Horror Stories To Read To The Beast In The Basement

Horror Stories To Read To The Beast In The Basement

Winslow Swan

Published by Winslow Swan

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2019 by Winslow Swan

Other Works by this Author

Evil Within

The Suicide Killers: The First Jake Rhodes Mystery

Do Not Read This Book

Toppling Over The Edge

The Convincer

Feather Brained

Creepy Short Horror Stories To Read To The Creature In The Closet

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

This book is dedicated to a very special person, who, at a very low point in my life, still believed in me. Thank you for being there when I needed you. Dedicated to Crimson McKenzie, my starshine.

Table Of Contents

A Mouse Problem

After Christmas

He Tried

Hungry

I Am Pure Evil

Lucky Penny

One Heinous Act

The House

The Suitcase

Forward

Once again we find ourselves gathered together in a gloomy circle, the lights turned down low enough to create an atmosphere of dread but just bright enough to read by. Perhaps you have lit a few candles and the flickering lights are creating strange shadows on the walls. The Thing under the bed has joined you, for it has also enjoyed the stories written for it but now has heard the collection written for his friend that lurks among the clothes in the closet, the Creature. Both entities are poised and ready to hear you, dear reader, regale them with another story to appease their own inner demons. They wait patiently for you to settle in and begin.

Wait! What was that noise? It didn’t come from under the bed or even from the closet which, as you now notice, the door partially opened (better for the Creature to hear you). Yes it was definitely a strange sound coming from somewhere else in the house. You are sure that you heard something, just a slight noise, barely even audible but you swear that you have heard something. You strain your ears, hoping that you may hear the sound again, or perhaps you are hoping that you don’t.

You placate yourself with different excuses as to what the noise could have been. Perhaps it was just the house settling, making those various creaks and groans as the wood expands and contracts. Maybe your cat or dog was simply stretching as it dreamed of running through a green field, free of the worries of life. A small mouse could have invaded the peaceful domesticity of your humble abode and while foraging for a crumb bumped into something. A bird may have even bumped into the window on its way to its nest for the evening.

There it is again!

No, this was no creaking of wood, no yawn from an animal, no furry little creature or winged emissary. This was a definite low and guttural growl, somewhere in the depths of the house. A slight chill runs up your spine as you ponder whether to go and search for the noise or stay in the safety of your warm bed or favorite easy chair. It is a known fact that the creatures of the night, the monsters that invade your dimension cannot hurt you while you are protected by your bed or easy chair.

The noise, you perceive, is coming from the basement and you realize that there is indeed a Beast lurking somewhere in the darkness of the lowest most floor of your home. This monster has been listening to the stories as well and wonders when it will get its own collection.

Lying open in front of you is that collection, nine tales that I have conjured up from my fevered imagination for not only your enjoyment but for that Beast that wanders among the tools and endless array of discarded items, stored away somewhere in the underworld known as your basement. It is a constant dark area of your house and only used when absolutely necessary, so the Beast has a rather happy home. Still, it would enjoy a good horror story now and then.

So settle back, get comfortable, get a good grip on your nerves if you can, and begin this journey that we have taken before. Try not to read the entire collection in one sitting. Savor each story and know that the Beast is only lurking in the darkness, waiting for the next. Always leave it wanting more.

Enjoy, dear reader, as I have enjoyed writing them for you and my own Beast.

****

A Mouse Problem

You have mice.

Phillip Marstairs looked at the rather portly man in the clean white overalls with disbelief. He read the name that was embroidered on his jumpsuit and saw the green logo of the exterminating company and could not fathom how such a person with the obvious intelligence of the average tree stump had ever talked someone into employment.

Correct, Sherlock, Phillip told him, which is the exact reason that I called your company. I am sure that there were many meetings held to establish exactly who would come out here and give me the rather obvious fact that would confirm what I already knew.

The exterminator, his embroidered name of Billy seeming to flash in a dull red neon, only looked at Phillip.

What? Billy asked.

Phillip smiled and said, Yes, you obviously also have a wonderful grasp of the vocabulary of the English language. I await with great trepidation your next syllable.

Billy continued to stare.

Since I realize that I cannot joust with you verbally, Phillip continued, for you do not possess the ammunition for such a competition, will you please explain to me what I should do about the vermin problem that I now seem to have.

Again, Billy could only look at the man in the grey suit and say, Huh?

With a deep sigh, Phillip said in a very calm voice, How the fuck do I get rid of the goddamn mice?

Billy smiled and said, Oh, well, Mr. Marstairs, we can do up an entire household sweep. Yes sir, once we are done, you won’t even see neither hide nor hair of the little sum bitches.

Phillip Marstairs was in his sixties with a full head of graying hair, bright, almost clear blue eyes and very distinguished features. His long and thin body was clothed in Armani suits that he had custom made and wore only a couple of times before throwing them out and ordering something new. He always had his hair neatly trimmed and sported a slight moustache which accentuated his face. His fingers were rather long and bony but had helped him in his success as a concert pianist, playing the largest auditoriums and with the finest orchestra’s in the world.

As with himself, his home portrayed the success that he had acquired through his talent. Only the finest was allowed inside the large estate that he had purchased some years ago. He had found the mansion through a foreclosure that the bank had made. Even only paying a fraction of the cost it still was a rather handsome two million dollars, money which he could afford several times over.

Phillip had heard the tiny scurrying sounds within the wall of his kitchen a few days ago and had begun to investigate. He had told both his cook and his butler about the sounds and they said that they would try and do something about it. Their solution was to lay down a few traps and hope that the little bastards would take whatever they were using for bait.

Phillip had no idea that this was their solution to the problem as he happened upon one of the traps by accident, nearly breaking his fingers in the process. While reaching for a box of crackers in the cupboard, he heard the unmistakable sound of the spring releasing the small metal bar and clasping smartly down on his index and middle finger. He did not actually feel the pain until he pulled his hand away and saw the small block of wood tightly squeezing his digits, the ones that had made him his fortune. With a loud howl followed by a few expletives, the cook managed to pull back the metal bar and release her employer. A quick trip to the local emergency room and several x-rays later, the doctor had confirmed that there were no broken bones but the pianist would feel a lot of discomfort over the next several days. Eventually the bruising would go away and he would be one hundred percent by the time his next concert rolled around.

Two days later, he found the small hole in the wall next to his piano in the music room. It was then that Phillip decided to call in professional help.

How long will this sweep take? Phillip asked Billy who was still smiling.

Oh just a day, Billy told him. Of course you will have to leave since we use chemicals and poisons that will stink up the whole place. Now don’t worry, the stench will dissipate quickly enough.

Philip wondered if Billy knew what the word ‘dissipate’ meant but let it go before saying anything.

I don’t care how long it takes, just do it!

We can schedule you for tomorrow if that is all right? Billy said, pen and pad at the ready.

Phillip signed his name to the contract with his usual flourish and let the exterminator out to go and prepare for the battle. Walking back into the music room he was taken aback by what he saw and froze in the doorway.

Sitting directly on the keys of the piano was a small furry brown mouse. Its whiskers twitched as Phillip slowly walked toward it. To him, the creature seemed to be staring at him as if it knew what had transpired between the portly man and the thin musician. The black eyes stared with what Phillip considered to be hatred and it made a shiver run down his spine. As the pianist came closer, the mouse scurried along the keys and leaped to the floor, running toward the small hole in the wall and disappearing deep within its dark confines.

Little filthy bastard, Philip