Motion in the Basement
It was quiet, except for the dog barking, who knows how long he had been barking. He was frozen, but only for a moment, as he slowly realized what had occurred before him. Tiny fragments of glass littered the ground, strewn about with a great lack of regard for the otherwise tidy breezeway. The door was cracked half open, not how it had been left that morning, its window shattered. Each step ground the marble-like bits into the concrete, cracking and popping as his heart raced, and his adrenaline began to pump. Something told him it was a bad idea, but he crept slowly to the trashcans which concealed a broken rusty breaker bar, gaze locked to the broken half-opened door. The hinges creaked as he slowly pushed the door open with his left hand, right hand firmly gripping the eighteen inches of tempered steel. Calling 911 should have been the first thing he did, but the first instinct to kick in preceded modern technologies, and felt primal....