The Phantom In The Cellar

[Published in Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque #1]


I'm the first to admit how ignorant I am when it comes to wine, I just know how to drink the stuff, and that's it. I can't tell a beaujolais from a bordeaux or a chardonnay from a pinot blanc, such is my lack of knowledge. So how was I to know I was enjoying the taste of an expensive claret or a burgundy that was older than myself? How was I to know that I was slowly and surely depleting my father's prized collection of wines? The old fellow would have turned in his grave if he knew I was dipping into his cellar and popping all those corks.
It was Geraldine's fault, I make no excuses for blaming her. She was the one who started it all off, the one who first coaxed me into delving amongst my father's horde of wines in that decrepit cellar. I didn't regret it for one moment though, as I fondly recall the scent of her nakedness after sharing two bottles of sauvignon blanc. But she wasn't a lady of the night, as it were; they were to follow, pawns in my desire to appease my insatiable and lustful appetite.
It wasn't a cellar as such, for it was quite tiny in comparison to most underground basements. It was more like a box room beneath the kitchen, roughly eight feet by six, and upon each wall stood a large wine rack filled with maybe a thousand or so bottles which my father had accumulated over the years. I remember him arriving home with glee, clutching some precious addition to his momentous collection. It appeared to be his sole pleasure in life.
I know not if the phantom always lurked there under the kitchen, for it was only following my father's death that I ventured down those stone steps. The first time I caught its presence only for a fleeting moment as it drifted past me in the light of my candle. I shuddered in fright, causing the flame to flicker slightly, and then it was gone; but it would return, and it was destined to fill me with an enormous fear during the weeks that followed.
Ill health took over my father's body in the form of a loathsome cancer, hence his melancholy demise. Mother didn't react too well, which was understandable, and she became bedridden, which was just as well considering my philanderous ways at that time. No woman was safe from my casual flirting, and I readily admit to many an evening spent in the company of my conquests, indulging in non-virtuous behaviour before a roaring fire, with my mother upstairs in her bedroom.
This is all a digression; perhaps I am not willing to face relating the story of the dreaded phantom. It was real all right, I know only too well, and not a monstrous being I had conjured up from the deepest corners of my mind. For one thing, I doubt if my psyche could ever imagine such a haunting figure, not in such a guise anyway. One thing is for sure; this phantom would prove to be the most despicable of spiritual characters!
Geraldine was simply the most delightful of creatures, it was no wonder I succumbed to her desire for some libation. The way her dark eyes seemed to twinkle and sparkle like precious jewels, enticing me into her bewitching spell. I left the room and dashed into the ktchen, eager to raid my father's collection and return to the enchanting Geraldine. I lit the required candle and raised the noisy latch, the latch I had heard my father lift so many times, yet I never once had the curiosity to follow him. It was dark and eerie as I descended the steps, taking my time due to my unfamiliarity with the place. It was the most forbidding of rooms, small and enclosed with the racks surrounding me, corks pointing my way from all directions like a thousand muskets trained upon me. I began to feel quite claustrophobic as I surveyed the bottles, and I quickly selected a pair of them, grabbing both in one hand, before turning to flee from the haunting place. However, before I could do so the phantom made
itself known to me.
I was most startled, and it felt as if spiders were crawling across my exposed skin, such was the shock and the fear. The thing was uncanny, almost as large as the average man, and as silent as death itself. It appeared only for the briefest moment, floating across my path of vision, ghostly white and bearing two dark demonic eyes which seemed to send me into a weird trance. Then it was gone, it disappeared from view completely, causing me to wonder if indeed I had observed the strange creature or whether I had merely pictured the thing in the darkest recess of my mind.
I did not linger to find out, instead clambering the steps in a frenzied haste, nearly dropping my prizes in the process, and with a trembling hand I returned to Geraldine. Once the wine was flowing and I started to imbibe the stuff my nerves settled once more, and I dismissed all thoughts of the phantom from my mind, as I became otherwise engaged in the pleasures of the flesh.
That night I suffered badly, overcome by sleeplessness and unrest, pondering over the appearance of the gruesome apparition. I did not mention it to my mother, nor to Geraldine, fearing that they both would figure I was imagining the whole episode. I tried my utmost to drift into unconsciousness, to rid
myself of the ghost-like image I had encountered in the cellar, but my attempts were futile and unsuccessful, and so I found myself lying awake for practically the whole of the night.
After such a troublesome experience I was tempted to abstain from entering that scary dungeon, but the following evening I procured the services of a prostitute by the name of Elizabeth. Her heaving chest and voluptuous figure were hard to resist, and after escorting her to my home I volunteered to sneak more wine from the basement. Naturally I was afraid, but under the influence of alcohol already, due to a couple of hours in a nearby tavern, I stepped into the earthy realm of the cellar once more.
This time the phantom became more apparent, remaining before me the whole time I was in there, frightening me half to death in the process. There was menace in those wicked eyes, and I did not
wish to stay there for more than was necessary. I blindly snatched a bottle of burgundy and vanished from the room, stumbling on the steps in my haste, almost dropping the candle from my trembling grasp. I returned to Elizabeth breathless and shaking, and she showed concern for my nervous state, but I changed the subject swiftly to a more lascivious nature, for which she was most grateful as she was there in a professional capacity after all.
I started to develop a morbid fascination for the phantom, finding myself visiting the cellar on more occasions than was perhaps necessary, and as a result I also began to crave the contents of the underground chamber, acquiring an astute penchant for my father's wine. My mother had no idea that I was constantly stealing from the collection, remaining upstairs in a state of poor health.
Each time I came face to face with the spectre I was fearful and alarmed, even though I had become accustomed to its appearance by that time. It was such a shocking entity I could not help but be perplexed upon beholding the thing. My thoughts wandered, forming their own conclusions as to the reason it lurked in the cellar, thinking it was there to guard my father's wine collection, to watch over the vintage bottles and to punish any person who dared to pilfer from within that tiny room. Yet
still I continued to venture down those cold steps, candle in hand, intent on obtaining the libation I craved so much, the device I used to release the inhibitions of my female guests. I awaited some method of retribution from the evil phantom, some disease or fatal accident or the like, but no such wickedness prevailed, and for that I was most relieved.
Of course the accumulation began to dwindle dramatically, although there still remained hundreds of bottles upon those wall racks. During my visits down there I managed to inspect the labels more closely, consciously choosing the grape varieties that had become my favourites, and endeavouring to sample different wines I had not tasted previously. All the while the phantom observed, attempting to frighten me, and most times succeeding. It was the most mysterious apparition, strange and silent, and bearing a grotesquely evil presence beside me in the cellar.
One evening I could bear it no longer.
"What manner of being are you? Why do you strive to frighten me so?"
My words were emitted in a shaking voice, as I called out to the darkness, but the phantom did not seem to be disturbed by my outburst, instead appearing to relish my bewilderment and confusion. Those unearthly eyes peered at me through the gloom, and as I caught them in the candlelight I felt a fierce shivering sensation spread throughout the entirety of my body. It was so horrible I fled empty handed, slamming the door behind me, locking away the terrible evil that dwelt within that cellar.

