“Billy Jones’ body is in Morley’s basement,” the other kids would tell me. Every day we had to walk past her house to get to school. The wind was always strong there, providing atmosphere for a story and somebody would always point to the blacked-out basement window and tell one. 

“She pickled it in a big jar,” said Susan. And then she made a face like she was disgusted, but I knew she loved telling that story. They all loved talking about it. It was the only exciting thing that had ever happened here, and it would probably stay that way for the next 15 years until somebody’s dog died. 

“I saw her dragging a big bag down into her basement late at night,” said Arnold. “I bet it was Billy,” he continued, and everyone nodded in agreement. What else could it have been?

Billy went missing back in August. Nobody had seen him that day, except for his mother, who had packed him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I knew that because that’s what she had told the news lady, crying the whole time. I had watched that clip over and over again. But it was October now, and I was getting worried that the stories were never going to end. Every day, another one. All the graphic detail the other kids would go into overwhelmed me. 

“I think she fed him to her dog,” said Danny. An image of Billy being chopped into kibble blinked in an out of my daydreams. That was what did it. I would prove once and for all that Morley’s basement was empty, and then all the other kids would have to stop. They would see. I would see.

The walk to the Morley house that night was quick, and the wind was strong, pushing me onward. The blacked-out window cut the basement off from the world, but the house was so old that I was able to snap the lock pretty easily. I descended down into the dark, a little flashlight burning in my hand. The basement was dirty, old, filled with shelves and old appliances. I set my feet on what felt like a big bag of gardening tools, instinctively steadying with both hands and letting go of the window. 

It snapped shut and hit the back of my head. The whole thing happened in a funny way, like a dream. I lost my balance, the weight of my body pulling me into the black, towards the basement where all the corners suddenly looked turned-up, like teeth. The last thing I felt was my head hitting one of them. 

So there’s no need to wonder if you see the blacked-out basement window. Mrs. Morley is really a nice lady. She’s old and nearly blind, and she has a little crucifix above her TV. She doesn’t have it in her to hurt anyone. But don’t try looking in her basement.