The Bathtub Below ~ Scared Silly Entry

The wonderful Shelly Kneupper Tucker of This Elcectic Life is running a great writing contest for more info click the graphic below:

Please visit the other contestants...
KatelynJane’s Notebook Scared Silly
SusieJ entered Definitely something foul going on over there…from her archives.
Crystal at Song Of My Soul entered from her archives “Hey, at least I can laugh at myself, right?”
Marcia, at Tumbled Words entered “The mask, three prompts combined.”
Jessica at Life As I See It entered a post from her archives, “It’s Here.”
Cyn at Rage Against The Cliche entered “The Tears of the Phoenix.”
Robin at Around The Island posted “Treed, or rather staircased.” WINNER
Amy Palko at Lives Less Ordinary added “Scare Silly By The Fairies.” 2nd PLACE
Cindee at CiNdEe’s GaRdEn entered “How I Scared My Daughter Silly.” 3rd PLACE
The Wandering Author wrote “Wake Up, Little Susie.”


One small step for Daddy, Millions for Me
The house was a historical monument, a gothic structure that stood proudly in the middle of an entire city block. One couldn’t help but be impressed by the home when they walked down the street. It was the great white house that had once been the home of the first Republican Governer of our fine state. This was my childhood home. How I loved the oak staircases, so fun to slide down in my sleeper on a cold winter morning. The fireplaces were treasures covered with marble mantles and decorated by hand painted Italian tiles. The claw foot bathtub was a haven for a little girl like me to spend hours soaking in a tub of bubbles. The library came stocked with books on the floor to ceiling shelves, and many a cozy nook or cranny awaited me to find it and hide myself away in it. There was no place in the house I wouldn’t explore, except the basement.

Dank and dark like a dungeon the basement door alone was like a gaping mouth waiting to gobble me up. I dreaded my mother sending me down to check the laundry or get something from the freezer. I never ran so fast as those times I was forced to make a journey into the bowels of the house. Nooks and crannies were aplenty in the tomb that was the basement, from the creepy room that held a piano and a false wall, to the boiler room that screamed Stephen King’s The Shining, to the laundry room that was once a root cellar and was stone not concrete. The room that I feared the most though rested in the far back corner. A heavy steel door with a massive padlock hanging on it, and a small window with tiny bars guarded something. Was this a prison? Was it really where the naughty children from the house’s orphanage days were sent as punishment like the boys said? I really didn’t want to know, and I steered clear of that door, until that fateful day.

“Time to clean that old stockroom out,” Daddy said.

With the big ring of ancient keys that included the skeleton key that led to the attic, a room scary enough in its own right, and the rusty key that matched that wicked looking lock, daddy packed up some supplies and drug me along for the ride. The door groaned as he pushed it open, and I huddled behind him afraid to peak for fear of what I might see.

What did I see? Shelves and more shelves, stocked with the riff raff of years of tenants to the orphanage and group home. Soon I was as excited as a child on Christmas morning exploring the boxes and bottles and eagerly helping daddy and the boys clean the room.

Then it happened. A discovery was made. There behind a shelf was another door, a rotting wood door, and through the door we could see a bathtub, filled to the brim with dark dirt. The boys moved the shelf, I cowered behind daddy. They eased the door, which was no longer attached to the hinges, off and peered at their find. Had the governor been hiding something down here, more skeletons in his political closet, or his hidden bathtub?

As teenage boys will do, one stepped forward to be the brave soul to look inside. He bent over and reached deep into the tub and then slumped forward with a scream. I ran fast as my ten year old legs would carry me, up the rickety wooden stairs straight to my mother’s arms for safety. There’s a dead body in the basement I cried!

There was no body, of course, seems the previous house parents for the group home raised night crawlers for fishing in that there tub. I never did manage to enjoy another bath in that lovely tub upstairs, which eventually collapsed through the floor into the library below. I never stepped foot into that basement alone again either. I was plumb scared silly, and never did live down that day.

~ Penelope Anne Bartotto
March 20, 2008