It was his last Thursday in my home when I came down 8
to see him. I opened the hatch and was greeted by silence.
9
Usually I could hear the rustle of his movements, his 10
standing or rising from his cot. But that Thursday he did 11
not rise. He stayed sleeping in his bed.
12
“Mr. Bennet,” I said, but he made no motion.
13
I said it louder with no more effect.
14
By the third time I was frightened.
15
By the fifth I went back to my house to find the key to 16
his cage.
17
Anniston Bennet was dead. Peaceful and placid, lying 18
with no blankets, dressed only in his self-styled prison 19
pants. Under his bed was a neat stack of envelopes that 20
were sealed, stamped, and addressed to different people, 21
including me.
22
There was no wound or other sign of trauma. He had 23
just gone to sleep and drifted off to death. I never even 24
considered calling the hospital. His body was already stiff.
25
The letters were addressed mainly to people in New 26
York City and Washington, D.C. But there were en-27 S
velopes destined for Europe and Africa, Asia and South 28 R
America too.
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ManInMyBasemnt_HCtext3P.qxd 10/24/03 8:16 PM Page 245
The Man in My Basement
I opened only the one addressed to me.
1
2
Dear Charles:
3
4
Or should I say Warden? You have found me now, 5
dead, in your basement. I wonder what you will do with 6
my corpse? I have left letters for my business associates 7
and the two friends I have. There are also notes for two 8
wives and children. I have said good-bye to all of them. It 9
would be nice for you to send them.
10
But I know you may not be inclined to let out the news 11
of my death in your custody. There may be those who will 12
feel uncertain about your part in my death. And though 13
