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 what he wanted. What happened after that still blows my mind.
It all started when Ethan, my husband, casually suggested having his friends over to watch a game. I knew what kind of chaos that would cause, and I wasn’t up for it. I should’ve said no right away, but I didn’t.
Ethan’s friends are nothing like him. He’s a successful 35-year-old manager at a tech company, yet somehow, he still stays in touch with his high school buddies—guys who are loud, immature, and flat-out disrespectful. Whenever they come over, our home turns into a frat house, and guess who’s left cleaning up afterward? Me.
“Dani, it’s just one game,” Ethan pleaded, giving me that hopeful grin. “The guys really want to watch it here. They’re excited to see the new TV setup. It’ll be fun.”
Fun? Not for me. “You know how I feel about them, Ethan. Every time they come over, it’s like living in a frat house. I’m not cleaning up after them again.”
His grin faltered. “It’s just one night, Dani. I barely get to see them because of work. Come on, go upstairs or something. Don’t make this a big deal.”
I wasn’t budging. “No. They’re not coming here.”
“Please?” He softened his tone. “I’ll take care of all the cleaning. I swear. Why don’t you invite your friends over and hang out in the hot tub while we watch the game?”
I didn’t answer, and neither did he. But I could sense what was coming next.
Sure enough, a few days later, the night of the big game rolled around. Ethan hadn’t mentioned it again, which made me think he’d finally accepted my decision. He even bought me flowers while we were out grocery shopping that day, asking me what I wanted for dinner like everything was completely normal.
He suggested takeout, and I happily agreed. “Fried chicken and fries sound great,” I said, having no clue what was really going on.
Just as we were settling in for the evening, Ethan asked, “Hey, can you grab the six-pack of beer from the basement fridge?”
“Sure,” I replied, still drying my nails. “Let me finish this first.”
I didn’t think much of it when I heard him talking on the phone as I headed down to the basement to grab the beers. Little did I know, his friends were already on their way, and Ethan had a plan.
When I reached the top of the basement stairs, six-pack in hand, the door slammed shut behind me. I tried the handle. It wouldn’t budge.
“Ethan?” I called, rattling the door. No answer. “Ethan!” I shouted louder. Still nothing.
Then I heard it—the unmistakable sound of laughter, muffled voices, and the game blaring from the living room. My heart dropped. He had locked me down here.
I banged on the door, yelling his name again, but it was no use. Ethan and his buddies were having the time of their lives while I was trapped downstairs. Minutes turned into an hour, and there I was, stuck in the basement with no way out.
Finally, after what felt like forever, the door creaked open. Ethan stood there, acting completely casual, like nothing 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, giving a fake little laugh.
“An accident?” I asked, feeling my blood boil.
“Yeah, I didn’t hear you down here,” he continued, oblivious to how angry I was.
I stormed past him, not saying another word, and headed upstairs. The sight of his friends lounging around on the couch, empty beer bottles and chicken bones scattered everywhere, made me sick. He didn’t accidentally lock me in the basement—he knew exactly what he was doing.
Ethan tried to play it off. “Babe, I’m sorry. The chicken’s all gone, but I can make you a grilled cheese or something.”
I ignored him, marching straight to bed. I was too furious to express what I felt in that moment. There was no way I was giving him the satisfaction of seeing me snap. Not yet.
Instead, I waited. A few nights later, when Ethan was fast asleep, I slipped out of bed and grabbed something I’d prepared earlier—a small tank with two harmless snakes. My brother, who’s into reptiles, had gladly lent them to me after hearing what Ethan did.
Ethan is terrified of snakes. So, my brother was more than happy to help, knowing full well what I had in mind.
I cracked open the bedroom door and released the snakes, watching as they slithered across the carpet and disappeared under the bed. Then, I quietly went downstairs, curled up on the couch with a blanket, and waited for my plan to unfold.
I called Ethan’s phone, waking him up.
“Huh? What?” he muttered, groggy and irritated.
“You might want to get up,” I said calmly.
“What are you talking about? Where are you?” he asked, still half-asleep.
“There’s something in the room with you. Actually, a couple of things,” I said, holding back a grin.
There was a moment of silence before I heard a thud, followed by a panicked gasp. “Oh my God, Danielle! What did you do? There’s something in here with me!” he screamed, his voice filled with pure terror.
I could practically see him in my mind, flailing around in the dark, scared out of his mind, just like I had been in the basement. It was sweet, poetic justice.
“Danielle! Please! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to lock you in the basement! Please, just let me out!” he begged, his voice shaking.
I let him stew for a while, enjoying the sound of his frantic cries. After a couple of hours, I finally went back upstairs and opened the bedroom door.
There he was, standing on the bed, pale and trembling.
“Try pulling a stunt like that again,” I said, my voice ice-cold, “and you’ll be out of this house and out of my life before you know it.”
He nodded, too terrified to say a word.
