"I really don't believe this," I muttered, striding down the stairs as I buttened up my long, black, wool coat. The dogs continued to howl as I rushed down the two flights of stairs it took to reach my basement.
We had fenced in the side yard to let the dogs run around in. Unfortunately, that fenced in portion of the yard could be reached by one door, and one door only. That one and only door was located on the landing of the flight of stairs that lead to my basement.
The image of Erik's tear-streaked, and to be honest, slightly mad-looking face, still burned clearly in my mind. No matter how much I respected and worshiped Erik, he still made me nervous. And while it was preposterous to think that Erik was lurking about in the basement, or sulking around in the dark outside the door, it was such a creepy possibility I simply couldn't dismiss it from my mind.
Descending from the last rickety step, I tugged my coat a bit tighter around my body. Being down here was creepy, even on the sunniest of days. You always felt like someone was watching you. That unpleasent sensation spurred me into motion, eager to escape from the celler as soon as possible. I opened the side door, and was immediately drenched in a swirling wind of rain, and enthusiastically greeted by two dogs who were VERY happy to be let inside. Foxy, the smaller of the two dogs, came in first. I reeled backwards to save my coat from her muddy little paws, and found myself teetering on the edge of the basement stairs. Before I could catch my balance, Max came charging in.
Now Max is a big dog. I mean, I'm 5'2" and he comes up to my hips. He's got a heart big enough to build a city in, but he's not exactly the sharpest staple in the gun, if you get my drift. So when he saw me teetering on the edge of the basement stairs, he joyfully wagged his tail and barreled straight at me. Apparently, he was intent on showing me his gratitude at being let inside by knocking me down and slobbering all over my face. That little puppy didn't just knock me down, though. Did he settle for knocking me down half a flight of basement stairs? 'fraid not. No, he sent me sailing OVER half a flight of stairs, going head over heels for the out-of-order washing machine in the corner.
Let me tell you now, this is no ordinary washer. Three years ago, Mom went downstairs to to a load of laundry, and found she couldn't open the washer. So she called Dad, who assembled an army of screwdrivers, electric drills, hammers, and crowbars. The washing machine resisted all efforts. No matter what repairs, removal, or, eventually, demolition company we called, the washer refused to be harmed, moved, or opened. We eventually gave up and purchased a new washer, but to this day, the old one refuses to move.
So you can imagion just how great my suprise was when, as I was hurtling towards it, the impenitrable washing machine opened and a man proceeded to climb out of it. Or rather, attempted to climb out of it. Before he could get more then one leg out of the washer, I crash-landed on top of him with a
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and forced him back inside.