Endurance

by Jack Kilborn

  The seconds ticked by. Kelly began to wonder if she’d imaged the cough.

  Could it have been something else?

  Old houses made noises. There were water pipes, and furnaces, and any number of things that made sound. At home, when Mom flushed the toilet, Kelly could hear it from the basement.

  Maybe it wasn’t a cough. Maybe someone upstairs had turned on the shower.

  Or maybe someone did cough, but it came from the room next door, not the closet.

  JD pressed his cold nose into Kelly’s neck, making her flinch. She stood up.

  I should open the door to check.

  While Kelly didn’t consider herself a tomboy, she was far from a sissy. Kelly preferred SlipKnot to Hannah Montana, and would much rather watch the Saw movies than High School Musical. She could pick up snakes and frogs without screaming, unlike other girls in her class, and during a sleepover was the only one who could spend a full two minutes in the pitch-dark bathroom with the Ouiji board Sue Ellen Wilcox’s brother swore was possessed by Satan. The only irrational thing that scared Kelly was heights.

  Is being afraid of the closet irrational? Or common sense?

  “It’s irrational,” Kelly said. Her mother loved the word irrational. And if she were there right now, she’d march over to the closet and show Kelly how irrational her fears were.

  Drawing on that, Kelly walked toward the door.

  The floor creaked under her feet. Though only a few yards separated her from the closet, it seemed like it took a very long time for her to get there. Each step closer increased Kelly’s apprehension. When she finally reached out and touched the knob, her throat felt like there was a walnut stuck in it she was unable to swallow.

  Just open the door.

  She tightened her grip, but still hesitated.

  What if I open it, and the hunter is standing there?

  Kelly looked back at JD. He’d stayed next to the bathroom, still as a picture.

  Maybe I should listen to the door first.

  The girl carefully placed her ear against the cool, rough wood. Again she held her breath, listening for sounds.

  A few seconds passed.

  Kelly heard nothing.

  Mom’s voice appeared in Kelly’s head, like it did whenever she stepped onto a diving board. “You’re being irrational, Kelly. What’s the worst that can happen?”

  Crack my head open and drown?

  Or in this case, get attacked by a crazy, birth-defected redneck?

  Maybe pushing a chair up against the door was a better idea than opening it. Kelly saw a small desk and chair, tucked into the corner of the room. She could brace the chair up under the knob, so nothing could get out of the closet.

  No. I’ll never get to sleep unless I check. It’s a big day tomorrow. I can’t spend the night with one eye open, waiting for a monster man to break out and attack me.

  Kelly turned the knob—

  —yanked the door open—

  —and saw—

  “Nothing,” Kelly said, blowing out a big breath. She turned around to glare at her dog. “JD, you’re one dumb—”

  A creaking noise came from inside the closet, so close Kelly could practically touch it. She startled, jumping backwards, eyes focusing on...

  An empty closet.

  So what made that noise?

  Curiosity won out over fear, and Kelly crept back toward the closet. It was a small space, no more than five feet wide and deep. At eye-level, bisecting the space, was a metal bar, where two wire hangers hung.

  Is one of the hangers swinging?

  Kelly couldn’t tell. If there was movement, it was slight, and might have happened when she opened the door. She stepped closer, sticking her head inside the closet. There was no overhead light, and it was tough to make out any details beyond the three walls. Kelly went back to the bed, picked up her iPod, and switched it on. One of her apps was simply a bright white screen that functioned as a nightlight. She shined it all over the closet, not exactly sure what she was looking for, but finding something unusual on the floor.

  A straw of hay.

  Not unusual by itself. But the odd thing was its position. The hay seemed to be stuck under the back wall of the closet. Almost like it was caught in a door.

  Kelly tentatively pressed her palm against the wooden wall and pushed. The wall didn’t budge. She gave it a quick rap with her knuckles.

  Hollow. But that might be the room next door.

  Kelly crouched down, grasped the straw between her thumb and index finger, and tugged. The hay broke in half, still wedged beneath the wall.

