The Water Makes Them Hungry

Not my usual style

    The Water Makes Them Hungry

    “You chickenshit?”
    Matt took a deep breath, and looked back at the house again.
    “Hell, no, Derrick.  I’m not chickenshit.”
    The house was not right.  Matt knew that immediately.  There was something wrong with the angle of the roof, where, instead of being pitched, it seemed to flatten in all the wrong places.  The front windows were boarded up, and all the rest of the windows were covered with iron grills.  
    But it was more than that.  Even as Matt’s boots crunched through the glass that covered the concrete path that surrounded the place, he felt silence radiating out through those open spaces.  Something too quiet, too off-kilter.  Matt figured maybe it was just the weed f*****g with him.  He looked away from the house, and towards Derrick’s sister, Sara.  Now she was worth looking at, blond, thin, come-f**k-me green eyes and legs that didn’t seem to ever end, a gorgeous tan expanse cut off by the hem of that short black skirt.
    “What happened to this place?” he asked, still looking at Sara.
    It was Derrick who answered, though he was still standing with his face pressed up against the metal window grate.  “Word has it that the whole f*****g place was built on an underground river.  A real c**k-up by someone.  In the mid-eighties or so, the river finally won.  Whole foundation went, wham, right into the river.  Basically cracked the house in half.”
    Derrick, a tall, gangly kid dressed in a black trench coat, stepped back from the window and lit a smoke.  “The worst part,” he continued, “was that the family that lived here, their kid, was in the basement playing or something when the foundation went.  The river flooded the place in seconds, or, at least, half the basement.  They never found the kid.”
    “So,” Matt said, lighting a smoke of his own, “This is what you guys do for fun?  Look up creepy a*s places around town and then go sleep in ‘em?”
    Derrick and Sara both laughed at that.  “Not exactly,” Derrick said.  “We’re amateur ghost hunters, Matt.  It’s what we do for fun.  But we’re a f*****g club, man.  We don’t have a name or dues or any of that s**t.  But to be part of this club, you got to spend a night in a haunted place.  I spent a night in the old children’s hospital up in the Avenues.  Sara, she did her night in the miner’s graveyard up in Park City.  You, we’re giving you a gift, man.  This place is so f*****g cool.  Look at the address!”
    Matt already had.  666 South 700 East.
    “I mean, you got to be f*****g kidding me!” Derrick went on, “Six six six?  That’s so f*****g cool it’s almost cliché.”
    “Really, Matt, you don’t have to do this.”  Sara came over and put a hand on his arm.  Her nails were done in metallic green, immaculate.  When Matt looked down at her, he got a healthy look down her shirt.  Black bra.  Naughty.
    Matt was new to Utah, a recent Idaho transplant.  The first person he met was Sara, who was the manager at the coffee house where he got a job.  He didn’t make friends easily, and when it came to chicks, he was always stumbling around, never quite sure of himself.  With her, though, it was different.  They just seemed to click.  And Matt was down with the whole ghost thing.  He’d always been into it, though not to the extent of Sara and her brother.  Or any of their friends.
    He’d learned that Derrick was almost obsessed with ghosts.  And he’d learned that Sara looked up to her big brother like nobody’s business.  If he really wanted to score with Sara, then he needed to impress Derrick.  It didn’t hurt that Derrick could score some seriously good bud, too.
    “Ok, guys, f**k it.  I’m in.  So how do we do this?”
    Derrick came over and clapped him on the back.  Sara gripped his arm a little tighter, her eyes gleaming in the afternoon glow.
    “Good man,” Derrick said, “We wait until tomorrow night.  Get a lot of sleep, because I doubt you’re going to want to once you’re inside the place.  Bring a flashlight and some spare batteries, whatever else makes you comfortable…”


