(This is not actually our basement, but looks sort of like it.)
We moved from the city last fall, into a farm house which was originally built in 1875. This little treasure was almost completely destroyed during the tornado of 1945, but part of it remained and was rebuilt over the top of the cistern which is our basement. It’s large enough to house all the mechanicals. The walls are made of bricks. It’s remarkably dry and clean. My husband has even thought about making it into a wine cellar and using it for days when he needs to get away from everything.
I, on the other hand, have not yet been down there. There is some room for storage, but the thought of having a dungeon below our primary abode is a little disconcerting to me. The day may come when another tornado spins through this part of the country and I will have to seek refuge in that place, but unless that happens, I will remain on terra firma.
I have visions of bats, spiders, rats and other assorted critters and frankly they all scare the bejeebers out of me. I imagine weird things going on in that space at some time and it curdles my stomach. Too much “Criminal Minds” thinking. The thought of dungeon stirs the imagination to times when criminals were shackled to the walls and left to die – or instruments of torture were set up to execute justice.
Actually, I have too vivid of an imagination, so I will simply avoid that place and enjoy the rest of my “new” old house. So far the only relics on the property are my husband and me.