  WTF?

  Then something nudged her from behind.

  Kelly yelped, scrambling forward, turning around to face JD.

  “Bad dog,” she said, though he really didn’t do anything worthy of scolding.

  The comment didn’t seem to bother the canine. He brushed past Kelly, sniffing the floor, and his nose locked onto the corner of the closet. He whined and pawed at the wall, finding something that interested him.

  Kelly nudged the Shepherd aside and pointed her iPod at the space he’d been clawing at. The white screen illuminated a small, wooden knob on the floor. It looked like the top of a broomstick, no taller than two inches. Kelly tried to pick it up, but it was stuck. Instead of pulling, she tried to push.

  There was a clicking sound, and the wall Kelly had her shoulder against suddenly moved.

  A secret passage.

  Before Kelly had a chance to process what was happening, JD darted past her, scratching the wall, pushing it open on an unseen hinge like a big door. Then he charged into the blackness behind the wall, disappearing into the darkness.

  “JD!” she yelled after him.

  Kelly heard the click click click of his toenails on the wooden floor echo away into silence. She squinted into the gap. It was a thin hallway, no more than two feet wide. Unlit, though the iPod allowed her to see that the hall stretched for several yards.

  She turned to go tell her mother, then stopped, imagining Mom’s lecture.

  “You let JD run off? How irresponsible, Kelly.”

  Mom liked the word irresponsible almost as much as irrational.

  I should still go get her.

  But why? I’m almost a teenager. I don’t need to go to Mom for everything.

  What if someone is in there?

  JD barked. He didn’t sound very far.

  “JD!” she called again.

  He barked once more.

  Then he yelped.

  The yelp was the deciding factor. Kelly had raised JD since he was a pup. Mom bought him right after Dad died, and Kelly had had quite enough of losing loved ones, thank you very much. If her dog was hurt, she had to go get him. No other way about it.

  Kelly quickly put on her jogging pants and her gym shoes and stepped into the gap. It was just wide enough for her to walk normally, rather than sideways, though her shoulders did brush the walls. She moved quickly, her iPod bobbing up and down so she could alternate between watching her footing and looking ahead. The corridor smelled like mildew and dust, with notes of something else beneath it—something that reeked like really bad body odor.

  The corridor ended at a right turn. Kelly paused. The iPod light wasn’t strong enough to illuminate more than a few feet.

  “JD?”

  No answer.

  I should go get Mom.

  Then she heard another yelp. Closer this time.

  “I’m coming, JD!”

  Kelly rounded the corner, picking up her pace. She held out her free hand and touched the wall, her fingers trailing along rough, unfinished wood, and stopped when she touched something that moved.

  Kelly flashed the iPod light at the object. It was a small, square piece of plywood, swinging on a single nail like a picture frame. She touched the bottom and swivelled it upside down, revealing...

  A hole. It’s a hole in the wall.

  The hole was perhaps the size of a quarter, and there was a fai
nt light coming from it. Kelly’s finger probed the outside. She got ready to stick her finger in, then halted.

  Bad idea. It could be a rat hole.

  But what if it’s another secret door?

  She poked the tip of her index finger inside, ready to pull it back if she felt anything sharp. Her finger went in to the first knuckle...

  The second knuckle...

  And then it touched something cold and flat.

  Glass?

  I guess I have to look.

  The hole was high enough for Kelly to have to stand tippy-toed to see through it. She pressed her nose against the wall, the wood smelling really foul, and squinted into the opening.

  Kelly saw a toilet. She gasped when she noticed the toilet seat had Lincoln’s face on it.

  It’s the toilet in my room.

  Kelly backed away from the peep hole, turning to run back to the room. This was bad. This was really bad. That creepy old lady was spying on them, and Kelly had to tell Mom and Grandma.

  “Help me.”

  Kelly paused in mid-step. The voice belonged to a girl. A young girl, from the sound of it. Coming from the same direction she’d heard JD yelp.

  “Please help me. My name is Alice and I’m scared.”

