Satan in the Basement

fireyno“He was standing right there.” The little boy stayed on the stairs and refused to step into the basement proper.

“Where I am now?” His father pointed down.


“What did he look like, Dennis?” John Trinkle followed his son’s quick feet back up to the kitchen.

Dennis sat in front of his cereal and tucked his knees under his chin. He wrapped his arms around his legs. “He was made out of fire, with a face like a bull. He had horns.” The father poured himself a mug of coffee and sat beside his son, rather than across from the child where his plate of toast lay untouched.… Read the rest


“Dad, it’s time to stop edging.”

Rick was middle aged. Maybe forty five, perhaps even fifty. His father Andrew did not stop pushing the edger along the sidewalk, neatly partitioning grass from concrete.

“Dad, you need to turn off the machine.”

Andrew let go of the trigger, and silence descended to the street.

“Thank you!”

“Oh! Hello Rick! Good to see you.” Andrew eased himself down to hands and knees and used a stick to work loose a chunk stuck in the blade.

“Dad.” Rick pointed to the machine, “You need to put that away.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” The old man used the handle for support and got back up.… Read the rest