When my husband “accidentally” locked me in the basement so he could watch a basketball game with his friends, I realized just how far he was willing to go to get his way. What happened after that still leaves me shocked.
It all started when Ethan, my husband, casually brought up the idea of having his friends over to watch a game. I knew exactly what kind of mess that would lead to, and I wasn’t having it. Looking back, I should’ve put my foot down right then, but I didn’t.
Ethan’s friends are nothing like him. He’s a successful 35-year-old manager at a tech company, but for some reason, he’s still in touch with his high school buddies. These guys are loud, immature, and plain disrespectful. Every time they come over, it’s like our home turns into a frat house, and guess who’s stuck cleaning up the mess? Me.
“Dani, it’s just one game,” Ethan pleaded, flashing that charming grin he always does. “The guys really want to watch it here. They can’t wait to see the new TV setup. It’ll be fun.”
Fun? For me, not so much. “You know how I feel about them, Ethan. Every time they come over, it’s like I’m living in a frat house. I’m not cleaning up after them again.”
His grin faded a little. “It’s just one night, Dani. I barely see them because of work. Come on, just go upstairs or something. Don’t be like this.”
I wasn’t moving an inch. “No. They’re not coming here.”
“Please?” He softened his voice, trying again. “I’ll handle all the cleaning. I swear. Why don’t you invite your friends over, and you can hang out in the hot tub while we watch the game?”
I didn’t answer, and he didn’t push it further. But I knew this wasn’t over.
A few days later, the night of the big game rolled around. Ethan hadn’t brought it up again, so I thought he’d finally listened. He even bought me flowers while we were grocery shopping that day, acting like everything was perfectly normal. He asked what I wanted for dinner, like we weren’t about to have a full-blown argument over his friends invading our space.
He suggested ordering takeout, and I happily agreed. “Fried chicken and fries sound perfect,” I said, completely unaware of what he had planned.
As we settled in for the evening, Ethan casually asked, “Can you grab the six-pack of beer from the basement fridge?”
“Sure,” I said, still drying my nails. “Let me finish this first.”
I didn’t think twice when I heard him talking on the phone as I made my way down to the basement. I had no idea his friends were already on their way over, and Ethan had something sneaky in mind.
As I reached the top of the basement stairs, beers in hand, the door suddenly slammed shut behind me. I tried the handle. It wouldn’t move.
“Ethan?” I called, rattling the door. No answer. “Ethan!” I shouted louder. Still nothing.
That’s when I heard it—the unmistakable sound of laughter, muffled voices, and the game blaring from the living room. My stomach sank. He had locked me in the basement.
I banged on the door, yelling his name again, but it was pointless. Ethan and his friends were already having a blast while I was stuck downstairs. Minutes felt like hours, and I was trapped with no way out.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the door creaked open. Ethan stood there, acting like nothing unusual had happened.
“Oh, Dani! I didn’t realize you were down here. I must’ve locked the door by accident. You know I always lock the basement out of habit,” he said, letting out a fake laugh.
“An accident?” I repeated, my blood boiling.
“Yeah, I didn’t hear you calling,” he added, completely oblivious to how furious I was.
I pushed past him without saying a word and headed upstairs. When I reached the living room, the sight of his friends lounging on the couch, with empty beer bottles and chicken bones scattered all over, made my blood run cold. He didn’t accidentally lock me in the basement—he had planned this.
Ethan tried to smooth things over. “Babe, I’m sorry. The chicken’s all gone, but I can make you a grilled cheese or something.”
I ignored him and marched straight to bed. I was too angry to let it out just yet. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me blow up. Not then, at least.
Instead, I waited. A few nights later, when Ethan was fast asleep, I quietly slipped out of bed. I grabbed something I’d prepared earlier—a small tank with two harmless snakes, courtesy of my brother, who’s into reptiles.
Ethan had always been terrified of snakes. My brother knew what had happened and gladly lent me his pets, knowing they would get the job done.
I crept to the bedroom door, carefully opened it, and let the snakes loose. They slithered across the carpet and disappeared under the bed. I went downstairs, grabbed a blanket, and curled up on the couch, waiting for my plan to unfold.
I called Ethan, waking him from his deep sleep.
“What? What is it?” he mumbled, still half-asleep.
“You might want to wake up,” I said calmly.
“What are you talking about? Where are you?” he asked, confused.
“There’s something in the room with you. A couple of things, actually.”
There was a brief silence before I heard a thud, followed by a gasp. “Oh my God, Danielle! What did you do? There’s something in here with me!” he screamed, his voice full of pure terror.
I could picture him flailing in the dark, completely panicked, just like I had been in the basement. Poetic justice.
“Danielle! Please! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to lock you in the basement! Please, let me out!” he begged, his voice trembling.
I let him stew for a while, enjoying his desperate cries. After a couple of hours, I finally went back upstairs and opened the door.
There he was, standing on the bed, pale and trembling.
“Try pulling a stunt like that again,” I said, my voice cold as ice, “and you’ll be out of my house and my life before you know it.”
He nodded, too scared to even speak.