we thought. But what made both my father and I stop was when we took my desk apart. We flipped it over, and in the same damn handwriting was this. “Never side by side.” Immediately he thought I was playing a prank on him—but my writing wasn’t so ornate, nor was I smart enough at the time to do something so elaborate. Our minds went to the rational—it must have been one of my friends.
My curiosity got the best of me however, and I went to the library some time after to check on the history of my house.
There was one death in the house. Two brothers were playing in the basement, near the cistern. Somehow, one was playing with a door that was taken off the hinges to be replaced with something more modern, and it toppled his brother into the cistern, which was covered by the same door. He couldn’t get his brother out, and their parents weren’t home.
These old cisterns would connect around the block of houses, and while there was enough room to walk down there… there was no light, they were often a maze underneath… and worst of all? They were often filled with spiders especially in the cold months. This boy had a severe allergy, and walked through a patch of them, only to be bitten enough that the allergy caused him to go into shock, and pass away.
I believe this was the same door we found. I believe the boy had told me his story multiple times, and I didn’t want to listen.
It never was me in control during those times of unsolicited fear. It was him. I was his vessel, and unwittingly so. I’m glad I never went through with any urge to climb down the hole to the cistern myself… but honestly that’s probably by his own design too. He never wanted to be down there… it was his brother’s fault.
He won’t leave me now. He’s stuck with me, and me with him. Every time I see a spider, I lose to him.
I fear spiders, because he feared spiders. We fear them together.