When I was younger I used to have recurring dreams which weren't very scary but I was always terrified of having them. I was in a white-black void filled with tightropes of alternating thicknesses that I had to navigate across; the thinnest ones were like fishing wire and would slice me up real bad but for some reason I was more afraid of the thickest wires which were sausage-shaped and fleshy and standing on them wouldn't hurt me physically but I was repulsed by it none the less.

Where I grew up, houses didn't have basements. Instead we have attics or lofts which I have on occasion peered my head into and seen shapes move before fumbling for the lightswitch. In general though, I find that lofts take on a different role than that of the basement, instilling a sense of mystery rather than dread, where else would you store a century old painting or cursed music box.