Lost Things: Three Adventure Novels

by K. T. Tomb

  It was an ominous site, but still it provided them with opportunity. Grindlay grunted as he attempted to pry a rotted board from the floor. He had found blueprints from previous construction work at the site during one of the remodels and there was an indication that here, somewhere amongst these old boards, there was a hidden cellar. During the last update, the floors had been replaced, and at the request of the church, the cellar door had been completely covered with the flooring, just as it had been to begin with.

  Grindlay’s hair had come completely loose, his face a mask of twisted, sweaty skin. It was still too early for the sun to bear down heavily on them, but everyone in the group, save for Julie, had seen him on these excavations before. The excitement of discovering the unknown always made his heart pump harder and the sweat run freely, even with minimal effort. Gerald and Piers, having released Julie from his hold, went to the professor’s aid, helping him to yank the floor board up, as well as a few surrounding ones. The boards snapped against the strain, nearly tossing the men off their feet, and revealed an ornate door beneath. This was what they had come for.

  The intricate iron weaved and waved over a thick, deep-red mahogany door that fit so snugly into its frame, that it was hard to not believe it was one solid structure. The wrought iron overlay creaked and groaned, the thick wood beneath holding tightly to its jamb. The three tried lifting it from its molding, but it refused to give way. Robert walked over coolly, his toned arms flexing beneath his tight shirt, a lazy smile across his face. If anyone was going to get the door to budge, Robert was confident that it was going to be him. The group had never truly understood what Robert was doing with them or what his interest in history had been. They had all been more than convinced, at the beginning, that he was nothing more than a jock and that football and beer were the two main ingredients in his Friday night cocktails. Still, he was here willingly and had gone on so many of the excavations that no one doubted his interest any longer. Even so, he was still the brute of the group.

  Valery watched from a distance, eyes half hidden behind wire frames and glass. Her lanky brown hair pulled onto the top of her head in a neat little bun, but from the way her fingers fidgeted and twisted together, it was easy to see that playboy had her attention. The two were complete opposites in every way possible, so her friends found it difficult to understand her interest, but she’d had eyes only for Robert since she’d met him the year before. The problem was, he had no idea and never would.

  The door screeched and scraped as metal ground against metal, but slowly, it was lifted outwards. With one last great heave, the group, muscles strained and rippling, shoved the door back. The floor rattled under them unsteadily, waiting for just the right moment to give out from under their weary feet, but it held, for now. Through the opening a wooden staircase was revealed, only half exposed by the pale orange streams of the rising sun. Grindlay pulled his ragged book bag from his shoulder and laid it on the ground in front of him. His students had always thought he looked awkward with it, but it had its uses. His eyes were wild as he handed each of them a flashlight.

  “Careful, now.”

  He spoke through a crooked smile with yellow teeth, stained from his years of nervous chain-smoking.

  “There’s no telling the stability of these stairs.”

  He gave the same speech before every excavation and repeated his words often throughout. They were used to it by now so they each nodded in hopes to speed him along. But Grindlay was not satisfied unless he proved his point. So he stretched out a steel-toed boot and kicked at the top step. It didn’t give under the force, but it didn’t sound as if it would hold up to much abuse. Even so, Grindlay was pleased and was still smiling as he addressed the grad students.

  “Gloves at all times,” he instructed, again repeating the directions he’d given them before they’d arrived, “and everything gets bagged and tagged. No exceptions!”

  His eyes darted to Robert, almost mechanically. The man was still suspicious that the last excavation had been botched by Robert intentionally. Without proof, however, he couldn’t keep the hotheaded jock from joining them that day.

