The Hayloft: a 1950s Mystery (26 page)

“How do you communicate with the outside
world?” Ed asked, before I had a chance to.

“We’ve ordered a special radio that should
work when we hold it near the ventilation opening. And we can send
up an antenna. We expect to receive it within a couple of
weeks.”

A few minutes were all that most of us could
stand being inside the shelter. We soon filed out, and Veronica
closed the door. She locked the padlock and said, “Did anybody see
what happened to the key? I thought I left it in the lock.”

Nobody answered, and she said, “That’s okay.
It will turn up. And we have another one in the house.”

***

It was fun to hobnob with students who were
smarter than average. I found myself having animated conversations
with a number of boys and girls. Time passed swiftly, and before I
knew it, most of the people had left, including Dr. Graves and
Barney. Only a few of us remained, in a small group, which included
our hostess, Veronica.

Veronica’s mother called to her from the
house. Veronica said, “I have to go. We’re driving to Canada
tonight, and we’re about to leave. I guess the party’s over.”

We said our thank-yous and good-byes and
headed for our cars. Ed and I got into my car, and we drove
away.

We had gone about ten miles when Ed said,
“Shit. I left my jacket there.”

“Your jacket?” I glanced at him. He was
wearing a sweater, just as he had been most of the day. I did
vaguely remember that he had started out with a jacket.

“I took it off when it warmed up this
afternoon. It’s sitting on one of the tables. Can we go back and
get it?”

I wasn’t particularly anxious to add twenty
miles to the trip, especially since it was approaching late
afternoon, but I didn’t see any alternative. If the jacket hadn’t
already been picked up, it would sit there at least until
Veronica’s family came back tomorrow evening. Or it might be
stolen, and Ed couldn’t afford that.

I reluctantly turned the car around and
headed back to the estate. When we arrived fifteen minutes later,
everybody had left, including Veronica and her family. There were
no cars in sight. I stopped the car in the long, circular driveway,
intending to wait while Ed went and retrieved his jacket.

“Come with me,” he said. “In case I have to
look for it.”

Ed was beginning to get on my nerves, but I
turned off the engine and got out of the car. I followed him down
the sloping lawn toward the picnic tables and the bomb shelter. The
jacket was right where he had predicted it would be, sitting on the
bench seat of one of the tables. I was relieved. I’d still get back
to the farm in time for dinner.

Ed put on the jacket and wandered over to the
door of the bomb shelter. He had his back to me, but he appeared to
be fiddling with the door.

“Come on,” I said, walking over to him.
“We’ve got to get going.”

“Look,” he said. “It’s unlocked.”

He pushed against the door of the shelter,
and it swung inward. I distinctly remembered that Veronica had
locked it when we came out. What the hell was going on? Ed
disappeared into the shelter. I was getting really irritated. I had
to retrieve him and get on the road. I went to the doorway of the
shelter and peered inside, but I didn’t see him in the dark.

“Ed,” I called. No response. I walked into
the shelter, trying to adjust my eyes to the dim light that was
coming through the doorway. I didn’t see him immediately, so I
walked a few feet farther inside and called his name again.

There was a noise behind me. I turned around
to see Ed coming out from behind the open door. Several quick steps
took him outside, and he pulled the door closed after him. The
complete darkness of the shelter returned and with it my feeling of
disorientation.

I stumbled in the direction where the door
had been a moment ago and found it with my hands. I felt for a
doorknob. There was none.

“Ed,” I called. “Open the damn door.”

No answer. My frantic hand found the hasp
that was used to lock the door from the inside. I pulled on it, but
the door wouldn’t budge. Ed had locked it from the outside.

This time I screamed. “This isn’t funny. Open
the door.”

“No, I guess it’s not funny to you,” Ed’s
muffled voice shouted from the other side of the door. “But I’m
having a jolly good laugh out of it.”

“Okay, you’ve had your joke. Now open the
damn door, so that we can get home in time for dinner.”

“You haven’t figured it out yet, have you?
You’re staying here.”

He had completely lost his mind. “Look, if
you open the door right now, I won’t say anything to anybody. We’ll
treat it as a joke.”

