When my grandparents moved into this house back during the 1980s, they chose it for many reasons. It had a large front porch, a work shop, large yard, and two garden spaces. One of the things they liked most about the property was the fact that it had a cellar.
Now, for those of you who do not live in tornado country, when I say "cellar," I don't mean the underground story of your house or a place where roots are kept. I mean place located underground where you go when the tornadoes show up. Most cellars are well insulated, waterproof, and evoke feelings of safety.
The one located on this property, however, is none of these things. It leaks, it is scary, and I don't think anyone has ever gone in there and felt good about it. Well, maybe one person, but I'll get to that later.
The cellar sits across the driveway from the house, which means any time you need to go into it, you will certainly get pelted by whatever is falling from the sky. Rain, hail, sleet, flying debris from wind, yup! You'll get hit. As I've mentioned before, the driveway floods, so along with things hitting you from the sky, you also run the risk of slipping in the puddles or at being carried off by the current. Okay, that last part has never happened but eventually, I'm sure it will.
The stairway down into the cellar is insanely steep. And, okay, let's look at the logic of this. Whenever you go into this place, it is A. Wet and B. Dark.....I think steep stairs are the last thing you need. Though, it is not the last thing you will GET in the cellar because not only is it dark, nasty, and steep, but once into it, you have about a 70% chance that it will be flooded. Because, yes, whatever drunk or insane idiot put this thing in, had no clue as to how to divert water from seeping into it.
Even when the thing wasn't flooded, it was difficult. The floor is the world's oldest and nastiest concrete. The walls are uninspiring and sad rocks that seem to only be interesting due to their water damage patterns. My grandparents' idea of "cellar decor' consisted of two candles, a small shelf, one folding chair, and various milk crates to be turned over for seating. If you've never been wet and sitting on a milk crate, let me tell you, it's not comfortable.
No one hated the cellar as much as my mother. One time when my mother, brother, and I were living with my grandparents, the tornado sirens sounded. We all put on jackets and hurried down the cellar. Once inside, we all scrambled for seating. My grandfather had a flashlight in one hand and set it down on the floor to light one of the candles. The light reflected on the wall just enough to show the rows and rows of slugs crawling on it. My mother proceeded to scream, jump on her milk crate, and continue to scream as she did a little dance of disgust. I don't think she ever went into the cellar again.
The only person who ever seemed to like the cellar was a crazy woman who moved in there. Some years after my grandfather died, the abandoned rest home a few streets down reopened as a home for the mentally insane. The people who ran it were awful and eventually, the place was shut down. In the time before this happened, however, the neighborhood got interesting.
One of the women from the place wandered into the cellar and convinced herself that it was her home. When my grandmother tried to get her out, she screamed at her and threatened her with a stick. Gran called the police, who led the woman and her "bathroom bucket" out of the cellar. The whole time, the woman still insisted she'd lived there for years. I've often wondered what happened to her.
When my roommate and I moved in, I told him that under absolutely no circumstances would I be going into that cellar. I didn't care if a tornado was knocking on the front door.
It would be impractical for us, actually. There is no way we could make it across the floodgate of the driveway and down those horrible stairs with four cats. One or all of us would end up seriously wounded, and most likely, the "one" would be me.
No, instead, we will move into the hallway, which is the center of the house. There are no windows or other sharp things to hurt us and it's probably the most stable part of the house.
As for the cellar, my brother and his family go down there during storms. As I've written before, I'm good with that. I don't even mind if that lady wants to move back in, as long as I don't have to go down there for any reason whatsoever. Ever.
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