(Or Alternatively, Ghosts in the Basement)
Article by Asta Sjogren-Uyehara Art by Oliver Siegal
I’d like to kick things off by telling you that I grew up in a house without an attic. Or a basement. Or even a crawl space. It’s just as well; I’ve always been terrified of the dark. But right now, I share an off-campus home with a few friends, one that’s cute but clearly has lead paint peeling off the side and about a hundred things broken, and we have a basement (unfinished), and I think there’s a real chance there’s either a ghost or a murderer in it.
We’ve only been moved in for about a month and we have already had a supernatural unlocking.
i didn’t have a basement growing up, but i did have a garage
once i went in there and the adjoining door locked
i was plunged in the dark
that was enough basement for me
I’m pretty sure there’s a reasonable explanation for the sunglasses holding the basement door shut to have moved without me or my roommate touching them. I’m pretty sure if there was a real person of bone and blood in there, we’d know by now. I’m pretty sure ghosts (if they’re real) are friendly and want to stay out of your way and have no desire to antagonize or frighten. Being pretty sure, though, isn’t a good enough reason to ever go back down into that basement.
when i was in kindergarten we had a “ghost club”
we’d all gather around a storm drain
the one with the criss-cross grate
and listen to the “ghost” below.
now i know it was water, sloshing and crashing
we’d drop dead leaves and twigs down there
listen to the “ghost” respond
so i guess there were ghosts — just of our own creation
I don’t believe in ghosts. Except for when I do, which is most of the time. I just don’t believe they want to hurt you, and I certainly don’t believe they want to kill you. I’m much more afraid of real people. So, to clarify, ghosts are real and kind, and also don’t exist.
Like I said earlier, I’ve always been afraid of the dark. Not because of ghosts, at least I don’t think. Growing up, my bedroom had floor-to-ceiling glass doors (covered by curtains, most of the time), and at night I would conjure up images of men standing just outside, waiting for me to draw those curtains back. Or perhaps the villain of whatever scary story I had most recently heard, crouching just out of view, waiting for the lights to go off and their cloak of night to grant them safe passage into my room. Or to the dark spaces in my closet. October was hard for me. Storytime on that normally-so-comforting library rug became a nightmare. And so, in turn, did my bedroom.
Now I’m older and wiser, and still, if I am alone in a bedroom, I need a light to fall asleep. I’ve never had this problem at sleepovers, or with my boyfriend, or sharing a hotel room with my mother. But alone in the dark, I’m convinced that a lamp is going to protect me — and who am I to argue with 22 years of hard evidence? An intruder has never climbed through my window, or scratched beneath my floorboards.
dark
/därk/
(adj.) 1. with little or no light
2. (of a period of time or situation) characterized by tragedy, unhappiness, or unpleasantness
(noun) 1. the absence of light in a place
to be in the dark
in a state of ignorance about something
Please do not keep me in the dark any longer. I cannot navigate without my lamp. If I run my hands on your face, can I feel the lie? Or, more optimistically, the truth?