“It doesn’t add up” she thought to herself, staring at the broken down piece of what looked like a faded red farm equipment.

“Why would someone have so much junk… just lying around…” her imagination ran wild as all of the reasons, and more, flew rampant in her mind.

But it wasn’t just the broken down piece of machinery in the front yard. It was also the hoard of OTHER things she found in the basement. There were polaroids and magazines of yesteryear, broken film projectors and old batteries. Now why would anyone save used double AAs from the 80s? The basement smelled musty and dank. There is a leak somewhere. There has to be. Old basements are never dry.

The basement; what a place of mystery and horror. All of those stories she’s woven in her head. What happened to the ones that she never committed to paper? They’re probably lying in the basement of her mind. Somewhere, all cobwebby and such. Just waiting to be picked up, dusted off and stared at in awe by some unsuspecting soul who will maybe see a reflection of themselves in what was once her story. Her story. Saved in the confines of the basement of HER mind.

That’s what basements are all about. You think it’s yours until it’s not.

But still… what exactly even is this particular piece of farming tool painted all red??