A Penny Down the Well: A Short Story Collection of Horrifying Events (21 page)

“
Nice to meet you,
Fallon.” A few more steps. “This is my wife Miranda, my daughter
Chelsie and my son, Bradley.” Jeff introduced each of his family
members and each responded as was trademark of them. Miranda smiled
and nodded with a whispered “hello,” Chelsie nodded her head to the
girl, seeming more wary of her, and Bradley gave a small
wave.

Fallon turned as they
neared the bottom of the stairs and ran down the long, brick hall.
Many of the other townspeople, in their white outfits, stood
throughout the hallway, an area that Jeff assumed was the sheltered
area of the post office. The Quinn’s watched the inhabitants as
curiously as they were watched themselves. Jeff did his best to
make everyone at ease, with a smile and a short wave to those at
the far side of the hall. He then turned back to his family for the
parental briefing.

“
Alright. Listen up. I
expect you two to be courteous and kind no matter what. Be polite,
show good manners and just try to keep yourself entertained until
this storm passes and we can get back on the road. I’m hoping it
won’t take too long, alright? So just work with me on this one and
I’ll make it worth your while, alright?” Jeff often used rewards to
keep his children in line. It was one of the most effective methods
he’d utilized, and the effectiveness was shown quickly as the two
children began scanning their brains for what it was that would be
a worthwhile offering for the short peace treaty with their father.
Chelsie moved her suitcase against the wall and sank to sit beside
it. Jefferson placed his son’s suitcase near to his sister’s and
Bradley sat near to the luggage the same. Jeff stepped over to his
wife and took her in his arms. He whispered into her ear, trying to
settle her obvious worry about their fellow attendees.

“
Everything’s alright,
Mir. This shouldn’t be long.” And though Jeff had been saying that
for some time, ate up without question by the children, Miranda
didn’t seem to buy it.

“
They locked the building
down. I’m hoping it’s not going to be a problem getting out of here
when we need to.” Miranda seemed uncomfortable about her lack of
control. She looked quickly over Jeff’s shoulder, to look at the
group that was still watching the newly arrived family as if they
were some sort of disturbance. “The people are off, Jeff.” Her
words were barely a whisper, not caring to make things any more
uncomfortable than they were. “I don’t even hear a radio, do you?”
She lifted her brows with the question.

Jeff shook his head. He
thought it was strange they didn’t hear a radio, something most
shelters had to assure people understood what was going on. Jeff
pulled his cell phone from his pocket, and tried opening a weather
application, but the thick walls of the post office’s basement
seemed to block any reception. Still, the sounds and roar of
rolling thunder could be heard through the walls.

“
This is what we’ll do...”
As he put his cell phone away and returned his hands to his wife’s
hips. “When the storm sounds like it’s dying down, we’ll just ask
to leave. They won’t keep us here against our will or anything. And
I doubt any of them want to stay here in this hallway for longer
than they have to.” And Jeff smiled, reassuringly. “Everything’s
going to be just fine. How about you make something up for the kids
and I’ll try to see if I can talk with a few of these people,
huh?”

Miranda smirked, looking
over Jeff’s shoulder again. A door at the end of the hall, which
wore the sign that read “storage” opened for the old man that spoke
earlier to squeeze out of it, though there was plenty of room for
him to open the door widely. He opened the door as little as he
could, just enough for his body to slip out into the hallway, all
the while watching the Quinn family. He closed the door behind him
as soon as he was through.

“
Alright. Be careful.”
Clearly showing she wasn’t sure about any of the others. Miranda
sat down beside her children and began working at something in her
suitcase.

Meanwhile, Jeff turned to
the others in white. He mentally prepared himself for the weirdness
that could have come from trying to reach out to the lot, but hoped
that the encounter would set things straight. He stepped across the
hallway confidently, until he noticed the majority of them started
standing up as he approached. Jeff slowed himself and lifted a hand
to promise he came in peace, as an old explorer would to an
aboriginal people. As would happen from any ancient tribe
approached by a diplomat of a greater civilization, the old man
came forth as the leader and defender of the apprehensive group in
white. Which one of the two parties was actually greater was harder
to determine.