  “Judas' mind was in a disagreeable ferment because of the Master's rebuke the preceding day in connection with Mary's anointing at the feast in Simon's house. It was because of this rebuke, which he took as a personal reproof, that Judas Iscariot finally made up his mind to seek revenge for his hurt feelings. Many times had he entertained such ideas subconsciously, but now he dared to think such wicked thoughts in his open and conscious mind. The one absorbing thought of Judas was: What shall I do? Shall I go on with Jesus and my associates, or shall I withdraw? And if I am going to quit, how shall I break off? It was while listening to the Master's final indictment of the Jewish leaders and rulers that Judas finally and fully made up his mind to forsake the gospel movement and wash his hands of the whole enterprise.” –The Urantia Book 172:5.12

  The outside air had been cool, as was expected based on the weather reports; but as they descended the rickety stairs, the temperature began to drop rapidly and the damp settled against their skin like cloaks of death. The air became thick in their mouths as the group gulped and swallowed it down. The wooden planks, which had likely been forgotten for at least a hundred years or more, sagged under their weight as the team followed Grindlay into the basement. Soft, yellow light danced around the room as flashlights bobbed in unsteady hands. Some shivered from the cold, others shivered from the uncertainty of exploring the area; but the same uncertainties – of their find, of the stability of the site – were all part of the grandeur and excitement of the exploration. Grindlay may have been used to these conditions, but a handful of these explorations under their belts had made none of the grad students experts.

  Feet fell on firm dirt. Wooden planks lined the walls from ceiling to floor on each side of the room. As they edged around the room, trying to feel out the space, hands ran across the wood which had been overrun by moss and mildew that turned to slime under the touch. The cellar followed the length of the building, though it did not have the transepts coming off each side. Along the walls were several walnut chests that, at one time, had likely been beautiful. Their once supple surfaces, the luxurious details dramatically carved and sculpted, were devastating to see in such poor form. The doors hung slack on their frames, many of the structures leaned awkwardly, and it was a wonder that they did not topple to the side. Much of the detail of the doors and corners had been worn away by time and much of the surfaces were deteriorated by water damage or, just as likely, rodents. Decaying tapestries portraying scenes of the apostles, and scenes of the resurrection hung limply along much of the walls, their images barely recognizable beneath the buildup of soil and dust.

  Gloves snapped onto anxious hands before anyone was permitted to run fingers across the finds. They weren’t looking for anything in particular; still, these excavations always held possibility and that was more than enough to excite Grindlay and the young students. Sheila’s fingers grazed over the surface of the doors to the closest cabinet before she gently pulled them outwards. Inside, leather-bound books shriveled against one another, their pages yellowed with time. She pulled a book from the shelf carefully, allowing the pages to splay open in her hands. The words had long lost their readability and had become nothing but dirty, faded scrawls across the wilting pages. Valery moved beside her.

  “How sad. I’m sure they once held priceless knowledge.” Her words were soft and filled with longing.

  “I’d have loved to study them.”

  She began slipping the books into preservation bags, with the loving care of a mother with her child. Sheila followed, mimicking the caution that her friend used.

  Grindlay searched a cabinet, but found nothing but pottery; mostly wooden pieces, though some were of silver. They were not finely crafted, however, and had likely not been for ceremonial use. He shoved them into bags anyhow, because one could never be too sure about these things. Often the most priceless of
finds were the things that one would not think to be worth anything to begin with. He heard Robert rummaging through something behind him and he cringed as he turned, dreading that he would find the ape destroying or corrupting something of value. By the time the professor’s eyes found Robert, the trunk he had been struggling with had swung open, the lid clapping against the soil dully. Grindlay could see from where he stood that it contained nothing of importance. Only decayed scraps of cloth and a few simple pieces of jewelry.

  Julie huddled closely to Piers, still unsure of what exactly she should be doing. He glanced at her occasionally, smiling at her uncertainty, as he inspected tapestries and the woodwork of the cabinets. He couldn’t help but admire the passion that could be seen in these ancient pieces. They walked to the back of the room, the ceiling noticeably dropping as they went, low enough that Piers had to hunch once they reached the final cabinet. He smacked his head into an unseen beam and Julie, trying to hold back a giggle, reached out to steady him.

