evil, evil basements

As I generally leave laundry as a weekend chore, about every Sunday night I am forced to dig deep into my reserves of courage and brave my apartment's dreaded basement. And before you prematurely decide that I'm being over-dramatic, let's take a look, shall we?

Stairs off the kitchen that go down to the basement:

The view at the bottom of the stairs (ahead to the left is an empty room with broken floor tiles; possibly it was the room where a previous tenant/psychopath kept his victims chained to the wall)

The laundry area. And yes; I have tripped many, many times into the mini-sinkhole on the floor.

 

And this is the view out the basement window:

So yeah...that's my creepy-as-heck basement/laundry area. I've been here seven months, and it still gives me the creeps every time I go down there after dark. Who knew doing laundry can take as much bravery as Harry Potter going into the forest to meet Voldemort in The Deathly Hallows?