“
I just wanted to thank
you for taking us in. It was starting to get bad out there. We
really appreciate it, all of us. I’m Jefferson Quinn, by the way, I
don’t think I got your name?” To the old man.

The old man watched
Jefferson for a while and simply nodded in place of a handshake.
“Ernest. Ernest Goldman.” And the old man paused, staring Jefferson
cold in the eyes while ignoring his lifted hand.

Jeff lowered his hand
awkwardly, wiping it against his pant leg as many people did when
rejected a simple handshake, or one was missed. He carried on,
otherwise unabated, trying to make small talk. “This seems like a
nice town.” Though it didn’t. “We were just passing through. I was
offered a position out in Columbus, Ohio. I hear it’s a nice area.
Have you ever been?”

Ernest continued to stare
before speaking aloud in a slow monotone. “Listen, Jefferson...
We’re not particularly fond of people we don’t know. We’re a close
people here, with similar values. We’re here now in this hall
together because we have no other choice. Your family came and here
you are.”

Jeff quirked a brow, a
little offended then. “We only stopped because there’s a potential
for a tornado out there, Mr. Goldman. I’m sorry if that’s
inconvenient, but this building
is
designated as a tornado shelter and it
is
a government
building, isn’t it?” His reasons for staying didn’t need to be
defended, but Ernest’s harsh words wouldn’t stand unquestioned by
someone like Jefferson.

Ernest lifted his chin in
a sort of primitive, human response to express superiority and
strength, as well as indignation for any sort of behavior. As he
prepared to speak, the hallway shook subtly, as if the earth quaked
around them; the very earth they were in, for protection and
sanctity.

The whole group looked
around as the lights flickered. Miranda stood on the other side of
the hall, calling out instinctively to her husband.

“
Jeff?” Miranda called,
causing Jeff to step away from Ernest, who, unlike the rest of the
group, just stared through the shaking earth, that which ended only
a moment after it began.

Across the hall, back at
his family, Jeff took Miranda into his arms. “It’s fine. I’m sure
it was thunder from a nearby strike.” Whatever it was, it seemed
worse than thunder, and his words sated only the children. Miranda
was unsure. Jeff lowered his voice to more of a whisper. “I think
it’s best we just keep to ourselves until this thing is over. Those
people don’t seem interested in having us for too long.”

Miranda sighed. “Hopefully
we won’t be here for too long, then. These things don’t usually
last too long.”

Chelsie was sitting
against the wall, watching her parents throughout the exchange.
Jeff and Miranda didn’t notice, but their teenage girl was spying
on them, and obviously so, because for once, by her will, one
earbud was out of her ear and hanging down over her
shoulder.

Chelsie spoke up, hushed
herself. “These people are creepy. Cult creepy. What if they want
to sacrifice us or something?”

The suggestion brought
terror to Chelsie’s younger brother, Bradley, who immediately
looked up to his parents with wide, fearful eyes. “Are they going
to sacrifice us?” Bradley, who was smart for his age, but still too
much a child to understand the subtleties of discretion, spoke with
the rasp of a whisper, but the volume that only an immediate,
desperate fear evoked.

Jefferson nearly scowled
at his daughter, upset by her brashness. “Chelsie! They’ll do no
such thing. Stop scaring your brother.” Jeff spoke in a scolding
tone, soft, usually reserved for public places, like a supermarket
or a church. He then looked over to Bradley, who was still waiting
for answers. “Bradley, there’s nothing to worry about. We’re safe
here. Just a little while longer and we’ll be on our way, alright?
Just stay busy with...” And Jeff gestured to the newest portable
video game device he was suckered into buying for his son, which
rested at Bradley’s lap. “...that.” He finished.

Bradley sighed, glancing
off to the odd party in white, at the other side of the hall. Most
of them resumed speaking to one another, suddenly buzzing with
whispers after the hall shook. The little girl, Fallon, returned
Bradley’s look, offering him a smile, showing again that she was
the most diplomatic, accepting person in the party. Bradley,
however, didn’t return the smile, but instead became flustered,
blushed and lifted his game in front of his eyes.

