No comment necessary! Who would know? Being born from a place where there are no basements (cellars), I grew up, unfortunately, in a home in the northeast which had a cellar. A cellar is a cold, dank, damp and sordidly scary place under the first floor of the home 8-feet below ground-level, with little windows near the ceiling where you look out and see flowers growing outside. There, in the cellar, The Beast stands! Dust and must are everyplace, as cellars are not cleaned like the living areas. Santa, a large plastic, weathered, fading, 6-foot tall and 4-foot wide plastic thing, with a light inside it, was marooned to a corner of the cellar, beside The Beast, forever-waving and smiling. I was scared to death to go down into the cellar because of The Beast, which, my cousin told me, breathed fire like a dragon, and of course, this idiot cousin, who still is blessed with an IQ of 63 today, had to tell me Santa turned into a werewolf in the summertime, and I'd best NOT venture down into the cellar. But The Beast was the thing! With the werewolf and The Beast down there, I would never get out of the cellar in time, if the werewolf caught me and clawed me to death, or if The Beast began to growl, and one of the tentacles caught me; then I was eaten up for sure. Of course, The Beast was the furnace. I did not realize it much, at 9 years old. It had tentacles emitting from it that appeared like a giant octopus, to all of our 13 rooms downstairs in our home. The Beast was large and round and stood almost 7 feet high! The Beast was "controlled" by a thermostat, and "drank" oil from a large 500-gallon tank also in the cellar. And remember, it breathed fire when it got mad! One day in the fall, I happened to be in the cellar with my mother. She would protect me, of course, from the werewolf; The Beast was always asleep. Fall comes to Maine about mid August. This was the time. My birthday; August 27th. It was chilly outside. I reluctantly went to the cellar with my mother to bring up some clothes the maid washed, and of course, the darned Beast began to roar! It started with a loud "click"...then "wwhhhooshhhh", and then a mighty "rrrrruuummmmm", and in less than 4 seconds I had cleared the stairs and out the back door running to the neighbor's screaming. Never did I forget The Beast, and hated big, imposing things, especially if I could barely see it in the dark to this day. I love the 4 homes I bought in my life...they never had a cellar, never had a 6-foot plastic summer werewolf, and never had a Beast, or an idiot cousin in it.