{"id":7650,"date":"2014-12-08T09:00:09","date_gmt":"2014-12-08T14:00:09","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.gadflyonline.com\/home\/?p=7650"},"modified":"2014-12-15T16:46:11","modified_gmt":"2014-12-15T21:46:11","slug":"cellar-dawn","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/cellar-dawn\/","title":{"rendered":"Cellar Dawn"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"cellar<\/a><\/p>\n

Hi, mom.\u00a0 I\u2019m home.\u00a0 These words echoed throughout an empty house three weeks ago.\u00a0 After that, it was like I never left.\u00a0 Part of me screamed to go, but it finally died down. \u00a0Then, days just rolled on by, and time was spent under a sunny porch.\u00a0 The only strange thing in such a quiet, beautiful neighborhood was the man living across the street.<\/p>\n

He was like clockwork.\u00a0 At eight a.m., he left to do his morning jog.\u00a0 He returned an hour later with a newspaper tucked under one arm.\u00a0 He went inside and would emerge forty-five minutes later.\u00a0 He hopped into his car, and I\u2019m guessing he went to town.\u00a0 He would return within two hours with groceries and supplies.\u00a0 Then, he would disappear down into his cellar and not emerge until hours and hours later.\u00a0 By then, it was past dinner, and I was ready for bed.\u00a0 But I knew that he was still awake, a busy bee inside that house.<\/p>\n

9:15 a.m.\u00a0 I knew this man a long time ago.\u00a0 He chased me around the yard, lifted me up into his arms, and laughed this enormous laugh.\u00a0 He was not the same man.\u00a0 His wife died a few years back.\u00a0 After that, people said he went crazy.\u00a0 His O.C.D. led to a full psychotic breakdown, and everyone avoided him.\u00a0 He should be locked up, my mother would say and then follow with, \u201cStay away from him.\u201d\u00a0 But curiosity got the better of me.<\/p>\n

The front door was left ajar.\u00a0 I could hear movement inside.\u00a0 Still a busy bee, one to be disturbed by a series of loud knocks.\u00a0 No response.\u00a0 I hesitated and then stepped inside, bumping into a clutter of cardboard boxes.\u00a0 The place was a mess.\u00a0 Litter everywhere, and calendars.\u00a0 So many kinds of calendars and calendar books, and I reached for one, flipping it open to this month.\u00a0 Strange.\u00a0 He had viciously drawn a red circle over a day later this week, and then I noticed that all the calendars mirrored this one.<\/p>\n

I moved into the kitchen.\u00a0 Dishes piled high up in the sink.\u00a0 Flies buzzed around food on the table, food not touched for at least several days.\u00a0 The windows were newspapered, and I wondered about all those groceries.\u00a0 Was he eating in the cellar?\u00a0 Did he live down there?\u00a0 I backed away but then bumped into the dirty refrigerator.\u00a0 In red marker, he scribbled that date, followed by 9 a.m.<\/p>\n

\u201cGet out,\u201d he hissed from behind me, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.\u00a0 \u201cGet out!\u201d<\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t have to say it again.\u00a0 I bolted and flew across the street.\u00a0 I was ready for the door to be slammed closed behind me, or maybe he was crazy enough to chase me with a kitchen knife in his hand.\u00a0 Instead, he stood there by the front door, glaring at me, angry that I disrupted his routine, but a few minutes later, he was back in full swing.\u00a0 It was like I never intruded on his life, and maybe, it was better that way.\u00a0 But that date and that time now haunted me.\u00a0 Was he crazy, or did he know something that we didn\u2019t?<\/p>\n

\u201cI told you to stay away from him,\u201d my mother scolded me, but her words fell on deaf ears.\u00a0 We ate breakfast, and she glared at me like he did.\u00a0 But my gaze was on the basement door.\u00a0 We never used it except in bad storms.\u00a0 Now, it was crowded with junk, junk that I would later ask to get rid of, and with reluctance, she agreed, grateful that I was distracted away from our crazy next door neighborhood.<\/p>\n