“It’s not a joke, Gary. Let me give you a
synopsis of what’s going to happen. You’re staying here, and I’m
going to drive your car home. You thoughtfully left your keys in
the ignition. I’m going to call Cousin Dorothy and tell her you’re
sleeping at my house tonight, so she won’t worry about you.”

“Your parents will know I’m not there.”

“I’m going to tell them you drove to the farm
and then lent me your car. I’ll figure out a reason. Then in the
morning, I’m going to drive your car to the farm.”

“My family is coming to the farm for Sunday
dinner.”

“Precisely. I need them at the farm to
execute my plan. And by the way, when I’m through with them, I’m
coming back for you. With Ralph’s rifle. There’s an old dumpsite
near our house. Your body will never be found.”

“You won’t get away with this.”

“Aw, I thought you were a writer. Can’t you
come up with something better than that old cliché? Well, maybe
I’ll write the story someday. You see, when I get my share of the
royalties from the gas wells on the farm, I will be a man of
leisure, and I’ll have time to write.”

“I don’t know what your plan is, but it’s
crazy. If you open the door now, I won’t talk about it.”

“You’re too dangerous, Gary. I’ve got it all
worked out. Enjoy your night in the bomb shelter. At least you’ll
be safe from nuclear attack.”

I heard muffled, manic laughter and then
nothing. I shouted for Ed until I lost my voice and pounded on the
door until my knuckles were raw, but I was answered by silence.

CHAPTER 27

I leaned my weight against the door, my arms
stretched above my head, my cheek pressing the wood. I guess I
hoped that I would osmose through it. The door was my contact with
the world. My heart was beating so fast, I was sure I was going to
have a heart attack. I didn’t move for a minute, hoping to slow it
down.

That didn’t dissipate my panic. This was like
the hayloft, only a hundred times worse. My breath came in pants,
and I felt lightheaded. I placed my hands together in front of my
nose and consciously breathed more slowly. That helped a little.
But I didn’t dare turn around, because of the monsters I was sure
were behind me. Of course, I wouldn’t see them unless they had
phosphorescent eyes. But I knew they were there.

I finally calmed down enough to examine my
alternatives. One was that I could spend the night here. Although I
cringed at the idea, I knew that I wouldn’t die in one night. In
fact, there was food and water available, and blankets to ward off
the cold that I was beginning to feel. There must be a flashlight
in here, although I wasn’t sure where it was. Certainly, there were
plenty of batteries.

Somebody would find me eventually. Veronica
and her family would be back in about twenty-four hours. If I made
enough noise, they would hear me, even this far from the house. But
Ed said he was coming for me tomorrow—with a rifle.

He had to open the door before he could shoot
me. I could use the same strategy he had used—hiding behind the
door. A .22 bullet wouldn’t penetrate the thick wood, and in order
to get a clear shot at me, he would have to come inside where I
would have a chance to tackle him before he could aim the rifle. It
was a clumsy weapon to use in such close quarters. Or I could close
the door and put us both in the dark where we would be equals. I
could even run out and shut him in, like he did to me.

He clearly hadn’t thought that part of his
plan through. But what was the rest of his plan? He talked about
getting royalties from gas wells on the farm. The only chance of
his family ever owning the farm would be if all the members of my
family were dead, as well as Aunt Dorothy and Uncle Jeff. That was
unthinkable. But apparently he was thinking the unthinkable. Had I
been right about what had happened between him and Ralph? That
would make it less unthinkable.

No, I couldn’t wait for him to come and get
me. Whatever else he was planning to do would be done by that time.
I had to get out of here as fast as possible. But how? I was
engulfed in black despair. My family was going to die. Aunt Dorothy
and Uncle Jeff were going to die. I didn’t know how, but I was sure
of it.

I wallowed in these thoughts for a few
minutes and then abruptly shook myself mentally. This kind of
thinking was getting me nowhere. There must be a way to get out of
here. The words of Uncle Jeff came to me. He worked with the
reliability of systems. He said, “Look for the weakest link.” That
was where you had to concentrate your efforts, to make sure the
system didn’t fail, whether it was an airplane—or a jail.

