the basement

Absolutely — here’s a creepy horror story set in a basement:

“The Basement”

When Ben’s uncle died, he inherited the old house in Vermont. It was huge, creaky, and smelled like wet stone and old wood — a place where silence had weight. But the worst part was the basement.

It had a thick, iron door that locked from the outside. No one knew why.

Curious (and maybe a little foolish), Ben decided to go down there his first night.

The air changed the moment he opened the door — colder, heavier. Each step down the wooden stairs creaked like it was screaming not to be used. The light switch didn’t work, of course, but he had a flashlight.

The beam cut through the black, revealing nothing but a dirt floor, stone walls, and broken furniture. Still, he had the strangest feeling that he wasn’t alone. That something was just outside the edge of the light.

Then he heard breathing.

Not his own. It was deeper. Ragged. Wet.

He turned quickly — nothing. Just old junk and shadows.

Then he noticed the writing. Scratched into the stone, over and over:
“DON’T FEED IT”

That’s when he saw the bowl.

An old, rusted metal bowl sitting in the corner, stained with something dark.

Ben stepped backward — and stepped on something soft. He turned around.

A second bowl. This one full. Meat. Still bleeding.

The breathing got louder.

The flashlight flickered.

Something moved in the dark — something big.

He turned to run, but the basement door slammed shut above him. Locked.

And then… he heard footsteps.

Not from the stairs.
From behind him.

And the last thing he saw, before the light went out, was a pair of eyes — too wide, too low to the ground, and much too hungry.