The Basement
by Andrew Welsh-Huggins
Horrific Scribes Extremity Rating:
Daniel was nervous. He wasn’t sure why. He’d met girlfriends’ parents before. His two previous girlfriends’, anyway. On reflection, those events were less formal. Bordering on casual. Handshakes after church. Brunch on parents’ weekend in college. That kind of thing. Not a lot of pressure.
Tonight, the stakes seemed higher. Dinner at their home. Which was understandable because things felt more serious with Hannah. Only a month together and they’d already been talking, if a bit vaguely, about marriage. Kids. A dog. The kind of house they liked, their favorite cars. They’d slept together three times–also novel for Daniel, this early on–each time better than the last.
He rang the doorbell. He weighed whether to raise the bouquet of mixed blooms with a spray of baby’s breath in his left hand or to leave it dangling. He opted for raised, held across his chest. He studied the house while he waited. Robin’s egg blue split-level, flower beds neat and mulched with only a few weeds, manageable yard–redbud in the middle–attached two-car garage. Flip the layout like a photo negative, change the color to beige, and it could have been his childhood home down to the same flag. Which made sense given how close his own parents lived. He and Hannah had missed attending the same high school by two blocks but doing the math figured they’d been at several football and basketball games, plays and musicals, and even proms at the same time, if only they’d known.
“Hi!”
Hannah, opening the door.
“Hey.” He held the flowers out to her.
“My mom,” she whispered.
“Right.”
She looked pretty. She was wearing one of his favorite outfits. A long-sleeved purple blouse over leggings and lace-up brown boots. The brown matched her shoulder-length hair. She’d told him twice recently that she wanted to lose some weight, but he thought she was perfect. Her make-up was always great.
She led him through the foyer, past an end table holding a jumbled pile of mail and a ceramic pot of potpourri, and into the kitchen. Something smelled delicious. Hannah’s mother was hovering at the sink. She wore an apron with a cartoon cat on it holding a spatula. She looked like Hannah’s somewhat older sister.
“Mom, this is Daniel.”
“Well, nice to meet you,” Hannah’s mother said, crossing the kitchen. They had an awkward moment when she tried to hug him while he tried to hand her the flowers. They laughed.
“Flowers? Looks like a keeper.”
Hannah’s father emerged from a room off the kitchen. Daniel caught a glimpse of a crowd in an arena on the TV. Her father extended his hand. Daniel met it with a grip he made sure was firm but not too firm.
“Nice to meet you,” Hannah’s father said. He looked relaxed in jeans, a plus-size blue sweatshirt, and tan loafers. Pretty much what Daniel’s father wore after work, too.
“You too, Mr. Hanson.”
“Call me Mike, please.”
“And I’m Jeannie,” Mrs. Hanson said.
“Hannah’s told us a lot about you,” Mr. Hanson said.
“Dad.”
“She talks about you guys all the time, too,” Daniel said.
A teenage boy with floppy, black hair wandered into the kitchen, white earbuds in place. He lifted a piece of French bread from a serving platter and stuffed it in his mouth.
“Ethan.” Hannah’s mother. “Dinner’s literally in five minutes.”
“What?”
She repeated the statement and pointed at the lasagna cooling on the quartz countertop.
“I’m hungry now.”
“Hey, I’m Daniel,” Daniel said, stepping forward.
“Ethan,” Ethan said, wiping his left hand on his blue sweats and shaking Daniel’s hand. “Hannah said you like to game?”
“A little.”
“Like…?”
“Fortnite, Mario. That kind of thing.”
“Cool. Maybe after dinner?” Ethan looked to Hannah for confirmation.
“Hey now–take a ticket,” Mr. Hanson said. “The game’s on. You’re a fan, right?”
“Sure,” Daniel said.
Hannah played with a strand of hair. “I think we’re going to a movie? So we don’t have a lot of time?”
“What movie?” Ethan asked.
“We haven’t decided yet.”
“The new Star Wars is good, I heard.”
“Maybe,” Hannah said, doubt in her voice.
