Short Story Spotlight: Betty's Basement
Basements are spooky places, right? Despite horror not really being my thing (or so I claim, anyway), I wrote a story for the NYC Midnight 500-word Fiction Challenge 2023 that came 8th in my group in Round 1. My assignment was as follows:
- Genre: Suspense and/or Thriller
- Action: Turning on a flashlight
- Object: A birthday cake
- Word Limit: 500
As part of my efforts to share y writing with the world, here is my unedited Round 1 entry. Feedback Welcome!
Betty's Basement
I run up the path, the rain seeming to hit me from every angle. A clap of thunder nearly makes me slip on the slick cobblestones. Tessa hasn’t left a light on for me, as usual, and I’m left to fumble through my purse in the dark. Everything is wet and I narrowly avoid dropping the dripping keys.
I get the door open. The house is dark. My heart begins to pound in my chest.
“Don’t be silly,” I tell myself, but I can’t help thinking of Gabrielle, murdered in her own home less than a week ago.
That had been a dark and stormy night too.
Another such night swims into my memory, one from long, long ago. Four little girls, playing little girl games. . .
“Tessa,” I call, as much to get her attention as to stop my own thoughts. “Why are the damn lights off?”
No answer. I try the light switch to no avail. The storm must have tripped the power.
“Tessa, are you there?” I call. “Tessa!”
No answer.
“God dammit,” I mutter. I find my way to the hall table and fumble for the flashlight. I turn it on and head for the kitchen.
Tessa isn’t there. Nor is she in the living room or the bedroom or the bathroom. Either she is avoiding me, or she’s left.
Without her car, parked in my spot in the driveway.
Or her handbag, which I can see on the bed.
Only the basement is left. I hate basements, even brightly painted ones like ours. All basements remind me of Betty’s.
Four little girls. Tessa, Gabrielle, Betty, and me. . .
I sweep the basement with the flashlight but freeze when the light lands on a cake.
A pink cake, in the middle of the craft table, eight unlit candles and the words Happy Birthday, Betty on the top.
My heart stops.
“It was an accident,” I whisper.
Four little girls go into a basement, three little girls come out.
It was hours before Betty’s parents found her. We all swore we’d said goodbye to her at the front door and left. They’d believed us. It was supposed to be over.
Betty hadn’t come back to school. “A long hospital stay,” the teacher had said. “Such a sad thing to happen on her birthday.”
Tessa, Gabrielle, and I never saw Betty again. We’d never said a word, not even to each other.
My eyes are transfixed on the cake. My feet refuse to flee.
Then, quietly, right next to my left ear:
“Boo.”
I shriek and drop the flashlight. My feet hit a box, and I fall to the ground.
My hands are covered in something sticky from the floor. The flashlight rolls to illuminate a pair of staring, dead eyes.
Tessa. In a pool of her own blood.
Something heavy lands on my head, and I know no more.
