Blackened Spiral Down Read Online Free PDF
Author: Pete Altieri
from the rain coming in the gaping holes on the roof. As I walked, floor boards creaked, and I could hear animals scurrying in the attic above my head. I knew enough to bring a good flashlight with me, because even though it was daytime, the boarded-up windows didn’t offer much light inside. The first floor was empty, aside from the few boxes left behind when the church closed down. There was also some broken furniture and piles of clothes in one corner, probably donations that never made it past the bin they kept for that purpose.
I stopped every few steps to listen for any noises. I didn’t hear any. I did notice another strong odor as I approached the door that apparently led to the basement. It was an odd smell, like rotting fruit, but a stomach-churning cocktail that almost forced me to vomit before my hand touched the door. I knew it was something bad coming from the basement, and I figured the police would really need an upstanding citizen like me to tell them all about it. I grabbed one of the t-shirts in the pile of donated clothes and placed it over my nose and mouth in a futile attempt to mask the horrible stench. The moldy odor of the shirt did little to hide the miasma of death ascending the stairs, as I opened the door and began my descent into the blackness.
The basement stairs creaked and groaned as I made my way down. I clutched the wobbly handrail, hoping the old wood wouldn’t give way and send me cascading into the unknown. I was also thinking about the stranger I had seen enter the church and hoped that I was not going to see him down here. The smell was overwhelming and became increasingly stronger with each step. The dampness of the basement was palpable, and the humidity amplified the pungent odor, making it feel as if I was walking through a dense fog. It was then that I heard what sounded like a female voice calling out.
“Help me!” she cried, and then I heard what sounded like fingernails on wood, followed by a soft pounding. I believed she was on the other side of the basement from where I was, frozen on the last stair.
“Who is there?” I called out, shocked to hear any signs of life in the pitch black. My heart was racing as I made it past the last stair and to the damp concrete floor. She didn’t reply, but I could hear a soft cry and whimpering in the void.
As I gingerly made my way across the floor, my eyes slowly began to adjust to the darkness. My flashlight beam was strong, thanks to a fresh set of batteries, and I tried to figure out where the faint voice was coming from. It sounded very weak, from a woman in obvious distress. I could still hear the soft cries coming from across the basement. Then I tripped over something on the floor that sent me sprawling face-first into the concrete. My flashlight bounced and was sent sliding across the floor, several feet into the darkness. When it came to rest, the utter silence in the basement was maddening. I could see the beam of light pointing to my right as I struggled to get up. My face stung from the blow, and I could feel sharp pain in my right arm, where I attempted to cushion the fall. I felt something cold but sticky touch the side of my face, and I jumped back in terror!
I scrambled to get to my flashlight. I wish now I never found the light. I also wished I had never decided to go into the church or into the abyss of the basement. Undoing what I had already done was not possible, as I held the flashlight in my now quivering hands, shining its light upon the source of the cold and sticky thing that touched me. The sight of it was horrible and etched into my mind, no matter how hard I would try to make it go away. There was a large wooden table in the middle of the basement floor. On that table were various body parts strewn about, in pools of coagulated blood and other bodily fluids. These sickening, rotting human pieces were in various stages of
I stopped every few steps to listen for any noises. I didn’t hear any. I did notice another strong odor as I approached the door that apparently led to the basement. It was an odd smell, like rotting fruit, but a stomach-churning cocktail that almost forced me to vomit before my hand touched the door. I knew it was something bad coming from the basement, and I figured the police would really need an upstanding citizen like me to tell them all about it. I grabbed one of the t-shirts in the pile of donated clothes and placed it over my nose and mouth in a futile attempt to mask the horrible stench. The moldy odor of the shirt did little to hide the miasma of death ascending the stairs, as I opened the door and began my descent into the blackness.
The basement stairs creaked and groaned as I made my way down. I clutched the wobbly handrail, hoping the old wood wouldn’t give way and send me cascading into the unknown. I was also thinking about the stranger I had seen enter the church and hoped that I was not going to see him down here. The smell was overwhelming and became increasingly stronger with each step. The dampness of the basement was palpable, and the humidity amplified the pungent odor, making it feel as if I was walking through a dense fog. It was then that I heard what sounded like a female voice calling out.
“Help me!” she cried, and then I heard what sounded like fingernails on wood, followed by a soft pounding. I believed she was on the other side of the basement from where I was, frozen on the last stair.
“Who is there?” I called out, shocked to hear any signs of life in the pitch black. My heart was racing as I made it past the last stair and to the damp concrete floor. She didn’t reply, but I could hear a soft cry and whimpering in the void.
As I gingerly made my way across the floor, my eyes slowly began to adjust to the darkness. My flashlight beam was strong, thanks to a fresh set of batteries, and I tried to figure out where the faint voice was coming from. It sounded very weak, from a woman in obvious distress. I could still hear the soft cries coming from across the basement. Then I tripped over something on the floor that sent me sprawling face-first into the concrete. My flashlight bounced and was sent sliding across the floor, several feet into the darkness. When it came to rest, the utter silence in the basement was maddening. I could see the beam of light pointing to my right as I struggled to get up. My face stung from the blow, and I could feel sharp pain in my right arm, where I attempted to cushion the fall. I felt something cold but sticky touch the side of my face, and I jumped back in terror!
I scrambled to get to my flashlight. I wish now I never found the light. I also wished I had never decided to go into the church or into the abyss of the basement. Undoing what I had already done was not possible, as I held the flashlight in my now quivering hands, shining its light upon the source of the cold and sticky thing that touched me. The sight of it was horrible and etched into my mind, no matter how hard I would try to make it go away. There was a large wooden table in the middle of the basement floor. On that table were various body parts strewn about, in pools of coagulated blood and other bodily fluids. These sickening, rotting human pieces were in various stages of