The Corner in the Basement

Rory Campbell, Age 12
Slauson Middle

A green bean bag chair with purple polka dots sat by itself in the far corner of the room. Next to it sat a bin bursting with balls of yarn. Some were yellow, big, blue, unstrung, small, purple, pink, tiny, fuzzy, and prickly. A pair of knitting needles lied in the bean bag.

Only two light bulbs hung from the ceiling. The chains swung. Big tall cabinets covered all four walls, the carpet was damp and worn, and the doorknob to the door locked by itself often.

Kate ran down the creaky wooden stairs, toward her little corner in the dark, cold basement. She plopped her backpack on the ground next to the door, as soon as she checked the doorknob one last time to make sure it didn’t lock on her.

Three minutes later, Kate started a new scarf, for just that day, her scarf had been blown away by the wind. Kate sighed to herself as her needles clacked together. Soon, her long orange needles were a blur; her clacks began to become less regular.

Music drifted down the stairs and filled the room. Kate hummed quietly to “Frosty the Snowman.” Her eyelids began to drop as the song dwindled to an end. Kate’s needles fell to the damp, worn carpet. The world went dark as Kate’s eyes finally shut.

Some point later her eyes popped open at the sound of the slight click of the doorknob.

She tried the door.

It was locked.