    It was dark.  They were looking at the house reflected in the dim glow of the streetlights off 700 East, because Derrick didn’t think it was such a good idea to use flashlights to look at the house so close to a major street.
    “So you’re telling me I don’t even get to use a f*****g flashlight in there?”  Matt was juiced.
    “Relax, dude.”  Derrick was checking out the metal grate over one of the windows.  “Once you’re inside, there will be walls between you and the road, dig?  So you won’t have to worry as much.  Only when you’re near the windows.”
    Sara was standing by Matt’s side, smoking a joint, which she passed to him.  Matt took a huge hit, unable to take his eyes off the improbable angles of the house’s roof.  That silence was baking out of the cracks of the house, a silent fourth to the black clothed party gathered around the living room window.
    Matt wondered if maybe that steel mesh was just too well screwed in, that maybe he wouldn’t have to do this after all.  There was something out of place here, something at as odd an angle at the central beam of that c**k-eyed roof.  Then there was a brief squeal of metal giving way, and Derrick was lifting the grate up enough to allow Matt the space he needed to wiggle in.
    “Go, man,” Derrick grunted.  Matt took a last deep chuff on the joint and handed it back to Sara.  Suddenly, she had her arms around his neck, and her tongue was in his mouth.  Warm.  Exploring.  Tasting of sweet marijuana and breath mints.  As soon as it had started, it stopped.  She was stepping back from him, grinning.
    “Good luck, Matt.  This is so f*****g hot.  After tonight, I think you and I are going to be spending a lot more time together.”
    “Holy s**t.”  It was all Matt could manage.
    “Now, man!  This f****r’s heavy!”  Derrick looked pissed.
    Matt moved, throwing his backpack through the window, and wriggling past Derrick, over the sill, his boots landing on ancient carpet and more fragments of glass.  The metal grate banged down behind him.  
    He was in the house.
    Derrick and Sara were both peering in at him, both grinning wide grins.  Derrick lit a smoke and pressed his face to the metal.
    “Ok, quick reminder.  You got to stay here until sun-up for it to count.  Remember, this is not just an initiation, it’s a paranormal investigation.  I want you to document any weird s**t that happens, ok?  I’m leaving the window grate unscrewed, in case you need to bug out from the law.  But that’s it, man.  No ditching until morning otherwise.  Sara and I are staying with a friend a couple of blocks away, the dude who turned us on to this place.  If you need us, we got our cells on us.
    “Remember, dude, relax.  Enjoy the experience.  After this, we’ll all be doing it together.  It’s a f*****g blast.”
    Then, just like that, they were gone, and Matt had the house to himself.