This was a kind of jail. What was its weakest
link? The door. I felt the hasp. It was a straight piece of metal,
attached to the door by several large screws. It was on hinges and
swung over a staple in which the padlock could be inserted, so that
the door could be locked from the inside. To keep the nasty outside
world out.

The hasp on the other side was identical to
this one, except I remembered that it was bent at a right angle and
the padlock went through a staple attached to the frame. If I could
get enough pressure on the door to pull out the screws that
fastened the hasp to the other side, then the padlock would no
longer hold the door closed.

I swung the inside hasp toward me and
tentatively pulled on it. It felt very solid. The screws were
strong and they were in tight. And I was trying to pull out the
screws on the outside hasp. Even if I could generate enough
leverage on this hasp to pull out screws, it was a fifty-fifty
chance that the screws on this side would be the ones pulled out.
Both sides wouldn’t come out at the same time. This was like
pulling the protective strips off the ends of Band-Aids. Even when
you pulled on both strips at the same time, one would always come
off before the other.

I still pulled as hard as I could on the
hasp, bracing one foot against the wall beside the door to give me
additional leverage. I would give anything to be Charles Atlas
right now. In order to pull hard, I had to grip the metal hasp
tightly, so that my fingers wouldn’t slide off it. After a few
seconds of pulling as hard as I could, my fingers hurt so much from
the metal digging into them that I lost my grip.

I sat down on the concrete floor with a
thump. That hurt, but not as much as the thought that there was no
way for me to open the door without tools. Unless I could kick it
open. I stood up and kicked it several times with the bottom of my
foot, but it didn’t budge. Of course not. The door opened inward; I
was kicking the door against the frame. And the frame was made of
concrete. I backed up a couple of steps and ran into it with my
shoulder, just to see what would happen. That hurt my shoulder but
had no affect on the door.

I remembered that Veronica had said there was
a toolbox in the shelter. I had to pull myself away from the door
and find it. With the right tools, I could take the door off its
hinges.

I turned away from the door for the first
time since Ed had locked me in. I saw nothing. When I didn’t move,
I heard nothing. There were no monsters. They had disappeared with
my childhood. I was completely alone, except for perhaps a spider
or two. For starters, I needed to find a flashlight and the
toolbox.

I went to the wall where the equipment was
stored and started attempting to identify objects by feel. I tried
to remember where items I had seen were located. Unfortunately, I
hadn’t looked at them carefully during the tour and didn’t have a
good mental map of the layout.

I located the water bottles and the food
readily enough. Most of the food was in cans. I would need a can
opener before I could eat any of it. What I really needed was a
light. A cardboard box felt like the one that had been labeled as
containing batteries. I opened the flaps. Sure enough, there were
D-size batteries inside. I moved my hand around, searching for a
flashlight, but none was in the box.

Where was the flashlight likely to be? The
only flashlight I had seen during the tour was the one Veronica had
been carrying, and she had taken that one out with her. Maybe there
was no flashlight in the shelter. No, that didn’t make sense.
Everything else was so well planned, even to the batteries. There
must be a flashlight.

I worked my way along the wall, trying to be
methodical. I identified paper plates and metal cups, eating
utensils, blankets, folded army cots, folding chairs, and a bunch
of other stuff, but no flashlight. I also didn’t find a
toolbox.

A feeling of hopelessness enveloped me. My
family was in danger, and there was no way I could warn them. While
I was trying to think of a solution to my imprisonment, I returned
to where the blankets and cots were stored. My family had used army
cots for camping. They had crossed wooden legs and a canvas pad to
sleep on. They folded up into portable bundles. Working as
patiently as I could, I assembled one by feel. I threw a couple of
blankets on it and now had a place to rest. But I couldn’t rest. I
needed to get out of here.

I sat on the cot and tried to organize my
thoughts. I needed a light. And then I saw one. My eyes must be
adjusting to the dark. A very faint light on the ceiling showed me
where the ventilation hole was. I went and stood directly under the
hole and looked up the shaft. A little light seeped in from the
top. I retrieved one of the metal folding chairs and placed it
under the hole. I stood on the chair, although I had to duck my
head to avoid hitting it against the ceiling. I stuck my arm up the
hole. I could feel a metal cylinder above the concrete. The light
was coming through a hole in the cylinder.