An hour passed. There were
more occasional quakes, each one drawing a discontenting glance
about the stone structure, some in fear that the walls and ceilings
would crumble down on them. Jefferson rationalized the shaking in
the only way he could: that it was heavy thunder, but the sounds
outside seemed to be calming.

Fallon eventually sat
somewhere between the group in white and the Quinn’s, drawing in a
small sketchbook one of the group members had afforded her. The
neutrality of her position brought the motherly Miranda toward her.
She squatted near the focused little girl.

“
What are you drawing,
Fallon?” Miranda asked with a pleasant smile.

Fallon brought the pad
close to her chest, shyly, as any child would when questioned about
an incredible work in progress. “Nothing.” Sheepishly.

Miranda canted her head,
gently laughing. “Oh, com’on. You don’t want to show me? I promise
I’ll love it.”

Fallon watched Miranda
suspiciously, but cracked to Miranda’s solemnity in the suggestion
that she’d approve of the work. Fallon extended the pad to Miranda
and Miranda accepted it, still holding her smile. However,
Miranda’s smile faded as she saw the drawing.

The drawing depicted a
small girl in a dress and a bow, whom Miranda assumed was Fallon,
holding the hand of a tall, unusually slender figure. It wore
clothes similar in style to those of the rest of the group, denoted
by the placement of buttons at the shirt, but normality dissented
at the figure’s face. The face wore slanted, evil-looking eyes, and
a mouth almost the size of the entirety of its face. The mouth was
a twisted, open maw, seeming to scream relentlessly to the
observer
—a stark contrast to the vibrant
smile drawn on Fallon’s face in the image. Still, the groaning
figure was hardly the worst of the artwork. Below the feet of
Fallon and the unusual figure was the ground, depicted by a wide,
arching line. Below it were two groups of stick figures, many
dressed in white, unshaded clothes, while on the other side there
were four figures, each obviously representing members of the Quinn
family. Below all of them was a giant mouth open, creating a chasm
that was swallowing the entire group whole. Miranda’s hands began
to shake.

“
Do you like it?” Fallon
asked, smiling to Miranda.

Miranda made a promise, so
she kept it despite being horrified by the girl’s picture.
“I-It’s... really something, Fallon. Very interesting picture for a
young girl to be drawing. Who...” And she paused, placing a finger
onto the paper to point to the groaning figure beside Fallon in the
drawing. “...is this?”

There wasn’t much time to
answer before a sharp pounding could be heard at the peak of the
stairs. The echo shot through the room above before cascading into
the slightly cracked door above. Jefferson stood immediately, then
Miranda, followed by the rest of the group in white, which mostly
huddled around the storage room door. The pounding was accompanied
by a muffled sound, which almost sounded like a person’s voice, but
the distortion in the mix of what must have been a calming storm
and the metal shutters that fell over the windows made it unclear;
it could have been the wind. Regardless, the question was there and
it needed to be answered.

Jefferson, only for a
moment, looked back to the group in white. He immediately began for
the stairs, shouting out to his family. “I’ll be right back. I’m
going to see what’s going on!”

Miranda rose, placing the
drawing back on Fallon’s lap. Fallon herself became uneasy and
returned to the group in white while the old man, Ernest, followed
Jeff toward the stairs.

“
Be careful!” Miranda
cautioned to her husband, acknowledged with a distracted nod as
Jefferson went up the stairs ahead of the group’s leader. When they
were both at the peak of the stairs, Jefferson opened the door
fully and listened closely to the beating at the windows and what
could now be clearly discerned as an adult male’s voice shouting,
“Help! Help! Please, oh God, let us in!”

Jefferson’s eyes went wide
and he rushed the shutter that covered the door of the post office.
He tugged relentlessly, but the metal covering didn’t budge.
Jefferson shouted out over the noise. “Hold on just a second! Hold
on!” Trying to reassure the voice on the other side. Suddenly more
voices sprung up, those of a woman and even maybe a child.
Jefferson continued to pull, but nothing gave. Jeff glanced back
desperately to Ernest. “Help me! I need to get this open! There are
people out there!”