by Matthew Rohrer It was a basement with its own basement， and in that basement were machines and dusty weapons， the engines of the house； where the floor gave way because of intense pressure from below， and magma boiled up through the wood-looking tiles； where to leap to safety broke my sister's foot； where the animals that weren't as smart as we were captured and admired； where we watched in horror as the ski lift lifted the men inexorably to death； it was my favorite room in the house.