Basement Baby Photo

This is the darkest story you’ll read here, so be forewarned. It’s more creepy-weird than funny-weird. Nobody dies in it, though.

My wife and I live in a house described as “1961-ish” in its official documentation, which says to me there’s a bit of quirkiness in its history. There’s nothing really odd about the structure itself - no secret passages (I’ve checked a few times), no mysterious chests in the attic (just an old purple bong hidden behind a rafter), no unexplained cold spots (the poor caulking on some of the windows being the cause) - no, nothing very out of the ordinary at all... except for what I found in the basement, not long after moving in... (please press Play on your cassette of Bach’s “Fugue in D Minor” if you have it handy).



A few weeks after we’d moved into this house, I was enthused to finally be able to set up my basement’s worth of musical equipment in an actual basement. Before that, it was occupying the majority of two walk-in closets in our apartment, as well as taking up some offsite storage space at a friend’s house. I was excited to get everything up and running so I could acclimate our neighbors to our desired level of noise.

I’d just about had everything wired when I tossed a guitar cable over one of the exposed ceiling beams. In a moment taken directly from a horror film, the cable disturbed a pile of dust, which filled the air and gently wafted down to the concrete floor... carrying something with it... a photograph.

The photo landed face-up. I bent down to examine it, then checked behind me to see if John Carpenter or Wes Craven were filming me. It was a cracked Polaroid of a baby, looking greenish under harsh lighting. Just to ensure the spooky atmosphere, the baby wasn’t even smiling (something babies typically enjoy doing, especially when being photographed) - it was grimacing horribly.

I tried to walk up the stairs to show her, but she forced me to tell her the story first. Once I did, she wouldn’t look at the photo, and issued this warning: “Do not bring that thing anywhere near our bedroom!”

I gave the beam a closer inspection. There were no other photos hidden up there, and its width was exactly the width of the photo. Someone had taken this picture of a baby - possibly in this very basement - and placed it upon the beam, perfectly aligning it so it was hidden from view. But who would do something so creepy? So... eerie?

(Don’t get excited thinking there’s an answer coming, by the way. I never find out what the heck was up with that thing.)

But, I did bring it up to show my wife - or at least, I tried to. Sharon was up in our bedroom, and I called to her, holding the photo at my side in preparation to punctuate the end of the story by suddenly shoving it in her face (I’m mean). She knew something was going on, though - my Vincent Price-esque tone must have given me away.

“What is that in your hand?!” she asked. “Tell me!”

I tried to walk up the stairs to show her, but she forced me to tell her the story first. Once I did, she wouldn’t look at the photo, and issued this warning: “Do not bring that thing anywhere near our bedroom!”

I really wanted someone else besides me to see Creepy Baby Photo, but I also wanted to remain married, so after a few failed attempts to get her to check it out (“Come on... it’s not too horrifying... that someone took a photo of a baby with an evil expression on its face... and then hid it in the basement of the house we just bought...”), I gave up, threw it in a big box of trash, and it was collected that night, never to be seen again.

Of course, when I’m alone in the basement now, occasionally I hear the faint sound of a child crying... but it always turns out to be Sharon watching reality shows about families with seventeen children. Now that’s scary.