  Kelly peered over her shoulder, into the dark. She knew she couldn’t leave a little girl behind. Fighting panic, she managed to sound calm when she said, “Where are you, Alice?”

  “I’m here. There’s a doggy with me. He’s hurt.”

  “How is he hurt, Alice? What happened to my dog?”

  “He’s limping. His foot is all twisted up.”

  JD cried out, a pitiful sound that made Kelly want to scream.

  “I’ll be right there, Alice,” she said, racing ahead, frantic with fear and adrenalin, coming to another turn, thinking about poor JD with his paw broken, and then coming to...

  A dead end.

  Kelly stared at the wall, wondering what to do next, and noticed another hanging square of plywood.

  “Alice?”

  “I’m stuck in here. Please help me.”

  The voice was coming from directly behind the wall.

  Kelly sidled up to the wall and stretched to look through the peep hole. She saw only darkness.

  “I can’t see you, Alice. Is my dog in there?”

  JD yelped again.

  Kelly pushed on the wall, but it didn’t budge.

  “You need to pull it,” Alice said.

  Kelly had no idea how to pull a flat wall forward, then decided to stick her finger in the hole and try tugging on that. She put it in carefully, gripped the side, and then...

  “Uhhhhn....”

  The pain was so sudden, so shocking, that it literally took Kelly’s breath away. She tried to yell, but nothing came out, and at the same time she tried to free her finger from the hole and only succeeded in making the pain worse.

  Something had her finger. Something sharp and tight that wouldn’t let go.

  Kelly dropped her iPod. It landed face-up, its gel case working as advertised and absorbing the shock. In the dim light it emitted, Kelly could see that there was blood leaking down her hand. She pulled again, determined to rip her finger off if it would free her, but the agony made her cry out. Kelly beat against the wall with her fist, then kicked it, filling her lungs to unleash the mother of all screams.

  Then she abruptly stopped when she heard something behind her in the corridor.

  Is it JD? Please let it be my dog.

  It wasn’t her dog.

  “I told a lie,” Alice said, walking closer. “A bad lie.”

  Kelly buried the scream, instead starting to cry. “You have to help me, Alice. My finger is stuck.”

  “My name isn’t Alice,” the approaching figure said. “It’s Grover.”

  “I don’t care what your name is,” Kelly said, anger joining up with her pain.

  “Alice was Theodore Roosevelt’s first daughter,” Grover said. “She had pretty hair.”

  Then Grover stepped into the faint light of the iPod. He stood over six feet tall, and was wearing stained overalls and a faded plaid shirt. His eyes were tiny, too close together. His jaw was big, and it stuck out like Popeye’s, but his head got thinner toward the forehead, almost like a Halloween gourd. Perched crookedly on his head was a curly, blonde wig.

  “Do you think I have pretty hair?” the grown man said, still using the voice of a little girl. He touched one of the curls.

  Then he yelped like a hurt dog.

  Kelly began to scream, but Grover put a big, rough hand over her mouth and nose, holding it there and giggling hehehehe like a five-year old.

  Kelly kicked and punched and struggled to take a breath.

  But he wouldn’t let her.

  # # #

  Mal gripped Deb’s arm, first pushing her off balance, then steadying her. The darkness felt like a weight pressing down on Deb, threatening to push her into the earth.

  “Where is it?” he whispered.

  “Bushes,” Deb said.

  She’d seen the deadly, gold eyes of the cougar a second ago, but they’d retreated into the black.

  “You sure?” Mal asked. “I don’t see anything.”

  “Smell that?”

  Mal sniffed the air. “Rank.”

  It was an odor Deb would never forget. “Big cat smell. Back up slowly. And let go of my arm—you’re gonna knock me over.”

  Mal released her. Deb had no problem walking backwards in the Cheetah prosthetics on flat land, but the wooded terrain proved difficult. All she could think of was being batted around like a ball of yarn, each swipe of the cat’s hooked claws digging into her skin and sending her rolling across the ground. She had scars all over her body from such an experience. In a way, it was even worse than shattering her legs.