Daniel wouldn’t have minded seeing the new Star Wars. But he was open to whatever Hannah wanted to watch.
“Seats, everyone,” Hannah’s mother said.
Dinner was the lasagna, salad, and bread. They recited a short prayer before they ate. Bless us, Oh Lord, and these thy gifts… The lasagna was cheesy with a lot of sauce and full of meat. Lasagna was one of Daniel’s favorites, but he didn’t know if they knew that. Hannah’s dad poured glasses of red wine. Ethan had a Mountain Dew. Everyone had a water glass.
“This is delicious,” Daniel said, making sure he swallowed first. “I love lasagna.”
“You’re going to fit right in, then,” Hannah’s mother said. “This was my mother’s recipe. Well, is, I guess.”
“So good, Mom,” Hannah said, her mouth full.
“Hear, hear,” Hannah’s dad said. “Wait until you taste her breaded chicken.”
“Hannah tells us you’re in marketing?” Hannah’s mother said.
“More data analysis. There’s some cross-over, though.”
“In this economy, it’s good to have a job no matter what,” Hannah’s father said approvingly.
“For sure,” Daniel said, judging whether he could reach for another piece of bread–which seemed close enough to his right hand to risk it without being impolite–or if he should play it safe and ask Hannah’s dad to pass it.
He decided it was better to ask when the light over the table dimmed.
“Oh, dear,” Hannah’s mother said. Frowning, she raised her eyebrows at Hannah’s father.
“Geez,” Hannah’s father said. “Not again.”
Daniel looked up at the gleaming, five-bulb hanging light fixture that seemed only half as bright as when they sat down. He glanced around and realized the lights in other rooms had dimmed as well. He also couldn’t hear the TV in the other room anymore.
Hannah’s mother sighed loudly.
“I thought I’d taken care of it,” Hannah’s father said, not meeting his wife’s eyes. He looked at Daniel. “Sorry. It’s something with the battery. Always acting up.” He pushed his chair back and stood. “Maybe you could give me a hand?”
“No problem.” Daniel pushed his own chair back.
“I got it,” Hannah said, standing up.
“You sure?” her father asked.
“Of course. You’re always doing it.” She looked at Daniel. “You game?”
“Definitely,” Daniel said, hiding his uncertainty. Gauging Hannah’s enthusiasm, it dawned on him that he wasn’t the only one eager to make it an evening of good impressions.
“Thanks, honey,” Hannah’s mother said. “The usual’s fine.”
“Okay.”
The door downstairs was in the hallway off the kitchen. Daniel glanced at framed family photos of Hannah and her brother and her parents, an abstract print, and an enlarged photo of what looked like the sun setting someplace in the tropics. Daniel let Hannah lead the way down the carpeted steps. They passed a bar with a couple of water rings on the top and then a large, upholstered L-shaped gray couch facing a TV that dwarfed the one he spied upstairs. Stuffed animals and decorative pillows filled the corners of the couch. Daniel took note of a blue bear and remembered Hannah telling him that was her favorite. A sliding glass door on the far side of the room led outside to a patio. Daniel followed Hannah through a utility room, past the washer and dryer, a stand-up freezer, the fuse box, and shelves of cleaning supplies, and through a narrower door at the end.
“Watch your step,” Hannah said.
The cement steps down to the basement were steep enough that Daniel waited until Hannah was halfway down before following. It took twenty seconds to descend. At the bottom, Hannah took a key hanging from a hook on the wall and unlocked the steel door in front of her. Daniel crinkled his nose at the smell as she pulled the door open.
Hannah preceded him inside the chamber and flipped a switch on the left wall. Getting his bearings, Daniel looked around. The space was fairly big, twenty-by-twenty, though the ceiling was low and the large hooks in the ceiling even lower. It was cooler down here than upstairs.
