A Place So Wicked by Patrick Reuman (life books to read txt) 📕

most of the time as of late, a polar opposite of how he knew him to be. Just like his mother, his father didn’t say anything; he simply walked past the opening to the living room. Toby saw something in his dad’s hand but didn’t catch exactly what it was before he disappeared. He heard the sound of his dad placing whatever it was on the counter, then, again, like his mother, his father rounded the corner out of the kitchen and headed up the stairs. Toby thought it strange that he didn’t at least get a hello. Maybe his dad hadn’t even noticed him, his mind too focused on whatever it was he was doing.

The news ended, and Toby leaned back, closing his eyes. The fact that he spent most of his night awake in a state of extreme happiness was finally catching up to him as his eyelids began to feel heavy. He yawned, stretching his arms as air escaped his lungs.

His dad came rushing down the stairs with loud, heavy footfalls. He stepped into the living room, a crowbar in his hand, and a small box in the other, startling Toby into dizzy awakeness.

“I need your help; Robbie is still pretty sick.”

Toby sat forward, blinking. “With what?”

“The locksmith can’t come for a couple days, so we’re going to break the door down.”

That’s when the presence of the stench came rushing back to him. He had been so overwhelmed in his own thoughts that his mind managed to shut out the horrible aroma that had plagued their house. He was about to argue that he didn’t want to go down there but stopped himself, noticing quickly, now that he was more alert, that his father looked in no mood to argue. He would lose either way, and he didn’t need his father’s wrath added on to the agony of having to tread down into the putrid pit that was their basement.

Toby stood and walked over to the front door to put his shoes on, his mind telling him it was something he should do. He supposed that if the basement stunk as bad as it did, then maybe the subterranean room was dirty, even though the running theory was that the stench was stemming from inside some room that he hadn’t even seen yet. He imagined stepping on a rusty nail and dying from whatever was making his brother and uncle sick.

His father didn’t say anything about the shoes as they started toward the basement. Generally, this would be against the rules, but his dad had his shoes on as well. Everything seemed to be falling into chaos, the entire house in a constant state of ruleless disarray.

Just outside the basement door, he could already smell the stench more thickly, like it was a tangible substance, a scented aerosol that someone had gone overboard with spraying. He realized then that he had been unknowingly avoiding this small portion of the house, him not having walked by this door since maybe even the first day they moved in there.

“I picked up this crowbar on my way home. We’re going to use it to pry open the door.” He paused for a second then held up the small box he had been carrying. “I’ve got a new lightbulb for the basement. I’ll go put it in. When I call up, you turn on the light.”

It didn’t seem like the best plan, but he didn’t have any holes to poke in it, either. He hadn’t been down there so he wasn’t sure how difficult it would be for his dad to reach the light socket in nothing but the light coming from the stairs and any windows down there. He dreaded the seconds as they stood there, moments away from descending the stairs. Finally, after a long second, his dad reached for the door and twisted the handle.

The expected wave of stench poured out at them. Toby cringed and turned away from the descending pit. It didn’t help at all. It felt like the hairs in his nose were singeing. The vertigo came quickly. His ability to focus on anything other than the smell was suffocated into oblivion.

His dad stormed ahead like an officer performing a drug raid, as if the smell wasn’t even there, not fanning in front of his face or hiding his nose under his shirt, just charging down the stairs with ruthless determination. The stairs didn’t even creak, as if they were brand new. He expected them to be old and haggard, like they were barely holding together against whatever death was filling the air down there. The light reached the bottom of the stairs, but that’s where it stopped, and also where his dad disappeared off to the right.

Toby waited a moment, wondering if his father would be okay, imagining childishly that some monster had been waiting down in the dark for the opportunity to pounce.

“Okay, do it!” his dad shouted up, groggy, like he had forced the words out against something lodged in his throat.

Toby did as commanded and hit the light switch. The basement lit bright white. He descended the stairs slowly, trying to hold his breath, taking in the cavern as it appeared. It was wide, and tall enough to stand in, and mostly empty. The walls were made of stone, large chunks held together by some white adhesive. The basement went back a way until he spotted the door in question, located almost dead center of the furthest wall from the stairs.

His dad was already at it, sizing up his stationary opponent. Toby had moved his arm over his nose, trying to shield away as much of the filth as he could. It wasn’t working very well. The best course of action, he figured, was to just hurry and try to get the door open as quickly as possible.

If only it had been that