I cannot recall the name of the young maiden I had planned to seduce that evening, but I do remember her leaving the house untouched, shaken by my puzzled demeanour. Before then I had
taken to sleeping soundly at nights, as I had grown accustomed to the presence of the ghostly creature down below, but that particular night I found that no matter how hard I tried I just could not rest easily, as I believed that some unknown horror was in store for me at some time in the near future.
Early the next morning I was dozing in semi-consciousness when I heard distant sounds coming from downstairs, akin to a far-off firework display. At first I reckoned it was my imagination playing awful tricks on me due to my tiredness, but just to put my mind at ease I decided to investigate the strange goings-on. How I wish I had never strayed from the comfort of my bed that morning!
Upon descending the stairs I noticed at once that the sound was coming from the kitchen, and I immediately thought of the phantom; the nightmarish creature was definitely becoming a haunting figure in my life. I believed I must have left a tap running judging by the din I was hearing, but my notion was quashed upon reaching the sink. Then a dreadful horror filled my heart, for I then realized that the sound was emanating from the cellar.
I was shaking uncontrollably as I lifted the latch, my largest candle in my hand, for I fully intended to witness whatever was taking place down there. I pulled open the door and peered inside, and was met by a most alarming sight, for I discovered that every cork in the place had been pulled and wine
was gushing on to the stone floor from the hundreds of open horizontal bottles. It was indeed a nightmare; my father's entire collection going to waste in that confounded cellar.
Then the phantom appeared, crossing before me and holding its position close to the ceiling, gazing my way with its intimidating eyes, and I felt myself being pulled down the steps in the direction of the large wine pool which was rapidly forming, a mixture of merlot and shiraz and chardonnay and other
grape varieties too numerous to mention, a multitude of corks floating upon the surface. The candle fell from my hand, the flame fizzling to nothingness beneath the liquid, leaving me in a depressing blackness.
Before I was able to cry out the door slammed shut behind me and some evil force began to push me downwards into the pool. It was so powerful I was unable to withstand the pressure, and seconds later my head entered the well of wine, and as the contents of the bottles continued to flow all around me I found myself losing consciousness, unable to breathe beneath the surface, and just before my life ebbed away I detected sinister laughter as the phantom fled from the cellar to some unspeakable
netherworld.
My earthly form is no more; and here in this hellish cellar I wait, until the arrival of the next unsuspecting and inquisitive visitor to this horrible dungeon.