My house growing up was a two-family with a pretty big basement. We lived on the top floor, and the basement was used as storage and as a laundry room.
The basement was pretty terrifying. It was super dark, all the lights were in the center of the room, so you had to go into a completely pitch black room, reach your hand up and pull on a string to turn the light on. I dont think I ever went into the basement without a weapon of some sort.
When I was 10, my mom left me a note to move the clothes in the wash to the dryer. So I went to the basement, picked up a wiffleball bat and preceded into total darkness. I've literally been preparing to turn that light on and see some kind of monster for years.
I pull the string, take a step and look up to see a man. He was breathing heavily and looked disheveled. I completely froze. I'm literally shaking to a point that the whiffle bat is sliding out of my hand. Before I can do or say anything, I hear a gun being cocked and my father from behind me say, "if you take one step toward my son, I will blow your fucking head off". The man standing before me, takes a few steps back, turns and runs out of the door that leads to the backyard.
Long story short. I went downstairs, at the exact same time, my dad watched from the kitchen window as two guys were being chased by the police through the backyards on my street. He saw one of the men hop the fence into my backyard and check the door to the basement. He realized after a few seconds that I was in the basement.
I still struggle to go into the basement.