    
    Matt got the lay of the place, wandering around, kicking broken crap out of his way.  At first, he didn’t understand why someone would bother to secure the windows that way… wouldn’t the creepiness of the place be enough to keep people out?  But after wandering into the two front rooms, it was apparent that a lot of other people had spent the night here.  There were old beer cans, crushed flat.  An ancient sock on the floor.  A broken glass tube, burnt on one end.  A very old condom, curled like a snakeskin in the corner of the living room.  That gave Matt a shiver.  Who would want to f**k in a place like this?  Crazy b******s, that was for sure.
    The carpet, what was left of it, was a hideous lime green.  It had pretty much rotted away in a lot of places, showing bare boards underneath.  Matt stayed away from those places after hearing the wood groan when he walked on them.
    Matt kicked on the flashlight and headed towards the back of the place, through the dining room and into the kitchen.  The doorway between the dining room and the kitchen was a trip.  There was this huge crack running down it, and everything on the left side of the crack was at least six inches lower than the stuff on the right side.
    “Righteously fucked.”   Matt lit a smoke.  When this place came down, it really came down.  Crazy.
    In the corner of the kitchen, he found a big hole in the floor.  In fact, he damn near fell in.  It was a stairwell, narrow, heading down into nothingness.  Matt held his breath and listened.  Faintly, he thought he could hear water down there.  Running swift and almost silent in the void of what used to be someone’s basement.  He shined the light down there, and saw the bottom of the stairs, and concrete floor.  Not much else.  It was just too narrow.  Matt considered going down there and checking it out, but decided against it.  Too f*****g creepy.  He just needed to get through the next few hours.  Then maybe bang Sara.  
    Got to stick to the plan, man.
    Instead, he headed for the back bedroom.  There seemed to be even more righteous f*****g going on back here.  When the roof sank along the spine, it opened a serious gap above the bedroom, and twenty plus years of rain and snow had rotted away the walls and eaten into the floorboards.  It was total ruin.  Epic deconstruction.
    Lastly, Matt turned back and went back into the last bedroom.  This one was smaller, but at least the roof was intact over it.  It was dry, and the rot was minimal.  There was a mattress there, but the extreme amount of bugs that came scuttling out of it after a kick discourage Matt from even sitting on it.  
    Instead, he settled on the living room, back where he’d started.  He kicked as much debris out of the way as he could, and settled to the floor with his back against the wall.  He opened the backpack, and starting taking his gear out.  A nice little glass weed pipe, along with a bag he’d picked up from Derrick.  Plenty to last the night.  A .22 revolver.  Just in case.
    As he got high, he thought about Sara.  All those curves, in all the right places.  Sure, she wasn’t perfect, but it was the little imperfections that made her that much sexier.  That little chip in her front tooth.  The scar low along the right side of her jaw.  It didn’t matter.  In fact, the best thing about her, in Matt’s humble opinion, is that she really seemed into Matt.  That hadn’t really happened.  Chicks always thought he made a good friend, but none of them had really felt like taking his saintly cherry.  And, deep down, Matt was too chickenshit to persist.  So the best he’d managed was a hurried feelsky in his Dad’s car after prom.  Even that had ended badly.
    So the move.  He decided to get the holy crap out of Idaho, where nothing much seemed to happen, and down to Salt Lake City.  He intended Utah to be a stop in the road between Idaho and California, or Idaho and Arizona, but things were looking so good, the move might last longer than that.
    The weed was good, and Matt felt all that tension leaking out of his body.  Yeah, the house was weird, sure.  It seemed quiet, but hell, why shouldn’t it?  It was an empty place.  All the angles were off, and that made it seem illogical, but when you get down to the nitty gritty, it was just another abandoned house.  Wood, metal, concrete.  Nothing more.  The idea of ghosts thrilled Matt.  The reality of the supernatural was still a big question mark.
    Matt finished the bowl and re-rolled the bag of weed.  He lit a cigarette and thought some more about Sara.  His head started to nod.  F**k!  He ground out the smoke and got up, wandering around the place.  It was the weed.  It was making him tired.  S**t, nothing seemed to be going on.  He headed back to his somewhat cleared space on the floor, and sat back down, his head leaned back against the wall.
    Thinking of Sara.
    She was running the register, the first time they met.  He’d come in for an espresso, and her grin drew him in.  He ended up sitting in the coffee shop for hours.  In fact, he could picture it all in his head.  That’s how important it was to him, this memory.  Sara’s face was there.  He could even pick out the shading under her cheekbones, the particular color of her lips, like a rich plum.
    Sara laughed and said, in that husky voice of hers, “Dark water.  It hasn’t seen the light of day.”
    “What the f**k does that mean?”
    She giggled.  “It has strange powers over the flesh of the dead.  Changes the base properties.  Won’t make them live again, but won’t allow them to rest.”  She moved in closer.  “It comes from the mountains, from the hollow places where wayward souls cross the veil and are allowed to gather.”
    This was not how Matt remembered the conversation going.
    Sara was suddenly sitting in his lap, one hand working at his zipper, the other wrapped in the hair on the back of his head.  Her tongue was in his mouth again, reaching, slithering, enticing.  Then she was whispering in his ear.
    “Dark water makes them hungry.”  
    And then they were a wiggling mass of humanity, struggling to merge.
