The Static in the Basement

I never believed in the supernatural until I started tagging along with my friend Aaron on his ‘consultations.’ Aaron has a gift, or a curse depending on how you see it, for sensing the paranormal. He’s helped countless families rid their homes of unwanted spirits, never asking for a cent. I’m just a curious writer, always looking for a good story, and Aaron lets me observe. We got a call from a man named Mr. Hargrove. His son, Daniel, had recently moved back from overseas with his wife, Emily, and their four-year-old daughter, Lily. They’d bought an old farmhouse in the outskirts of Blackwood, and strange things had been happening ever since they moved in.

Mr. Hargrove met us at the door with a worried smile. He was a retired teacher, his hands trembling slightly as he gripped the doorknob. ‘Thank you for coming,’ he said, ushering us inside. The house was warm, but I felt a chill the moment I stepped in. Aaron went still, his eyes narrowing. He does that. He’s reading the energy.

Daniel and Emily joined us in the living room. Emily looked exhausted, dark circles under her eyes. Lily was playing with blocks in the corner, seemingly oblivious. Daniel explained: minor things at first, doors unlatching, lights flickering, their radios turning on by themselves. But then Lily started talking about her ‘friend’ in the basement. A friend named Mr. Tickles. They didn’t think much of it, until they went down there and found a creepy antique mirror covered in a cloth. Lily said Mr. Tickles lived in the mirror and that he didn’t like the dark. Emily had started having nightmares, and the smell of rot filled the house, worst near the basement door.

Aaron asked for a tour. We went room by room, and Aaron occasionally stopped, touching a wall, closing his eyes. He said the energy was strongest in the basement. The door to the basement was at the end of the hallway. It was old and wooden, with a heavy iron handle. Aaron placed his hand on the wood, and I saw him flinch. ‘Something’s in there. Ancient, and it’s been sleeping until now.’ He asked if he could go down alone. Emily said she’d take us down, but Aaron insisted. He grabbed his bag of sage and salt, and I followed him without asking.

The stairs creaked. The basement was dim, dusty, with only a small, grimy window. And there, in the middle, under a spotlight from the ceiling, was the mirror. It was tall, framed in tarnished silver, with a cloth crumpled at its base. Aaron approached it, his footsteps echoing. He pulled the cloth away, revealing a dark, polished surface. In it, I saw Aaron’s reflection, but for a split second, the reflection was smiling. I blinked, and it was normal. ‘It’s a trap,’ Aaron said, backing away. ‘This isn’t a spirit. It’s something older. Something that hunts.’ He explained that the mirror didn’t house a ghost, but a creature from the between-place, a trickster that feeds on fear and memory. It had been dormant for centuries, and it had attached itself to Lily, using her innocence to break down the family’s defenses.

As he spoke, a sound came from upstairs, a child’s laughter. Aaron’s face went pale. ‘I need to get up there now.’ We rushed up the stairs, our hearts pounding. We found Daniel and Emily in the hallway, their faces white. The basement door was locked from the inside. Aaron cursed. He ran to the sideroom where the radio sat. It was sputtering static. ‘The mirror,’ he said. ‘It’s using the static to communicate.’ He pulled out a small handheld recorder, and pressed play. We heard static, and then a voice, high and childish, saying, ‘Tickles, tickles, tickles!’ And then Lily’s voice, humming a lullaby. Emily gasped. ‘That’s her! That’s my Lily!’

Aaron shouted, ‘Everyone, get out of the house. Now!’ He grabbed my arm and pulled me out. We stood in the front yard, breathing cold air. But the others didn’t come. Aaron yelled again, ‘Now! Out of the house!’ Daniel appeared at the door, dragging Emily, but he was shaking his head, tears streaming down his face. ‘I can’t find Lily! She’s not here!’

I don’t remember what happened next. Aaron sent me to get a police officer, but by the time we returned, the house was still. The mirror was gone from the basement. The only thing left was the cloth, and on it, written in what looked like old blood, was the word ‘MINE’. Lily was never found. They searched the vast land surrounding the farmhouse, every inch. But all they found, tangled in the barbed wire fence a mile away, was a single child’s shoe with a tiny, painted smiley face on the toe.

Aaron hasn’t been the same since. He told me that we weren’t dealing with a ghost, but with a creature that travels through reflections, and that it had latched onto Lily for a purpose. But he wouldn’t elaborate. He just said, ‘Sometimes, the worst monsters don’t haunt houses. They haunt the people we love from within.’ I never went with him on another consultation again.

A year later, I received a package in the mail, no return address. Inside was a small, old-fashioned key with a yellowed label attached. It read: ‘The basement door is always unlocked, but the reflection is the only way out. – Mr. Tickles.’