Basement

The basement does not truly belong to any house above. Stairs descend into a low, damp concrete space, where exposed pipes cross load-bearing walls and shelving and wooden partitions divide passages into narrow rooms joined in the wrong order. Condensation runs from pipes into drains along the walls, mixing the smells of mold, rust, and wet earth. Faulty lights flicker, and after every interval of darkness the corners and shelf spaces behind you seem to have shifted slightly. Floorboards overhead constantly creak under weight, accompanied by slow footsteps that sound as though someone is pacing through a house, even though the basement already extends beyond any possible footprint. Pipes shudder when no water is running, and faint scraping comes from behind shelving; the low ceiling presses every sound close. Old survey notes repeatedly state that, no matter which wall is measured, these cellars cannot be reconciled with the plans of the houses along the street.