Write something about: the vampire.
I'm sitting here having great difficulty remembering anything of interest that happened today. Sounds like a good day off to me.
I'm not sure why, exactly, I had agreed to house sit for the Millers. It's not like their home was in some wild, exotic locale - they lived two streets over from me. And it wasn't even two blocks closer to work! It actually took me nearly five minutes longer to get to the office (thanks to that stupid slow light at 34th and Brookside).
We weren't the greatest of friends either. In fact, I'd probably have described them as acquaintances. That's why I was so surprised when they asked me to watch their place.
I should have taken it as a sign. Should have understood that I was not the first person they had asked. Hell, now that I've got some perspective on the matter, I doubt I was among the first ten to be offered the job.
But there I was, spending most of my long weekend at their house. Trying not to break anything too obvious. Trying to keep their plants alive. Laying in bed, in the darkest hours of the night, trying to get some sleep while listening to the strange noises that belong to all homes that are not your own.
And wondering why their only instruction to me was a note that read: Stay out of the basement.
I couldn't stop myself from thinking about it. What embarrassing secrets lay hidden below ground, at the bottom of those rickety wooden stairs? What, exactly, was down there?
And all that while I should have been asking who was down there...