Boo!

“Hossman, come down and look at the basement.” Hossmom says.

“No” I reply

“Come on, if we are thinking about buying this house, we need to look at the basement.” She insists.

“No.”

“What’s wrong?” she says.

“We are not buying a house with a basement.” I inform her. I just know too much.

“What? We are not in Texas anymore, all the houses have basements. Seriously, come down and look at the basement and tell me what you think.”

“No.” I cannot be budged.

“Well why not?” She asks.

“Kracken.”

“Kracken? What are you talking about? Come down and bring Little Hoss with you.”

“I’m not bringing my precious child anywhere near the Kracken.” I begin to wonder about Hossmom’s ability to protect our kids. I have seen things before but this was nothing short than requiring a human sacrifice.

“I don’t even know what a Kracken is!” She is starting to get frustrated.

“The Kracken is the beast in Clash of the Titans. It’s a water beast. Very scary. They sacrifice virgins to it.” Everything that I have ever heard about basements, even though I have never seen a basement, leads me to believe that they are dank and musty doorways to Hell. In all the movies, whenever anything comes from Hell or the “other side” it’s always through some crack in the basement, without fail. Me and my daughter will have no part of that. The Kracken must have a lair, some sort of den. My money’s on a basement.

“Knock it off. Now come down here.”

“I can’t. It’s to close to the Indian burial ground that this house was built on.”

“There is no Indian burial ground!” she is starting to lose it.

“Good God women! Have you never seen Poltergeist II???? There is an Indian burial ground that is located, surprise surprise, in the basement!” I’m not budging. It’s either the Kracken or the burial ground and I’m not going near either one.

“Look, I don’t know what you think a basement is but this is a finished basement and it’s very nice. Now come look.”

“Pumpkin head. Can’t do it.” I’ve got a million of these. A million reasons why basements are evil.

“It’s not Halloween! I don’t even know what you are talking about.”

“And that’s the problem.” I think to myself although lacking the courage to actually say it to her face. But I probably should because I have no doubt that in a matter of minutes the Satan worshipers will show up and draw a pentagram on the basement floor summoning some horrible demon who will then devour Hossmom.

She has spent her life reading books by Shel Silverstein and chick lit about working mothers. She lives her life like the movies “Beaches” is the worse that the world has to offer. I know better.

However, I have spent my life studying the dark side of the universe. In my youth I began my study with monster books on Frankenstein and the Wolfman. I continued my study into the sci-fi movie realm with every scary flick that ever came out. Good or bad movies, it didn’t matter. Knowledge has sacrifices and I had to make them.

“Come down!”

“Can’t.” I say. “Vampires get pissed if you disturb them while they sleep. I don’t have any stakes but if you give me a day we can come back and I’ll take care of it.” Seriously, my wife’s lack of knowledge of the dark arts amazes me. Sure, she’ read Harry Potter but it would appear that she didn’t take it’s lessons seriously.

“THERE IS NOTHING DOWN IN THE BASEMENT!”

“Boogieman.”

“The Boogieman does not live in the basement!”

She’s got me there, he’s more of a dark closet kind of dweller. I am somewhat impressed.

“Darth Maul. We are staying put.”

“From Star Wars?? Darth Maul was never in a basement and never lived in a basement. There is no Darth Maul in the basement!” she says.

“I disagree. When Darth Maul was chopped in half, he fell down a great big hole. We all know that great big holes like that lead to a basement. And if I know basements, and I do, then he has probably mutated into something worse.” My logic is undeniable.

“Get down here and look at this basement!” she is screaming now. She should be quiet before some brain sucking leech gets her.

“No. Jason Voorhees.”

“Hossman!”

“Aliens.”

“I’m warning you!”

“The Blob, suck you right through the drain.”

“Then just give me Little Hoss! I want to see how she does with the stairs.”

My daughter shuts the basement door and yells:

“No. Zombies. Boo Zombies!”

We should probably throw Hossmom a knife or something, just to give her a fighting chance.