The Things in the Basement
The last words my grandfather ever said weren't "l love you," "help" or "I don't want to die."
No, the last words to escape his stained white resp...
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The last words my grandfather ever said weren't "l love you," "help" or "I don't want to die."
No, the last words to escape his stained white respirator were the same words he said every night since my mother and I moved in last February. His decent was slow, hidden behind sun stained curtain shades and a pair of black headphones I wore at full blast. By December he'd forgotten grandma Annabelle, what year it was, and my mother's name. And yet, he still muttered these same words, night after night.
"Lock the basement, they wanna get out."
Read less
No, the last words to escape his stained white respirator were the same words he said every night since my mother and I moved in last February. His decent was slow, hidden behind sun stained curtain shades and a pair of black headphones I wore at full blast. By December he'd forgotten grandma Annabelle, what year it was, and my mother's name. And yet, he still muttered these same words, night after night.
"Lock the basement, they wanna get out."
Read less
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