10
Carlie was still pacing the kitchen floor as the sun rose the next morning. She had been there since she had awakened from her nightmare. Jon was sitting at the kitchen table watching her, concern etching deep lines in his forehead.
“Carlie, why don’t you sit down, sweetheart. You’re wearing a rut in the floor.”
“I’m glad you think this is a time for levity, Jon.”
“Oh, believe me, I don’t think this is in any way funny, but you do need to sit down.”
“Why?”
“I went to see Dexter yesterday.”
“Your point?”
Pulling the newspaper from his briefcase, he opened it to the story about Paul Jacobson. “He showed me this story in the newspaper.”
Carlie stopped pacing and turned to face her husband.
“It’s about Paul Jacobson—he’s dead. He had an accident.”
The expression on Carlie’s face never changed. “That’s terrible. What happened?”
“According to the article, he ran his truck into a tree sometime after leaving here on Monday.”
Turning her back to Jon, she placed both hands on the edge of the kitchen counter and gripped it tight enough to turn her knuckles white. Her reflection in the kitchen window showed a combination of excitement at the news and pure contempt for the man. As Carlie slowly turned to face her husband, her expression of mock concern was back.
“God, Jon, that’s terrible.”
“According to this, you might have been the last person to see Paul alive.”
“I’m sorry to hear that he’s dead. His wife must be devastated.”
“Did he say anything to you about where he was going when he left?”
“He didn’t give me any idea; after he unloaded on me, he left in a cloud of dust.”
“Well, I had to ask.”
“He just drove away.”
“It’s just that there have been so many things. These nightmares you’re having—they’re becoming an every night occurrence. And now Paul’s accident; I’d like to know what the hell is going on.”
Waving her hand through the air as if to assure him it was nothing, Carlie said, “Last night was a bad dream, nothing more.”
Looking at her curiously, Jon knew better, but conceded. “Yeah, that’s probably it. Do you remember what you were dreaming about?”
“Not really; it’s all fuzzy now. I do remember being somewhere intensely dark. I felt that someone had buried me alive, then you woke me up.”
“Are you all right now?”
“I’m fine now. You don’t need to worry about me; people have bad dreams all the time.”
“Yeah, but no one person has them all the time. I guess what I’m asking is, is something wrong?”
Carlie gave Jon her most endearing smile. “Of course not, sweetheart. There isn’t anything wrong with me at all. It’s probably just a combination of everything. You know—new house, new job, new surroundings.”
“I hope that’s all it is.”
When Jon finished his cup of coffee and headed up the stairs to get ready for work, Carlie opened the cabinet door and pulled out the roll of plans Paul had left with her. Unrolling them on the kitchen table, she flipped through the first four pages before she found what she was looking for. She pulled out that sheet of paper, then rolled up the rest and put them back under the counter.
After Jon left, Carlie ran upstairs and changed into a pair of old work jeans, one of Jon’s old flannel shirts, and a pair of Grace’s heavy work boots. After she was dressed, she rolled up the piece of paper and headed out the back door.
In the barn, she found the crowbar she was looking for hanging on the wall and a shovel right below it. With the heavy tools in hand, she walked back to the house.
Setting the tools on the ground, she unrolled the plot map and situated it on the back porch according to the north-south direction at the top of the page. Picking up the shovel and the map, she measured off approximately seventy-five feet.
Holding the shovel handle with both hands, she jammed the steel tip into the soft dirt, moving both left and right in small increments. She repeated this process for what seemed like over an hour when the shovel slid a few inches into the dirt and hit something solid.
Dropping to her knees, she pulled the dirt away by hand until her fingers scraped across what felt like wooden planks. She’d found it! Standing, she began to dig in earnest.
Finding the door boarded shut and padlocked, she pried the boards free with the crowbar. When she was finished, she turned the crowbar over and, with the hooked end, ripped the padlock’s hasp loose from its mounting.
It was exhausting work. After breathing through her mouth for so many hours, it felt as dry as the Sahara, and her tongue was sticking to the roof of her mouth. A five-minute break was all she needed. Her shoulders ached, and blisters covered the palms of both hands. Dropping the crowbar in the dirt, she walked to the house.
After pouring herself a glass of iced tea, Carlie took a deep breath and began to relax. She wondered exactly what she would find once she finally made her way down the cellar stairs. She remembered being thrown down them in her dream. She was still a little apprehensive after the experience, but she knew this was something she had to do.
Jon would be home in a few hours. She had promised him something special for lunch, so she quickly put the ingredients together for a pot of chili. Once it was simmering, Carlie finished her tea and headed back outside.
She almost missed the first step; something was wrong. The door to the cellar was now lying wide open. She was positive that she had left it closed when she went inside the house.
Carlie looked around the back yard, expecting to find Jon leaning against the side of the barn waiting for her. But he wasn’t. No one was there, just her.
Cautiously she walked to the cellar entrance. The gaping hole beyond the door was black as pitch. The first two wooden steps reflected the outside light, but after the second step, the darkness was impenetrable.
She remembered seeing a kerosene lantern hanging on the wall in the barn. After picking up the shovel and crowbar, she returned to the barn and took down the lantern. She located a book of matches on the workbench and tried to light the lantern. It wouldn’t light. Shaking it, she found it was out of kerosene.
She located a gas can marked “Kerosene” and shook it. There was still liquid sloshing around in the bottom, so she poured it into the fill tube. She lit another match, and this time the lantern sparked, sputtered, and, with a hiss, flickered to life.
The pale yellow light illuminated the steps just enough to keep Carlie from falling down the stairs and breaking her neck. At the bottom, she found two more lanterns hanging on wooden pillars. After a few minutes, she had all three lanterns lit, which bathed the cellar in a warm yellow glow. The musty room was at first glance empty, and it reeked of mildew and mold.
With the lantern outstretched in front of her, Carlie found the dirt floor in front of the farthest wall stacked with at least fifteen wooden crates. The light wasn’t good enough for her to see exactly what was inside them, but she instinctively knew they were for her.