    Matt woke with a jerk, reaching for the revolver.  Something had moved, close, in the kitchen.  Holy crap!  What the f**k is that? he thought, heart pounding.  First, the messed up dream, when he shouldn’t have been sleeping, then the suddenly thump from the kitchen.  It wasn’t fair.  This was supposed to be easy.
    He gathered himself and shoved the weed and pipe in his pocket, moving as quietly as he could.  The flashlight went in his left hand.  With his right hand, he gripped the pistol.  Slowly, Matt got to his feet, revolver held like a talisman in front of him.  He made his way into the kitchen.
    Automatically, his eyes tracked to the black void that marked the basement.  The dream was still pulsing behind his eyes.  Then he swept the light around the kitchen.  Nothing.  He clicked off the light and stood still, listening.  Still nothing.
    Finally, Matt figured the sound must have been something from his dream.  He clicked the light back on, and set it on the floor on its base, illuminating the jagged cracks in the ceiling.  He shoved the pistol into the back of his pants, and took the pipe and bag out of his pockets.  Something to settle the nerves.
    Halfway through packing the bowl, something dark exploded out of the back bedroom.
    “Jesus F**K!”
    A rat, moving fast.  It slammed into the flashlight, screeched, and careened off towards the front of the house.  The flashlight crashed over and rolled, going with the slope of the house right into the void of the basement.  In a moment it was gone, clicking down the stairs.  The kitchen was suddenly bathed in dark.
    “JESUS F**K!”  Matt had managed not to drop the pipe, but he felt a film of sweat forming on his palms.  He shoved the pipe in his pocket, and worked his way slowly over to the hole in the floor.  There was a dim glow coming up the stairs.  The flashlight was still working.
    It was time to consider options.  Two hours, maybe a little more, until sunrise, so leaving was a last ditch option.  Matt wasn’t crazy about sitting in the dark, especially knowing there were rats in the house.  Big f*****g rats.  So the only decision left was to go down there and get the light.  Matt wasn’t too thrilled with that, but what the hell?
    He started down the stairs, concrete steps, really, canted to the side when the foundation went tits up.  Below him, all he heard was a muted dripping sound.
    There was a smell down there, in the concrete hole, a strong aroma of mildew and rot.  He finally saw the water, a gently swirling, mostly silent moving sheet of liquid mass.  The flashlight was all the way across the basement from him, the handle mostly submerged in the river.  Everything was so damn quiet.
    “Dark water.  Jesus f**k.”
    Matt started edging his way to the flashlight, keeping his back against the left wall of the basement, where a four foot section of concrete flooring was clear of the water.  He didn’t want to come anywhere near that river.  It seemed like a living mass, eddying in the still silence of a dead house.  A house it had killed.
    He reached the flashlight and, with the tip of his toe, he rolled it back towards him.  Grasping the lighted end, he shook off as much water as he could from the handle, then flipped it around, feeling a whole lot more confident.  He turned and shined the light back towards the stairs.
    Which is when he spotted the kid.
    The kid looked to be about seven or eight, his Mickey Mouse shirt soaking wet and clinging to his chest.  He had dark hair, but it could have been any color, given how much the water had darkened it.  He recoiled at first from the light, blinking.  But he quickly recovered and started slowly walking along the edge of the water towards Matt.
    “JESUS F**K!  Where did you come from?”
    The kid didn’t respond, but just kept moving slowly towards Matt.  For his part, Matt kept the light pointed right in the kid’s eyes, pushing even more against the concrete wall.
    “Hey kid, you get stuck down here or something?  You live around here?”
    The kid smiled, and that’s when Matt started to freak out.  The kid’s gums were black, rotten.  Most of his teeth had fallen out, and those that were left were hanging at crazy angles.  The kid’s hands came up, and his nails were long and claw-like.  Sharpened.
    “My house,” he hissed at Matt, “my water.”
    “Jesus f**k jesus f**k jesus f**k…”  It had become a litany, some sort of godless incantation.  Matt really started to edge along the wall faster, hoping to skate right past the kid and make a break for the stairs.  The flashlight shifted to his left hand, while the right hand started fishing for something between him and the wall.
    When the kid moved, it was as quick as the rat had earlier.  Lucky for Matt, he was ready.  The gun swung up and Matt fired off three quick shots.  The kid stumbled and screamed.  When the kid went down at the water’s edge, Matt put the last three bullets into the prone body.  Then he ran for the stairs.
    He made it to the top, and paused to get his bearings.  He needed to get the righteous f**k out of there, but which window had the loose grate?  He’d just made up his mind when a hand closed on his ankle.
    And the claws sank in.
    Matt screamed, and started hammering at the hand with the pistol.  He dropped the flashlight, which rolled away, and pointed right into the dead kid’s eyes.  The kid had made the top of the cellar steps, one hand locked on, or rather in, Matt’s ankle, and the other appearing to be locked into the concrete floor.  He pulled with amazing strength, knocking Matt down, dragging his kicking form back towards the basement, and the river that had drowned it.  
    “Oh God, oh Jesus, oh f**k, why?  Why?”  Matt was screaming, still hammering at the unrelenting hand.
    “The water,” the kid hissed and burbled, “makes me so hungry.”
    The kid was making progress, one step at a time.  Already, the kid was entirely in the stairwell, and Matt’s legs had disappeared into the nothingness.  He tossed the gun, spread his arms wide, and steeled himself to hang on.  Whatever the creature wanted, he wanted it in the basement.  Matt was a strong fellow himself.  He knew his last hope was to hang on, until dawn if that’s what it took.  The kid grumbled and chuckled in the dark, pulling at both Matt’s legs.   Relentless.
    Matt screamed with inarticulate fear and hung on…

