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First Place Winner: Tess Gunty

In Finnegan’s Basement - download as a pdf      A single word. The cruelest and most unfair thing ever said to me. “Dead, darling, they are dead,” I can still hear it. The voice was sweet and sad. When the tears started to drip from my face, the only thing that was on my mind was that cruel and unfair word that haunts me still today.      Dead. Dead means gone, and gone means never and never is a truly long time. * * *      It was about a week after the funeral for my mother, father, and cousin Rick. Georgina, the neighbor and long-time family friend, taking care of the plants and watching me now and then, woke me up (She had been staying in the guest room ever since It happened) to inform me that I would be moving the next day.      “With your Uncle Finnegan,” she said as her voice shook. She folded my clothes into a pile. “Just for a little while.”      I knew that I wasn’t going to like Uncle Finnegan, even though I had never met him before. He had let whatever happened to my parents happen, and he hadn’t even made an appearance since. * * *      I remember traveling there and the look on Georgina’s face when she let me go. The picture clearest in my mind from that brisk autumn day, however, is the house. It was large, gray and white, and it was dizzying. The few windows there were, were musty and dark. No light appeared.      “Poor fellow,” Georgina sighed. “Can’t keep a steady job. No, he has a temper problem, he does. He’s not even a blood member of your family, you know. He was adopted out of charity. Parents didn’t want to deal with him, I suppose. In my opinion he is in no condition to take care of you.” Then, more to herself she said, “Of course if I had a say in it, she’d be living with me, wouldn’t she?” she chuckled a small gloomy chuckle.      The door opened abruptly. A shadowy figure emerged from the darkness. A giant, yet somehow frail man stepped out. He grinned a sad, eerie grin. Silently, I stepped into the black, musty smelling darkness, and put my hand over my heart, praying. Georgina faded away.      “There is no light. Candles only. Light bulbs here don’t work,” he said it all so suddenly, I jumped. “My house does not welcome light.”      “Where do I sleep?” I said in a squeak.      “Anywhere. Find a comfortable spot and you can rest.” I went into the first room I saw.      The days following were like the house: dark and lonely. Whenever I asked Uncle Finnegan where he was going, he’d say something like, “An interview with a fish marketer, you big nosed child! Don’t bug me!” or “Foolish girl! I’m going to talk to a gingerbread marketer!”      I usually read or drew, but today I decided to explore. So I gathered up some things, (my flashlight, some rope, a notebook full of thin lined paper, a pen a match, a sweater, because I didn’t know what it felt like usually out of my bedroom, and a tape recorder I got for my birthday) and I put everything into a bag.      I opened the door and stepped out onto the dusty, worn carpet. The hairs on my head prickled and I felt my legs begin to weaken, as if my weight had just grown.      The furniture in the first room was like my bedroom. At the end of it, there was a dark wood cabinet. I walked cautiously across the room and opened it.      Inside it were a few candles and boxes of matches. There was also a trunk. I picked it up.      It seemed to have been placed there recently because there wasn’t as thick a layer of dust on it as everything else. I lifted the heavy, cobwebbed lid, and I could feel the breath in my throat stop coming.      Inside was my mother’s favorite dress. My father’s shirt and tie lay next to it. A pair of jeans I suspected was Rick’s was there also. But what caught my eye, was an old-fashioned, rusty key.      I slipped the key into my pockets, not letting the thoughts about why Uncle Finnegan had the clothes and why there was a key and what did the key go to, enter my mind. No more breakdowns. That was a rule I made for myself, and I didn’t want to break the rule.      I went through the next door. This room was different from the other because there were old newspapers littering a big round table in the center of it that took up almost half the space. One in particular caught my eye. It wasn’t yellow like the rest of them, and things were highlighted in it.      On the front page there was a picture of a burning building. The headline on it was: “Tragic New Jersey Building Catches Fire.” I looked at it for a long while, not reading anything. Then, I slowly began to pick it up and read the story.      “On September 29th, New Jersey Police Department was awakened. A light bulb factory caught fire. Although the cause is unknown, officials say a fuse in the first department blew.      “1,056 people died that day, only 532 lived. Tourists Penny, 39, Richard (Ricky), 18, Ben, 42, and Finnegan 35 were visiting that day, hoping to find a job for Finnegan and for Richard, a science project. Sadly, Penny, Richard, and Ben lost their lives.” I stopped reading. I couldn’t go on. Instead, I gathered it up and put it in my bag.      Next I explored the basement, flashlight in hand. But I heard a creaky door open. Uncle Finnegan was back! I ran down into the basement, that being the only place I could go where he wouldn’t see me. Down the stairs I flew. I crouched down in the corner of it and breathed in the moldy smell.      The floorboards creaked. I heard a moaning. But the moaning turned into words I did not want to hear. Unfortunately for me, God gave me ears that feed off of noise, so I was forced to listen:      “Help us! Get us our of here! Finnegan! FINNEGAN!” The voices were vaguely familiar, but they sounded hungrier than I remembered.      I shut my eyes and tried to ignore them. I tried to occupy myself by counting the floorboards. That’s when I noticed the trap door.      In the center of the room, I saw a cut out section in the floor. Cautiously, I stepped out into the middle of the small space and surveyed it.      I pulled but it wouldn’t budge. Then I noticed the lock next to the handle. It was big and old-fashioned. It was also very rusty.      I pulled the key out of my jeans pocket, nearly dropping it as I did so. My hand shook as I guided the key into the lock. I felt a click on my fingers. Heart pounding, I lifted the heavy trap door open.      Before I could even look inside, I saw a pale, thin hand emerge from the hidden room, then crinkled black hair and a sullen face. The body lifted itself out and stood weakly.      I was backed up in a corner trembling. But that wasn’t it.      A man appeared right after the woman. His face was very white and shabby, with an unshaven face and marks on his cheeks. He got out and joined the woman, her leaning on him as they stood there, stunned.      Last, a teenage boy came into view, looking as weak as the other two. He crawled towards them, jerking and shaking violently.      “Where do you suppose we are, Ben?” the woman whispered.      “I don’t know, Penny, I don’t know,” replied the man.      “I have seen this place before. I can’t place it though. . .” The teenager’s deepened voice trailed off. For a long while, the people remained where they were, taking in the sight and the fresh air.      I waited in my corner and so did my emotions. They waited and waited to creep out.      These were ghosts, but I knew that ghosts weren’t real. They didn’t exist. I knew, deep down inside, what I should do. I hesitated.      “Mom, Dad, Rick?” My voice was surprisingly strong. They all jumped. I stood up, sweaty and bewildered.      Tears started to swell up in my eyes, and without a warning, the whole story started to drip from my mouth. How everyone thought they were dead, how I was sent to live with Uncle Finnegan, how I explored, how I found the article, how I found the trunk, the key, I heard the voices, and how I found the door.      When the story was over, I found myself wrapped in my mother’s arms, and I was sobbing hysterically. My father was cooing, and Rick was nodding his head generously.      Then Rick began their story:      “When we were in the light bulb factory, he managed to sneak in a box of matches. When nobody was looking, he lit the match and threw it down on the ground. He made me, your mom, and your dad get into this huge sack. He escaped and after hours, he emptied us in the trap room. He said he was going to sell us as slaves to a crook he knew because he needed the money. We all thought we were going to starve to death. But then you came along.” He smiled at me.      “What are we to do?” I asked. Together we formed a plan. * * *      It was cramped and hot in the small space. I couldn’t imagine what it would have been like if I was one of them, having to stay in there for days. I only had to stay in there for a few hours.      The door to the trap room opened. I pressed the button.      “Here. This’ll be your last meal until you become slaves. Henry Gorm said he would take you as soon as I could give you to him. Saturday,” said the harsh voice that belonged to my Uncle.      Dad was smiling. Then, he suddenly said:      “CHARGE!” He leapt out of the crawl space and together, he and Rick tied my rope around him.      And I had it all recorded. * * *      Uncle Finnegan was sent to a mental facility and learned to find peace with himself. We sold his house to an experimenter for a more modern version of the light bulb. As for us, we moved back into our own house and Georgina started watering our plants again.