  “Shit!” he yelled.

  His hand shot to his forehead, but came away dry. No blood, but there was certain to be a bruise. He resisted the urge to smack the beam back, but he wasn’t Robert. At least he had a little control over his actions. Julie pulled him to her as she kissed his forehead.

  “Poor baby,” she cooed, somewhat mockingly.

  Piers wasn’t sure if he thought it cute, or annoying, but for that moment, he brushed it off. He reached out to the cabinet, wishing he could slip off the gloves and feel the softened wood on his fingertips. The doors barely clung to their hinges and the frame of the cabinet slouched dangerously to the right. He lifted the left of the doors, swinging it out gingerly just as Julie did the same with the right. Suddenly, his door snapped free of its restraints, the sudden release of strain jerking the cabinet even more to the right, and before either he or Julie could stabilize the hulking wood, it collapsed. The contents were sent sprawling across the floor and the wood splintered like shattered ice.

  Julie stumbled backwards, startled, and a gasp came from behind them, most likely from Valery. Flashlights bobbed across the walls, skimming across the fallen cabinet and then back and forth from Julie to Piers, who wasn’t just humiliated, but ashamed. He’d done a dozen of these to date, and he knew how to treat a site; destroying items was not on the agenda. Grindlay walked up to him; part in concern, part in frustration. He couldn’t handle another contaminated site, another excavation to come up empty-handed because of incompetence. Still, he tried not to let the kids see the look on his face. He brushed the back of his hand across his forehead, where sweat was still collecting, even in the coolness of being underground. He rolled his flashlight over the spilled contents, a few near-worthless artifacts. Nothing caught his eye, but still, ‘bag and tag’ was his instruction to them as he began to move back to what he had been inspecting. His light glared across the wall, but fell into nothing but emptiness. No wooden walls, no earth or mud. Just nothingness. He felt the corner of his mouth twitch as he moved closer.

  Behind where the cabinet had stood was a narrow opening that had once been covered by the same slats that covered the walls. It had been hacked away and deteriorated with time. The doorway was barely wide enough for Grindlay to squeeze through and did not run down to the floor. Instead, it was a jagged opening with splintered and snapped boards poking towards the center. He smiled ridiculously, silently thankful that over the years, his body had lost much of its mass. A sliver of wood tugged at his shirt, but he didn’t feel it as he pulled himself free and into the hidden room. His mind was on the crypt that he had just walked into. To the tombs that lined the perimeter and the heavy stone that lined the walls. Unlike the main room, the room felt dry, even if colder, but the air was heavy and stale, not just a hundred years old, but two hundred, maybe three hundred years old.

  Much of the stone was carved with Latin phrases and Grindlay regretted that his years of study in Latin were no longer with him. He could have called Valery in, could have had her begin translation, and she even hovered at the opening with the others, but he didn’t want to share. Not this. This he wanted to do on his own, wanted to have for himself. He heard the grind and strain of the rafters overhead and imagined that he was directly beneath the Altar, or rather, where the Altar had been. “What’s the hold up?” Robert stood at the back of the group, but was doing what he could to shove his way through and into the room.

  “Stay there, Jones!”

  Robert grunted as he reluctantly halted at the door. He wasn’t the patient type, wasn’t the type to even take orders with ease, but he decided to hang back and watch, for which Grindlay was thankful. Grindlay looked about him and had to admit that he would probably need the youths’ help with lifting coffin lids, but if he could help it, he’d do it himself. He didn’t want to share.

  “Professor?”

  Sheila sounded concerned, but Grindlay didn’t bother with an answer and the rest of the voices faded out. The team watched anxiously as he shoved a coffin lid back, struggling to keep it from crashing to the floor and shaking the foundation, as unreliable as it already felt. Just leaning into the room, Piers and Gerald could feel the change in pressure as the air had built up for so many unknown years. It had become stale too; the stench of death having long left the air, but still there was something unsettling about it.

