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vivien
Basements are creepy. When I was eight or so, my mom and I moved into the top floor of a widower’s home. He’d been a dentist in the small North Carolina town I grew up in. The basement was where the washer and dryer was, and while my mom went to the laundromat most of the time, sometimes Dr. Finch insisted she not be silly and to please use the appliances. He was a very sweet elderly man.
You got to the basement by an outside door; it wasn’t connected to the house. You walked down into dank darkness which reeked of mold. Once you got to the light bulb and turned it on, you were right beside the OLD DENTIST CHAIR OF DOOM. It freaked me out. There were jars and dentist tools and everything stank and the air stuck to you because of the humidity and clamminess.
...I think I know why my mom preferred going to the laundromat.