As Daniel’s eyes adjusted, he made out the room’s occupants. Twelve people, shackled evenly against all four walls, whimpering at the sight of Daniel and Hannah. Naked but for shreds of ragged clothes. What looked like nine adults and three children. He judged that the smell in the room was as much from the feces as the blood. The wounds, and especially the pus from large, open sores, also made it hard to determine everyone’s background; a grab bag, he guessed. It usually was. It was easy to tell the women from the men, but he couldn’t judge the children. Their matted hair, sunken rib cages, and thin limbs could have belonged to either gender.
“Here,” Hannah said, unsnapping a cattle prod from a wall bracket and handing it to him. She retrieved her own.
“Maybe two minutes each?” she said. “That usually works.”
“Okay.”
She turned to him. “Wait. Is this your first time?”
“Yes? Doing it myself, I mean.”
“Sorry. My dad said it was taken care of.” She rolled her eyes. “Great Meet The Parents moment.”
“It’s all right.”
“Don’t worry about the kids. They’re due for recycling. Too bad, I guess, because they’re usually the best?”
Daniel told her he understood.
He held back initially, watching as Hannah jabbed the cattle prod at the first adult, a short, bearded man with dark, hollow eyes. Studied the way she poked, thrusted, probed. The screaming was louder than he expected. It was a momentary relief when Hannah stopped to adjust the microphone hanging above the man’s head before going back to work. Admiring her prowess, Daniel had the feeling once again that Hannah might be the one.
Satisfied he knew the drill, Daniel went to work on a woman on the opposite wall who looked a little like his aunt. He fumbled at first but caught a rhythm soon enough. He knew he was doing all right when he found it hard to hear because of her shrieks of agony. Like a train whistle right up close. Although he didn’t care for it when she threw up. He glanced at Hannah, who rewarded him with a smile and a thumbs up before digging her prod into the crotch of a tall, thin man who howled for mercy.
They stopped after fifteen minutes. Daniel was wrapping up on a man with pale, scarred skin who lost consciousness after a minute of ear-piercing screams when Hannah yelled, “Okay.”
“What?”
She pointed at a green light above the brackets holding the other cattle prods.
“Back to full power,” she said. “We’re all set!”
She took his prod out of his hand, replaced it on the wall, replaced her own, and turned off the light. She waited for Daniel to walk ahead of her out of the basement. Once in the hall, she closed and locked the door, muffling the sound of moans and weeping.
“So?” Hannah said as they climbed back upstairs.
“It was all right, I guess. How’s it work?”
She turned and made her ditzy blonde face, which was one of Daniel’s favorites.
“Something to do with the decibels converting to electricity? Kind of like Monsters, Inc.? Except real?”
“Oh, yeah. I love that movie.”
“Our battery’s bad, though.”
“Makes sense. Where do you, you know, get them?”
Hannah shrugged. “My mom takes care of that part?”
They returned to the dining room. Before Daniel could take his seat, Hannah’s mother took him by the elbow and led him into the kitchen. She pulled a white tea towel from the oven door that said, “Friends are forever,” ran it under the faucet, and dabbed at his right jeans leg.
“Just a little schmutz,” she said. “It happens.”
“Thank you.”
Back at the table, the overhanging light was no longer dim. The rest of the house was bright as well. In the other room, Daniel once again heard the game on the TV. He wondered who was winning.
“Appreciate you,” Hannah’s dad said. “I really thought I’d taken care of it.”
“No problem,” Daniel said.
“Had you…?” Hannah’s mother said.
“Sort of? My friend Nick, his parents have one. I’d never personally done it, though. Hannah’s a great teacher.” As the Hansons beamed, Daniel felt Hannah’s hand slip onto his knee and give him a grateful squeeze.
“Thatta girl,” Mr. Hanson said.
“When can I do it?” Ethan said.
“You know you have to be eighteen,” Hannah said.
“Unfair,” Ethan said.
“Soon enough,” Mr. Hanson said.
Daniel, warming to the discussion, said, “It must be useful. To have your own, I mean.”
“Understatement!” Hannah’s mother said. “I’m not sure how we went without for so long. And the best thing? It’s hardly any trouble at all.”
Want another gripping story by Andrew Welsh-Huggins? Read “Sharp Enough” from Horrific Scribes, December 2025.
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