THE BASEMENT WINDOW
by Neil Healy –
I was kind of feeling like Batman, you know, bold and brave, ready for anything. It was cold and getting near Halloween and I loved this time of year. I used to pass by this basement window everyday as I cut through my apartment building’s back yard as a shortcut to the next block over. I was more than curious about what was in that dark, forbidden basement room.
I was nine and knew every inch of my block and each building and each Super. (For those of you not from New York, a Super is a superintendent, the man who takes care of the building). Your parents may not realize this but the Super is the first adult who doesn’t think you’re cute. He just wants you to stay out of the trash cans and the flower beds and stop pushing all the buttons on the elevator. There were nice Supers, mean ones, the ones who would chase me, and the ones who realized I was getting too big to chase.
I was feeling pretty bold one afternoon after school, and this time when I passed the basement window I was prepared. I looked up at the buildings which formed kind of a horseshoe around the pretty gardens. No one seemed to be looking down at me. I was alone. So I took a long screwdriver from inside my belt and approached the window. There was a dirt strip around the foundation, where the building met the ground. It creeped me out.
It creeped me out because in January, Flippy Fike’s father jumped from their 6th floor apartment window and quietly killed himself, quiet except for the thud. The thud left about a six-foot indentation in this dirt patch where I was standing with my screwdriver. I froze for a moment, then shook it off and knelt quickly in front of the window. It was dirty, streaked, and revealed a dark room with some old office stuff inside i. I really couldn’t see. But I thought it could be my new clubhouse. I would invite some of the guys. This was new, exciting and it was going to be my space.
I slipped the screwdriver inside the window’s edge, but then I realized the window was unlocked already and it opened easily. A cold blast of dank air hit me in the face and set the mood for what lay ahead.
It was pitch black inside. I had to decide. This was serious. Do I want to be like Batman, or should I just go back to my apartment? Mom was starting to cook. I remembered how good it smelled before I left. Nobody will ever know that I chickened out.
But I jumped down into the dark. It seemed to take a long time to hit the ground, and I rolled through thick piles of dirt and crud. I jumped up and began madly brushing off the filth. The only light came from the window I entered, and the Fall daylight was fading.
Worse than this, it began to dawn on me that the window I had just jumped through was high up, very high up. I could never reach it. No wonder my body hurt. I fell at least ten feet.
Then I saw it, an open locker door with something new inside, something shiny.
It was a silver strongbox, clean and new. There was no lock on it, but it looked like somebody had tried to pry it open recently, but gave up. I wouldn’t. I took the screwdriver and I was inside in a second. And there it was, inside he silver box was an empty glass bottle which had three big letters on the label, spelling GIN.
Looking back, it was then that I panicked. I was hoping to find a watch or a necklace or some treasure that would distract me from my growing fear. But i was too late. It was here. He was here. Mr. Fike was probably standing right next to me and no one else even knew I was here.
I ran to the only door in the room. It the door led to the basement hallway. It was locked tight. So I began piling all the rusty, pitted furniture up against the brick wall under the window. I carefully built a metal tower with chairs, tables and even an old typewriter. My strength was coming back. I made sure everything was tight, then I began to climb. I didn’t get far. I thought I felt a push on my ankle and my foot slipped. Then in a chain of events, everything came crashing down behind me. It was then that I began to scream.
And scream I did, except no one answered. I was missing dinner. I’m dead. My parents won’t get it, no matter what I say. And then I thought of poor Mr. Fike and that he won’t be having any more dinners. And then I thought of poor Mr. Fike and how he could be in the room with me. Someone told me that if you commit suicide, your ghost travels the earth trying to find you, but you are him. Anyway, it’s complicated. I started screaming again with real fear and my voice cracked. Mr. Fike’s ghost had led me here and now he’s going to kill me. Mid-scream the door opened in an explosion of dust and soot.
In the doorway stood Carl-Heinz Paul. Carl-Heinz Paul, the Super.
His arms were folded, his sleeves rolled up. He was all powerful in his dominion. “What are you doing in here?”
My eyes were wet and crazed. He could see my fear.
“Mr. Fike, Mr. Fike” was all I could say. “I think he’s here.”
Carl-Heinz softened. He began to understand. He shook his head and held the door open.
“He died, Peter. You know that. He’s dead”
I ran past him and into the night and into my Mom’s mashed potatoes and gravy and I tried to forget, but I realized now that my home, my castle, my world was a very fragile place. I could never really be Batman anymore.
