FICTION | THE SEEDLING CHALLENGE | MICRO-FICTION
Into the Man Cave
A dark encounter.
This story is part of the Seedling Challenge conceived by Bradan Writes Stories.
This is the third installment, a micro-fiction.
To start the story from the beginning, click here. Or, to read the last installment, Brotherly Help, click here. Or, to read the next installment, A Memory Stirs, click here.
Stay tuned to watch this story grow and grow!
Sam landed. Hard. A ragged step dug painfully into his back.
“Ow! Jack!” Sam cried. “You turd!” Laughter from above, scampering footsteps, and a door slamming far off responded. Sam was alone in the tangible blackness.
Sam windmilled his arms frantically against the walls for the light switch.
By luck, a fingertip brushed against the worn plastic light switch, and light poured into the darkness below.
Nothing unnatural stared up at him; only an old sagging bookshelf loaded with ancient National Geographics stood sentry.
Cursing his brother, Sam limped the last few steps to the bottom and into the smells of stale beer, mildew, and long-ago tamped-out cigars. Man cave smells, he thought, and smiled.
Navigating past half-forgotten belongings, Sam reached the heart of his father’s man cave, a testament to his father’s hobbies: shelves of old sports memorabilia and a worn-out recliner surrounded by stacks of magazines his mother called his father’s “mistresses.”
Sam felt watched. He supposed it was only natural to feel that way when you were in a space you knew you had no business being in.
Still, he glanced around nervously, expecting some hidden prank to fly out at him.
Sam spotted the hockey stick amongst old golf clubs and grabbed it.
That’s when he heard a noise.
Movement. Scraping. Behind him.
Spinning around, he spotted a pair of eyes reflecting from the shadows of the stairwell. Not dog eyes. Something larger.
“J-Jack?” Sam croaked. No. Not Jack. Sam could hear his brother’s playful jeers somewhere outside. This was something else.
The glowing eyes shifted upwards as if their owner stood up.
The lights went out.
Holding out the hockey stick like a sword, Sam listened with horror to the sound of claws scraping down the basement stairs.
Click here for the fourth installment, A Memory Stirs.
Author’s Note: This is a rewrite of the short-form story I penned back in April entitled, “Into the Basement.” The Seedling Challenge inspired me to broaden the character’s story and give some closure to the boy’s plight.