    “Matt?  Where are you, dude?”
    Glass crunched under Derrick’s heels as he moved around the house.  Sara waited just outside the window, ready to hold the window for the boys.  Derrick chuckled, finding the burnt ash pile of a spent marijuana bowl and a couple of stubbed out cigs.  Usually, people were more than ready to get let out in the morning, if they made it through at all.  Matt had impressed him.
    In the kitchen, Derrick looked around, and saw only the flashlight, still pointed towards the stairwell.  He bent down and picked it up.  The handle was damp.  Derrick clicked it off, turned around, and damn near ran into Matt, who was silently behind him.
    “Jesus H. Roman Christ, dude, you scared the s**t out of me!”
    In the gloom, Matt smiled.  
    “How was your night, dude?  Is there anything you got from this place?  Anything out of the ordinary?”
    Matt stopped smiling, shrugged, and said, “There are some big motherfucking rats in here.  Other than that, man, it’s just kinda creepy.  Nothing ghosty, though.”
    The two made their way outside, where the sun was still just a faint promise on the horizon.  Derrick slid behind the wheel, while Sara and Matt dropped into the back seat.  As they rode off, Sara ran her hand through Matt’s hair, smiling up at him.
    “Hey, big man, your hair is pretty wet,” she laughed, “how’d that happen?”
    “Went for a swim.”
    Sara laughed again.  “You want to go somewhere and get something to eat.”
    Matt turned to look at her and smiled.  The morning light caught the very first spots of black rot blooming on his gums.  
    “Sure.  The water makes me hungry.”
 

