 The story takes place about 15 years ago when I was around 12. My mother was a nurse, and my father was a pastor at a tiny little church in our very small, woodsy town. I spent many nights stretched out on a pew while my father worked in his office. I'd pass the time by listening to music on my CD player, doing homework, or reading. It was boring, but my mom worked late nights at the hospital, and my dad practically lived at the church and they were much too overprotective to consider letting me stay home by myself. Still, it never bothered me until this night. After this incident, I pitched quite the fit and didn't give in until my parents finally agreed I could be trusted to stay at home when my dad worked nights at the church. I think they could really tell I was truly shaken by what had happened, even if I never told them what that was. I'd finished my homework and I'd forgotten my CD player and a book to read. So I was even more bored than usual. I'd already popped into my dad's office to chat with him. But he'd sent me out after receiving a late night call from one of the church members about a personal matter. So I was left wandering between the pews, letting my hand slide along the worn velvet seats, hoping he would wrap it up soon. That's when I heard a child giggling. My initial reaction to the sound was excitement. I assumed a church member and their child were here for some reason and was glad to have some company. But when I turned to the church doors, there was nothing but darkness on the other side of the glass. Only our car was in the parking lot and the woods beyond looked still and empty. I brushed it off and started to go back to my mindless wandering. When I heard it again, this time it sounded like a little girl. And I thought it might be coming from the nursery at the back of the small auditorium. There was a large glass window in the nursery facing the pulpit so that parents soothing their children could still watch the sermon. The curtains were closed, but I could see two very small shadows moving within the room. There were definitely a couple of children playing back there. Hey, what are you guys doing? I called out. Immediately, the shadows got still. Their heads turned in my direction and I took a step forward. Both heads ducked down below the window and I heard the sounds of frantic scrambling to get away. Hey, it's okay. You're not in trouble or anything. I called out and hurried towards the nursery. By the time I entered the room, however, there was no sign that any children had been there. I was getting more confused by the minute, but I wasn't yet scared. These kids had obviously gotten into the church somehow and were afraid of getting into trouble so they were hiding. I planned to go back to my dad's office and let him handle it when I heard another giggle. This time, it was coming from the stairwell that led down to the basement. I hurried out of the nursery towards the stairs and froze at the top. There was definitely a child standing at the bottom of the stairwell. Judging by the size, the child couldn't have been older than five or six. It was much too dark to see any facial features, but even at this distance, I could smell them. I actually stumbled back and held my nose, gagging. The smell was putrid and strong. This kid had obviously not bathed in a very, very long time. The child giggled again, but there was no humor in the sound. The laugh sounded like it was mocking my discomfort and disgust. It annoyed me more than anything. Look, you're not supposed to be here. I began and placed my foot on the first step. The child dropped to all fours and crawled backwards into the darkness of the basement at lightning speed. This was where I began to feel scared. These kids definitely didn't seem normal anymore, but I figured they were probably just messing with me. My little town was not exactly a safe, happy family sort of town. Meth was a huge problem, and I knew the toll it took on the children of the addicted. I assume these strange, smelly children were the products of some toothless parents who had passed out on a moldy couch without even thinking to tuck in their own kids. While annoyed and fearful, I learned from my parents that the less fortunate deserve kindness and understanding, not judgment and fear. These kids were going to need my father's help. Hey, why don't you come with me and my dad can give you and your sister a ride home? Really, he isn't going to be mad. No answer. But I heard the sound of a door opening and closing. They'd obviously gone into one of the classrooms we would occasionally use for Wednesday night classes. I sighed and descended the stairs, pulling my crappy little flashlight pen out of my pocket as I went. There were three classrooms in the basement, and I aimed my weak beam of light towards the one closest to the stairs. The door was closed, so I knew the children had to be in there. Guys, come on out. We can take you home. Will you stay with us? I jumped. The children had spoken perfectly in unison, just like those freaky twins from the shining. I resisted the urge to dash back up the stairs, screaming for my daddy. Uh, I mean, we can drive you home. I responded weakly. But I can't stay there with you. Stay here with us. A synchronized chuckle came from within the room. We can play. I should have just left. I should have stopped trying to play the hero and just took off. But I didn't. Instead, I stepped closer to the door and closer and closer until I was right in front of the door. I could hear the children whispering excitedly inside, but I couldn't make out what they were saying. I reached for the doorknob. The children continued to chitter on the other side of it. I gripped the cool metal. The whispers became frenzied. I turned the doorknob. I heard a triumphant hissed from mere feet away. I opened the door. Nobody was inside. I shone my flashlight all around the room under the tables beneath the cabinets by the window. Nobody was there. All was silent. I let out a breath of relief and heard an avalanche of giggles from above me. I shone my light high to find the two children on all fours gripping the tiled ceiling. Their necks twisted so they were grinning down at me, cackling madly. I dropped my flashlight and ran. I burst into my father's office in hysterics, demanding he take me home at once. I never returned to that basement again. And I only returned to the building on Sunday mornings when my parents would literally drag me there. But I stopped doing that the instant I was able. Because on those Sundays when I was forced to go, when I would pass by that stairwell leading to the basement, I sometimes thought I'd hear a mocking chuckle echo from below. Occasionally, I'd catch a whiff of something putrid. And once when I dared chance a glimpse down towards the basement below, I saw a tiny clawed hand emerge from the darkness, beckoning me to come closer.