13

It was dark in the cellar. No lights, no windows. It smelled like dead cats. I couldn’t see anything. I felt around, moving cautiously. Then I heard a scratchy, creaking noise and I saw light. Skinny stabs of light, punching at me in the dark.

Then it was black.

Then the light started again. This time it went on and on. Something cold brushed against my cheeks. I backed toward the elevator shaft. The light exploded around me. It darted and danced and swung around the cellar. I saw a door swinging open.

Then it was black again. Then light. Then black, then light again. The door swung open and shut. I saw a tiny room, a cot and a stove and a broken window.

I looked into the room. It was empty. Whose cot was it? Who lived here? The wind came through the broken window and slammed the door shut. I yanked it open. “Bubber,” I called. I ran back to the dumbwaiter. “Bubber, I’m coming up.”

I got on the elevator and grabbed the rope, but my hands were too sore to pull. “Bubber, you’ve got to help me.” I kept looking over my shoulder, thinking whoever lived there was somewhere in the dark watching me. “Bubber. Listen. When I pull down on the rope, you hang on and don’t let go. If you let go, I’ll kill myself.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to.” I pulled down the rope as hard as I could and lifted myself a little. “Hang on, Bubber. Hang on.” He just had to hold it long enough for me to get another grip, but he couldn’t and I fell back. My hands were burning. The cellar was light again. “Bubber, listen to me. Snag the end of the rope over something. Anything. The edge of the frame. Just don’t let go.”

I wrapped my hands in my shirt and tried again. “Snag it,” I yelled, and got another grip. I went up. “Once more.” I got my arm over the edge and hung on. Bubber grabbed my shirt and pulled me out. I blew on my hands. I felt the blisters coming. “Good boy,” I said.