Reviews

[Raef C. Boylan]

This is a f*****g amazing story
I was gripped all the way through
barely able to exercise my reviewing power lol
Looks like you have a gift for horror
because I felt pretty tense when Matt was in the house alone
and that kid sure as hell wasn't no Casper
Great suspenseful ending too
because who knows if Matt
is now seeking ravenous revenge like the kid
from the basement
or if he'll be okay as long as he stays away from the house
or...
well, you might know
but I don't

This story works well if you leave it there
and would also be great if you continue it
- do you have plans to do that
or should we take this as being complete?

I was impressed that you took a very familiar setting
i.e. initiation ceremony for the new kid, a dare to spend one night in a supposedly haunted house etc. and made it your own through language, attention to detail and character.
There are no villians or heroes here, just people...and the reader feels compelled to empathise with them all more that way, as they're human rather than 2-D stereotypes.

I thought the 'flaws= perfection' concept, of a chipped tooth and a scar on cheek/jaw, read as being a little bit cliched - but then again some people really do have a chipped tooth and a scar on their face, so it can't always count as being cliche. Hmm...

Overall, really great work.
I'm glad to see you posted something, and something as cool as this piece.

p.s.
"scuttling out of it after a kick discourage Matt from even sitting on it." (discouraged?)

[Lesley Wood]

Wow-totally wow-tone of voice, descriptions--everything superb-could be made into a short film. :)

[Lee E. Powell]

I just got home from taking a lady friend out to an old river bridge and then to a grave yard. It's now three in the morning and all the lights are off in my house and I just finished your story. This was so much fun! I haven't been writing very long and never had any real formal training so critiquing someone like you would just wouldn't be right.

I loved the story, the charactors, and the ending was really creepy! Thanks!

[Jake H.]

It's 8 in the morning, I haven't slept all night, and what I thought would be a quick read-through captivated me for half an hour longer, and it was worth it. I can't say anything that hasn't already been said in another review, but you really set the mood, and held it. Good job dude.

[Orlando Murcia]

Damn bro you must really love what you do , awsome story . I think I want to write a story now, great job Jr you are really talented

[Hedra Helix]

Hey! this is f*****g good! You had my attention all the way through, and It was solid, but your scenes changed beautifull, nice and progressive,
I'm also a fan of the idea of it continuing, I like it that much.
good believable use of "dude" too;)

ok this is especially good s**t right here:

a tall, gangly kid dressed in a black trench coat, stepped back from the window and lit a smoke. "The worst part," he continued, "was that the family that lived here, their kid, was in the basement playing or something when the foundation went. The river flooded the place in seconds, or, at least, half the basement. They never found the kid."
"So,"

super natural, flowing visual, casual, highly comfortable to read

...
Ok tiny nitpicks cos I think you prolly are strong enough to want them





- He shined the light down there, and saw the bottom of the stairs, and concrete floor. Not much else. It was just too narrow. Matt considered going down there and checking it out, but decided against it. Too f*****g creepy. He just needed to get through the next few hours. Then maybe bang Sara.
Got to stick to the plan, man.< HERE I THINK THERE COULD BE SLIGHTLY MORE THAN JUST CONSIDERING, I KINDA THINK THERE SHOULD BE JUST A TAD MORE OF A CREEPED OUT FACTOR IN HIM EVEN, ID BE ESPECIALLY CREEPED OUT PERSONALLY, MAYBE JUST ONE MORE THOUGHT?

- Matt woke with a jerk, reaching for the revolver. Something had moved, close, in the kitchen. Holy crap! What the f**k is that?(THIS HERE SEEMS TO TAKE US OUT OF IT, COULD THIS BE MADE LESS INTERNAL WITH REMOVING HE THOUGHT, HIS HEART POUNDED?) he thought, heart pounding. First, the messed up dream, when he shouldn't have been sleeping, then (the/RE?) suddenly (THE) thump from the kitchen. It wasn't fair.(!) This was supposed to be easy.
He gathered himself and shoved the weed and pipe in his pocket, moving as quietly as he could. The flashlight went in his left hand. With his right hand, he gripped the pistol. Slowly, Matt got to his feet, revolver held like a talisman in front of him. He made his way into the kitchen.

-Halfway through packing the bowl, something dark exploded out of the back bedroom. ,THIS MADE ME STOP AND CONSIDER THE VISUAL, TOOK ME OUT OF THE MOVEMENT FOR A SEC, I THINK HEARING STUFF WOULD BE MORE REALISTIC AT FIRST AND THEN SEEING A DARKER MOVEMENT LATER WHEN HE TURNS TO LOOK, IT TOOK ME A SEC TO REGISTER RAT INSTEAD OF A DARK EXPLOSION WHICH CONFUSED ME.

