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TKR Story Hour: The Lady In The Basement

I loved the story actually. One of the Saint's better works. Everyone I showed it to thought it was an excellent exercise in horror.

I'm considering asking a good friend of mine thats a great comic artist to do it as a graphic novel with me :D
 
wouldn't that be the ultimate pwnership.

Every time Eloisel walks into a comic store she sees 'The Lady in the Basement' staring back at her
 
I've printed this story off and made it into a little book which I keep by my bedside. I always read it before I drop off to sleep
 
Heavy boots make a lot of noise. That’s why he chose them. The sound each one made as he put a foot down on each rickety wooden step thrilled him. Well, not the sound itself -- the look he imagined on her face. The beads of sweat rolling down her forehead, the crow’s-feet at the corners of those muddy brown eyes. The furrow and slight lift of her brow. A low whimper sounded from the darkness of the corner and he felt a shudder of raw pleasure rocket through his limbs and hitch his breathing.
 
The shovel in his right hand was comforting, somehow; so was the weight of the thick bundle of wool over his left shoulder. Even the musty stink of the wool was somehow reassuring. The smell melded with the smell of mold and long laid down dust of the vast shadowed space of the cellar, lending it an earthy, homey resonance that soothed his mind, eased the storm that played there just a bit. But there was still a storm; lightning still strobed in the periphery of his consciousness.
 
He took a few steps toward her, then dumped the blankets at the feet of the chair. “Well, good morning!” This was a lie, of course -- it was well past dusk. She didn’t know that, though. She’d been down here for days, and though a small scattering of black and white polystyrene trays told the number of frozen dinners she’d been given down here, she’d never been given any of them while awake. This was part of “The Plan”; this was justice. She had denied him the truth; he would deny her the truth as well. She would have no idea where she was; she would not even be permitted to know when she was. Perhaps -- he smiled to himself as the thought crossed his mind -- by the end of all this, she would not even know who she was.
 
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