  The lids were heavy, mostly made out of ordinary stone and filled with only the hints of torn fabric and the lost memories of the body that was once in the coffin. Bones were still present, lying eerily in the same burial position since the moment they had been placed there. He searched each with enthusiasm, but he came up empty-handed each time and was tempted to give up; yet another site where he would come up with nothing. He knew he was destined for something, but he was beginning to feel that he’d be dead before he finally made his discovery. The discovery.

  He shoved back another lid; only one more left if this one was a dud. The cloths within were faded to an ugly, dirty brown, or maybe they had always been that color, but the professor knew that it had once been a full tunic and not just decaying sheets, which were nearly as thin as tissue. He bent over, reaching into the depths and fumbling through the material, watching as it sifted through his fingers like flour. And then he brushed across something that didn’t crumble at his touch. It wasn’t solid, but rather soft and moveable under his palm. He clutched it gently, hoping that whatever it was would hold together long enough for him to at least examine it.

  Yellow light strutted across a supple, dark brown leather pouch, the size of a grown man’s fist. The opening was cinched tightly with a thick rope of braided leather weaving in and out of the fabric and tied off to one side. His muddy-brown eyes were wide, his brow slick with cold sweat, mouth dry and rough like sandpaper. He sat on the uneven floor, uncaring and oblivious to the cold that seeped through his jeans. With the pouch sitting heavily on his thigh as he pulled the leather rope free, the contents spilled out and over onto the floor. A handful of silver coins glittered in the dim light of the room and Grindlay found his awkward smile spreading, his lips arid and cracked. Each coin was uneven and several were slightly chipped, yet their facial images and overall integrity had held over the years. He felt a twitch, the twitch that had started at his mouth and was now moving up to his eye. So many years, so much time and energy, and now it looked like it was finally going to change for him. It would be over soon. The rafters above creaked again, moaned and grunted as he rose from the floor and moved towards the doorway.

  “Professor?” Valery whispered his name again, both scared and concerned.

  Grindlay, however, could think of nothing but the future, and what the find could mean for him. He couldn’t be sure of the year they had been struck, but he could at least presume that they were ancient, and likely from the time of the Romans, based on the profile on the front of the coins.

  Although, Grindlay thought to himself, these coins were produced for years after Constantine converted Rome to Christiani
ty. Still.

  He admired the coins; their supple, metallic surface could still be felt, even through the gloves, and it did nothing but excite him.

  “Grindlay?” Julie was chiming in now, her voice a bit strained but sounding so far away.

  The coins were back in the pouch, but he could feel each individual coin pressing against his hand and he pictured their luster, their brilliance. There was another creak above him, the grinding of boards as they strained against breaking, and then screaming from someone outside of the room. He barely had time to register the sound, the shrillness in the voice, when the moaning and groaning above became a heave, a snap, and a rain of dust fell onto his head, clouding his vision for a moment. He reached up to brush the dust and a loose strand from his forehead while stretching his free hand, the hand that clutched dearly to the pouch, out to the doorway and the waiting kids. He was ready to step a foot through the opening, when the rain of dust became an avalanche, and the boards above came tumbling down onto him, burying him. Crushing his involuntarily twitch and wispy gray hair under the last remnants of the altar flooring above. The only part of him that was left exposed were his gloved fingers still clutching a fistful of leather.

  Valery screamed and Julie leaned against Piers in silent horror while he clutched her tightly. Gerald dove into the room alone to pull the professor from the chaos while Robert stood in the doorway, silent for the first time anyone could remember. His face was twisted in horror and disbelief. Sheila had still been searching cabinets, unaware and unconcerned with the professor’s findings, but now she came running at the sound of the floor falling and the screams that had followed. She snatched at broken boards, alongside Gerald, dug through the dirt and grime, but it was already quite apparent that Grindlay was gone.