More time passed.\u00a0 I had followed his routine.\u00a0 I went for jogs, slowly haunting him.\u00a0 I gathered food and supplies, things that I would need, if the power ever truly went out.\u00a0 Maybe, I was going crazy.\u00a0 Maybe, he was driving me crazy, but I couldn\u2019t get that date out of my mind.\u00a0 It was tomorrow, and when I thought about tomorrow, a knot turned in my stomach.\u00a0 9 a.m.\u00a0 What was coming at 9 a.m.?<\/p>\n

8:45 a.m.\u00a0 My mind screamed like a blaring alarm clock.\u00a0 Part of me snapped awake, but a smaller part begged to sleep.\u00a0 I shushed it quickly.\u00a0 It was easy to say that the man next door was crazy and then allow myself to fall back into a deep sleep, but that knot in my stomach turned and tightened.\u00a0 Instead, I threw my clothes on and rushed into my mother\u2019s room, pulling her out of a deep sleep.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is wrong with you?\u201d But her words once again fell on deaf ears.\u00a0 I grabbed up some of her clothes and more or less forced her down to the basement.\u00a0 She was reluctant, fearful, and she looked at me as if I had gone crazy.\u00a0 \u201cWhat is wrong with you?\u201d<\/p>\n

The answer was muffled out by something that sounded like an explosion.\u00a0 We both fell away from the stairs as the basement door shattered.\u00a0 The concrete floor echoed with the thud of two bodies.\u00a0 Glass shattered to screams.\u00a0 Then, nothing.\u00a0 Nothing but darkness.<\/p>\n

My vision was a blur.\u00a0 I must\u2019ve been out for some time.\u00a0 Not days, but hours.\u00a0 I found my mother lying beside me, stroking my hair with tearstains down her face.\u00a0 She was cut with glass like me, but the cuts were not bad.\u00a0 But she was afraid to move, and so was I.<\/p>\n

I forced myself up to my feet.\u00a0 I almost fell over.\u00a0 My ears were ringing badly.\u00a0 I never heard such a sound.\u00a0 Was it a storm?\u00a0 Was it a bomb?\u00a0 Did they really just drop a bomb on us, on this town?\u00a0 I held my hand out to my mother, forcing these questions to be silent, and she took my hand in hers.\u00a0 But she was thinking the same thing.<\/p>\n

We emerged outside.\u00a0 Debris surrounded us.\u00a0 The house was gone.\u00a0 The neighborhood was gone.\u00a0 The cellar remained, and he was now standing outside too, glaring at me, almost annoyed that we had survived.\u00a0 We had survived because of him, and then we looked around and realized that we were standing in the heart of a crater.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell,\u201d he said loudly, catching my and my mother\u2019s attention, \u201csince we\u2019re neighbors, you may as well come inside and get some food.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe have food and supplies too,\u201d but my words now fell on deaf ears as he disappeared back into that damn cellar.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

Melissa R. Mendelson is a published short story author and self-published poet, who has been featured in The Outreach for Breast Health Foundation\u2019s Anthology: Beyond Memories; Names in a Jar: A Collection of Poetry by 100 Contemporary American Poets; Espresso Fiction: A Collection of Flash Fiction for the Average Joe; Bartleby Snopes Literary Magazine. \u00a0She also has written several fan fiction stories, which can be found at fanfiction.net.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Hi, mom. I\u2019m home. These words echoed throughout an empty house three weeks ago. After that, it was like I never left. Part of me screamed to go, but it finally died down. Then, days just rolled on by, and time was spent under a sunny porch. The only strange thing in such a quiet, beautiful neighborhood was the man living across the street.<\/p>\n

He was like clockwork. At eight a.m., he left to do his morning jog. He returned an hour later with a newspaper tucked under one arm. He went inside and would emerge forty-five minutes later. <\/p>\n

READ MORE.<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":52,"featured_media":8513,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4,200,219,217],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7650"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/52"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=7650"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7650\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":8606,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7650\/revisions\/8606"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/8513"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=7650"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=7650"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=7650"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}