  Deb was so worried about the mountain lion springing on her, she wasn’t paying close enough attention to her footing. Two steps later she was tipping backward, her arms pinwheeling to regain balance.

  Mal caught her shoulders, held her steady until she could get her feet under her.

  “Thanks,” she managed.

  “You sure there’s a cougar?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “How sure?”

  Deb didn’t like his doubt. She’d seen the lion’s eyes. Seen them as clearly as she was looking into Mal’s.

  But then, Mal had been pretty sure their tire had been shot out, and he’d apparently been wrong there. So his questioning was no more than...

  “You must be Deborah Novachek, and that reporter fellow.”

  The voice came from the same bushes Deb had seen the cat. It was a female voice, friendly enough.

  “You don’t happen to see a mountain lion around, do you?” Mal asked.

  Deb frowned at him. Mal shrugged.

  “A mountain lion?” the woman said. “Heavens, no. Though they are known to hunt in these parts. Y’all had better come inside. I’m Eleanor Roosevelt, the owner of the inn.”

  Eleanor stepped through the bushes, and Deb played the pen light across her. She was a large woman, and carried herself in a strong, sturdy way that belied her advanced age.

  “Nice to meet you, Eleanor,” Deb began. “Are you sure you—”

  “My goodness, young lady. What happened to your legs?”

  Mal squeezed her shoulders a bit tighter, as if in reassurance. Deb shrugged him off.

  “I lost them in a climbing accident,” Deb said. “And I saw a mountain lion just a—”

  “Are you sick?” Eleanor interrupted. “We can’t allow you inside the Inn if you’re diseased.”

  “Rude much?” Mal asked.

  Being impolite didn’t matter to Deb, especially with a cougar nearby. But now she began to question if she’d seen the cat at all. She took pride in her inner strength, but being in these mountains again brought back some pretty terrible memories. And since no cats seemed to be pouncing on them, perhaps she’d imagined those eyes. The smell might have
been something else. A badger, maybe.

  “I compete in triathlons,” Deb said, her eyes darting around the woods, looking for movement. “And I haven’t had so much as a cold in over five years.”

  The large woman cocked her head to the side, as if considering her. Then her face split into a big-toothed smile. “Well, then, let’s get you people inside. Welcome to the Rushmore Inn.”

  Mal picked up the bags he’d dropped, and Deb followed him through the bushes, one eye on her footing and the other on the forest. The animal smell was gone.

  Once past the bushes, a clearing opened up in the woods, revealing a massive, three story log house. There weren’t any lights on the outside, and no light coming through any of the shuttered windows. It was as dark and quiet as the mountains surrounding them.

  “Welcome to the Rushmore Inn,” Eleanor said again, pulling open the door and holding it while they entered.

  The smell inside wasn’t bad, exactly, but it wasn’t pleasant. Sort of a sour, antiseptic odor mingled with sandalwood incense. But unique as that was, it paled compared to the decor.

  “As you can plainly see,” Eleanor Roosevelt said, closing and locking the door behind them, “I greatly admire our nation’s leaders. They’re such important men. You might say I’m a bit obsessed with the subject.”

  “Yes,” Mal nodded, looking around. “You might say that.”

  He gave Deb a sideways glance, his smirk barely concealed.

  “My grandfather was second cousin to Theodore Roosevelt. There’s presidential blood in my family. It’s a fact I’m particularly proud of, though it isn’t without its… challenges.”

  Like turning your house into a flea market, Deb thought. But instead of speaking it aloud, she said, “Mrs. Roosevelt, my car is out on the road. It seems we’ve gotten a flat tire.”

  Eleanor clucked her tongue. “You’d be surprised how often that happens around here. In the morning we can call the auto repair shop.”

  “I need to be at the hotel early to...”

  “My son will take you,” Eleanor interrupted. “He has a truck for your bike.”

  “Already shipped the bike ahead. But the ride would be terrific.”