FEEDING THE THING DOWNSTAIRS

“Any questions?” Mr Lyre asked.
Joseph and Marcia exchanged glances; “We didn’t see behind that door,” Marcia said.
“That’s the basement where the Thing lives,” Mr Lyre replied, “you’ve just got to feed it.”

Later, Joseph and Marcia sipped Chateauneuf Du Pape; “I know lots of houses have them,” Joseph said, “but it’s stretching us to buy the place as it is.”

“It’s our dream house and Mr Lyre said it eats anything.  We’re moving in.”

 “FEED ME!” the scream from below was deafening.  Maria and Joseph sat upright in bed, heads thick with champagne.

“What the f ...?”
“FEED ME!”
“There’s no decent food, the noise’ll wake the neighbours.  This was a bad idea!” Joseph stumbled round the bedroom, pulling on clothes.
“Just throw it some bread,” Marcia sighed.

It wasn’t happy with bread, chips, steak or chocolate.  It had developed a taste for luxury food and wanted five percent more than Mr Lyre had fed it.  Joseph and Marcia spent the week trying to keep up, stopping at the supermarket on the way back from work to buy food.  Anything to stop the neighbours hearing that they couldn’t keep their Thing fed.

The credit card bill arrived.

Marcia gulped on Jacob’s Creek; “We’ll starve it.”
They went to bed wearing ear plugs to block the screams.  They didn’t hear crashing or slithering movements as the Thing crawled up the stairs.  Joseph heard Marcia scream and saw the twin red eyes hovering over the bed; “I want seven percent more.  Feed me, now!”  It tore the duvet off them with its teeth and retreated into the basement.  Marcia went straight to the supermarket.

The demands of the Thing were constant.  Joseph got a second job at the supermarket.  Marcia became ruthless in her sales job, selling carbon credits to older people who didn’t know what they were buying.

“I can’t go on,” Joseph said, pouring the Value Red Wine.
“Stop whining!”  Marcia threw her glass over him and stormed out of the room.
“FEED ME!” screamed the Thing.
Joseph opened the door, down in the basement, the twin sets of red eyes stared at him.
“I want more,” it whispered sibilantly, “eleven percent.”
“It wants eleven percent more!” Joseph yelled at Marcia.
She came downstairs; “I remember you used to call me darling, we used to spend time together,” she muttered and left for the supermarket.

Marcia called in sick, but Joseph went to work as usual.  Driving back he saw a red glow at the top of the hill, when he got closer he saw fire.  Marcia and their neighbours stood in the garden, watching the inferno, listening to the screams of the Thing downstairs.

“I barricaded it in,” Marcia whispered.
Joseph watched all he owned go up in flames; “You’ve destroyed everything.”
“We don’t have to feed the Thing anymore,” Marcia said loudly.  The neighbours stared at her, while sirens wailed.  That night they slept in the car, Marcia’s head on Joseph’s shoulder.  They woke in the early hours to a deeper red glow and the smell of smoke.  All around them were flames and the sound of the monsters screaming.  The British were burning their castles.