You don't expect to find new things in old houses, particularly when you're living

in a house for a decade without any surprises.

But one Tuesday in November, while I was putting summer junk into storage, I heard soft crying

from the corner of my basement.

Jenny, I asked, setting my unopened beer back into my emergency cooler.

You know you're not supposed to be down here?

The crying stopped.

I was worried that my daughter had followed me down, and the basement was cramped.

Cramped full of all of the oddities and ends we could find, and dotted with occasional

rat traps.

I killed a snake down there back into lie.

Overall it wasn't a place I wanted my four year old to hang out.

Jenny, I said moving towards the dark corner where I'd heard the sobbing.

That is not mad at you, but you shouldn't be down here.

The basement was dim, spacious, prone to mild flooding.

A single light bulb hanging from the chain cast an angular shadow throughout the room.

The shadow seemed darker today, especially around the back corner, farthest from the stairs.

That's why I heard the crying where I'd walked.

Confused.

There was a shape hidden in the dimness, a profile in the corner.

A thing was larger than my daughter.

Hello, I asked.

...