Her voice echoed throughout the basement. It hit me softly, but it also made me squirm.
"Joy to the world, dear boy. Are you ready for your checkup?"
Her voice got louder as she approached.
"Peace be with you, Doll. Call me Buttercup."
I retreated to the closet door, although I knew that the other place would offer nothing better.
"I'm going to have to ask you to take off your pants," she said, "as well as the ones you're wearing underneath them."
She spoke with nasally charm and warm authority. "I bet you like those tighty whities. I sure do."
I turned the door's handle.
"I'll only bite a little. Promise. A few little nibbles along the right thigh."
I opened the door a crack.
"'Tis the season, Love. Why so tense?"
I opened the door all the way and stepped in.
The door slammed shut behind me.
In the darkness, I heard coughing. Like that of little kids.
And there was scratching. And small red eyes protruding from the black.
I was being surrounded.
I kicked through the door, ready to bolt past Dr. Buttercup and up the stairs.
No sign of her. She was gone.
The closet door slammed again.
In front of it rested a new painting.
Gonna find some mace.
YOU ARE READING
Secrets from a Church Basement: The Desperate Diary of Fresco Ayers
ParanormalGod won't save your life. But this book might. So says Fresco Ayers, a scientist struggling to save his daughter while protecting the rest of us from unfathomable perils that he helped introduce.
