Kyle crept down the staircase into the cellar.
One step. Two steps. Three steps.
He lowered his bare foot to the fourth step and held it there for a moment, glancing down at the wooden stair and his bare toes. He held his breath and, as gently as he could, put his weight on the stair.
Creeeeeeak.
He paused, eyes scanning the dark below him. He hated that stair.
Five steps. Six steps. Seven, eight, nine — all the way to thirteen.
He was in the cellar.
Kyle took a deep breath and turned around, looking at the light from the top of the stairs. He could see his older brother John looking down at him, one hand on the door. “Okay, I’m down now!” Kyle called up.
“Okay! I’m timing you!” John called back, closing the door.
It took a few minutes for Kyle’s eyes to adjust. He saw shapes dart around in the dark surroundings. His breathing came quick and shallow. He and John were doing the chicken test. The idea was simple — chicken quits first.
Kyle was always the chicken. He couldn’t hold his breath the longest. He couldn’t stay outside in the snow the longest. He couldn’t hold spiders the longest.
But this time, he wasn’t going to be the chicken.
“There’s nothing scary in the dark,” he whispered.
“Nothing scary,” the dark whispered back, on cusp of his hearing.
He spun around.
“…hello?” he whispered.
Nothing.
He wiped his hands across his face and pressed his eyes until he saw lights that weren’t there. How long had he been down here?
“Nothing scary,” he whispered, holding his hands out. He took a step forward. Then another. He wished he could turn on a light.
He heard a shuffle behind him. Beneath the stairs?
He spun again.
“Hello?”
Silence.
He took a couple unsteady steps. He inched around the darkness without stubbing his little toes, keeping a hand on the side of the dusty staircase as he continued.
He heard the shuffling sound again. He froze.
“…Hello?”
“Hello,” he heard back — but only barely.
“John! John turn on the light!” Kyle called. “John!”
No response.
“John!”
Kyle turned and ran, hand on the staircase. He tripped over something he hadn’t noticed before landing on his knees. Tears welled up in his eyes.
“John! John, please turn on the light!”
The door upstairs opened. A sliver of light shone down.
“Are you chicken?” John asked in a sing-song voice that said he knew he won.
“John, something’s down here.” Kyle was back on his feet at the bottom of the stairs.
“What is it, Kyle?”
“I… I don’t know. It talked to me.”
“There’s nothing down there. Nothing but a big chicken named Kyle.”
“I am not a chicken!” Kyle yelled.
“Then prove it.” John said. Kyle couldn’t see it, but he could hear the smile on John’s face. And he hated it. He looked up the stairs defiantly, and then back into the dark. His eyes lingered beneath the stairs before he looked back up at John.
“I’m not a chicken.”
“Okay then. I tell you what. Ten minutes, and I’ll let you win.”
“Ten minutes?” Kyle looked in the spaces between the wooden stairs. He couldn’t see anything.
“Ten minutes,” John repeated.
“Okay.”
The door closed and Kyle was back by himself.
“I’m not scared. There’s nothing in the dark. Nothing,” Kyle whispered, sliding his hands into his denim pockets.
“Nothing,” the voice in the dark said from behind Kyle, making him spin again.
“Nothing,” Kyle said a little louder. It was all in his head.
“Psst,” he heard from behind, and spun again.
Then the shuffling noise.
Kyle took a couple of steps towards the sound. “You’re just my imagination,” he said in the bravest voice he could muster.
“Then there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Kyle stopped. That sounded a little bit louder.
He thought he saw something move. He knew he heard it.
“I’m not…” Kyle started to say.
“Not scared?” The voice was louder. Crackly.
And then Kyle saw two eyes open. And then two more right below. Eyes glowing like an animal’s in the night.
And he felt the warm humidity of breath, and smelt the sour odour it carried in its raspy laughter.
Kyle screamed.
He turned and ran, calling for John. He pulled himself up the stairs, faster than he thought he could run, calling for John the whole time.
When Kyle made it to the top of the staircase he grabbed for the door handle, turning and throwing his weight against it. The door didn’t give. John had locked it.
“John, open up!” He cried. He didn’t want to, but he could feel his eyes burning. “John, please open up! I want out! I want out! I’m a chicken! I don’t care. Help me, John!”
“Chicken.” The voice rasped from the bottom of the stairs.
“Five more minutes, Kyle!” John laughed from the other side of the door.
“This isn’t funny, John! Please!”
“Funny. Funny,” the voice repeated. Kyle turned around. He saw the four eyes moving towards him.
One step. Two steps. Three steps.
He turned, banging on the door.
“John!”
Four steps, five steps, and the breathing was nearer. Six, seven, eight and nine.
The tenth step let out something between a creak and a groan beneath the weight of whatever was behind him.
“John, please!” he wept.
“Four minutes!” John laughed.
Eleven steps, and Kyle felt the warm breath on his neck.
“John!”
“Okay, okay,” John said and the lock clicked.
On the twelfth step, Kyle felt something wrap around his leg, and he fell, hitting his head on step thirteen. His tongue felt too big for his mouth, and he tasted the warm iron of his blood.
“John!” He tried to call, but he was being pulled away.
He saw light as the door opened, before being dragged beneath the staircase.
“Kyle?” John said, a little confused. “Kyle?”
Matthias R. Winters is inspired by both historical and modern horror and science fiction. He writes from the comfort of his home in rural Alberta, trying to find darkness in the simple things to raise the hairs on the back of your neck while you read along.
If you enjoyed this story, show your support on Patreon.