(HAH SEE TINY NIT PICKS;) BUT YOUR STORY IS SO CLEAN LIL STUFF STUCK OUT;)

-"The water," the kid hissed and burbled, "makes me so hungry."
The kid was making progress, one step at a time. Already, the kid was entirely in the stairwell, and Matt's legs had disappeared into the nothingness. He tossed the gun, spread his arms wide < HERE YOU SAY KID, IN SUCCESSION, A LOT IN THIS NEXT AREA. IT WOULD BE A GOOD PLACE TO CLARIFY SENTENCE STRUCTURE AND TRUST YOUR READER IS IN THE SCENE WITH YOU BY USING 'HE' AND CLEAR WORDING. WE ARE;)


OKAY OTHER than that this was friggin good IMHO;) natural, exciting, comfortable to read, well paced, successful and fun. Good storyteller you are;)

[Emily Rose]

First thing: this is a freaking awesome story. All the critiques I have are incredibly minor. The language that you use is absolutely perfect for the style, and everything works together quite nicely. I also really like how the time line kind of flows in and out - the memories fit in very well in the context of the story, especially since so much of it is just Matt's waiting for something to happen (or for daylight to come). Of course, the weird, surreal feeling surrounding the whole story, from the angles of the house to the dreamlike atmosphere when he's in it, is just plain brilliant and holds the story together and the end is, is swear, one of the creepiest things I've ever read in my entire life. I'm actually kind of wary about having nightmares.

Your characterization is great, too, although to be honest Sara seems a little flatter than Derrick or Matt, but I suppose that's to be expected in such a short piece. Your description of the house itself is excellent and creepy, although I can't help but think that there'd be some nuclear mildew and other disgusting molds growing in there, so you might want to comment on the house's smell. You do comment on this when he's down by the river... thing, but I would assume that such smells would carry over into the house, and thus it would be disgusting air to breathe. Oh, and wouldn't Matt have noticed the rats sooner? I figure that they would be startled by loud noises, like the grate shutting for instance. Or maybe you did mention that and I just missed it.

Also, when you say that Matt has "two hours, maybe a little more, until sunrise" I'm kind of curious to know how Matt knows that. I assume that he looked at his watch (so first I must assume that he brought one and that he has a light-up dial) or maybe out a window or something, but that seems unlikely. If he was just asleep, and therefore presumably lost track of the time, how does he know what time it is?

Something else incredibly minor: in the sentences: "Faintly, he thought he could hear water down there. Running swift and almost silent in the void of what used to be someone's basement." Even though your use of fragmented sentences works well with the story, in this particular case I think it might be better if you combine these sentences because they're so descriptive. That's probably just a personal preference thing, though.

All in all, this is an incredible, bone-chilling story and I really wish I had your skills.

[Angelheaded Hipster]

Wickedly delicious, and this is a tale to be told in the dark, with water dripping in the background.
You are a rock star man....

[Kasey]

What a great story!

It had all the best components: Gripping, detailed, unexpected, devious, and slightly provocative.

I appreciate the fact that he says, "Jesus F**k!" over and over again. You could've gone with something a lot more clich�, like "Oh my God!"... But you didn't. And "Jesus F**k!" is brilliant; I can easily picture it when Matt says that.

Sara's role in the plot was outstanding. I expected a complete B storyline out of their relationship... But the way you included her influence in his dreams and visions was genius.

And the ending, well, the ending was perfect. Very blockbuster... but not in a cheesy way.

I hope you have much more where this came from... :-)

[Emily B]

Oh, Hell! I hang out in a lot of strange places. Sometimes with ghosthunters. Places where thousands died, not just one or two. This is one freakin scary story. I didn't expect Matt to make it out of the basement. The way you ended it was killer.

[Richard McLin]

This was some creepy s***, and I loved every bit of it. This is some of the best stuff I've read in a while. Great job.

Richard.