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Stay Out of the Basement, Chapter 17

“Dad lied,” Casey said, staring in horror at the wallet in his hands. “Mr. Martinez might leave without his jacket. But he wouldn’t leave without his pants and shoes.”

“But—what happened to him?” Margaret asked, feeling sick.

Casey slammed the wallet shut. He shook his head sadly, but didn’t reply.

In the center of the room, a plant seemed to groan, the sound startling the two kids.

“Dad lied,” Casey repeated, staring down at the pants and shoes on the floor. “Dad lied to us.”

“What are we going to do ?” Margaret cried, panic and desperation in her voice. “We’ve got to tell someone what’s happening here. But who?”

The plant groaned again. Tendrils snaked along the dirt. Leaves clapped against each other softly, wetly.

And then the banging began again in the supply closet next to the shelves.

Margaret stared at Casey. “That thumping. What is it?”

They both listened to the insistent banging sounds. A low moan issued from the closet, followed by a higher-pitched one, both mournful, both very human-sounding.

“I think someone’s in there!” Margaret exclaimed.

“Maybe it’s Mr. Martinez,” Casey suggested, still gripping the wallet tightly in his hand.

Thud thud thud.

“Do you think we should open the closet?” Casey asked timidly.

A plant groaned as if answering.

“Yes. I think we should,” Margaret replied, suddenly cold all over. “If it’s Mr. Martinez in there, we’ve got to let him out.”

Casey set the wallet down on the shelf. Then they moved quickly to the supply closet.

Across from them, the plants seemed to shift and move as the two kids did. They heard breathing sounds, another groan, scurrying noises. Leaves bristled on their stalks. Tendrils drooped and slid.

“Hey—look!” Casey cried.

“I see,” Margaret said. The closet door wasn’t just locked. A two-by-four had been nailed over it.

Thud thud. Thud thud thud.

“There’s someone in there—I know it!” Margaret cried.

“I’ll get the hammer,” Casey said. Keeping close to the wall and as far away from the plants as he could, he edged his way toward the worktable.

A few seconds later, he returned with a claw hammer.

Thud thud.

Working together, they pried the two-by-four off the door. It clattered noisily to the floor.

The banging from inside the supply closet grew louder, more insistent.

“Now what do we do about the lock?” Margaret asked, staring at it.

Casey scratched his head. They both had perspiration dripping down their faces. The steamy, hot air made it hard to catch their breaths.

“I don’t know how to unlock it,” Casey said, stumped.

“What if we tried to pry the door off the way we pulled off the two-by-four?” Margaret asked.

Thud thud thud.

Casey shrugged. “I don’t know. Let’s try.”

Working the claw of the hammer into the narrow crack, they tried prying the door on the side of the lock. When it wouldn’t budge, they moved to the hinged side of the door and tried there.

“It’s not moving,” Casey said, mopping his forehead with his arm.

“Keep trying,” Margaret said. “Here. Let’s both push it.”

Digging the claw in just above the lower hinge, they both pushed the handle of the hammer with all their strength.

“It—it moved a little,” Margaret said, breathing hard.

They kept at it. The wet wood began to crack. They both pushed against the hammer, wedging the claw into the crack.

Finally, with a loud ripping sound, they managed to pull the door off.

“Huh?” Casey dropped the hammer.

They both squinted into the dark closet.

And screamed in horror when they saw what was inside.