The Secret of the Dark

by Barbara Steiner

  “Where have you been?” she meowed. “I’m starved and lonely, and let me in!”

  I picked her up and hugged her as she bumped my chin with her head and purred for all she was worth. “You’ll keep me company, won’t you, Mrs. B? You won’t let me get lonely or bored or even scared. We have too much to do.”

  CHAPTER

  15

  THE cabin smelled musty because Fleecy had closed the windows. I opened them up, then gave Mrs. Butterworth a dish of crunchies and a bowl of milk. She looked up with a grateful purr before she started munching.

  I wasn’t hungry but got myself a glass of iced tea and sat in Granny’s rocker to read Dad’s letter again. I would be glad to hear from him, but I’d hate to tell them that Granny had been in the hospital.

  I started thinking about Granny’s accident. I’d pieced together enough to know she had gone to the root cellar for jam, after telling me over and over I didn’t need to buy any. She wanted to bring it in and say, “See.” Why hadn’t she asked me to get it? Maybe she never thought of it when I was around. Things went in and out of her mind so fast. But how did she get shut in?

  Mrs. Butterworth meowed that she wanted to go outside, so I got up and opened the screen. I followed her out and around to the back of the house. The sun beat down unmercifully. Full summer with its hundred degree temperatures had set in.

  The old door was set into the root cellar on a slant. I imagined that the cellar had been a hill behind the house or perhaps dirt had been piled and packed to make the mound. Now it was part of the mountain, covered with grass and wild flowers.

  I pulled at the door and found it fairly heavy. How had Granny managed it? When I swung it back, rusty hinges creaked in protest and cool air poured out. The cellar was not unlike a tiny cave. I didn’t want to enter it, so I squatted on the second step and looked in. Shelves had been placed along the sides. At one time there had been rows of jars with canned apples, pears, plums, vegetables of all kinds. I could imagine the smug housewife — Granny — thinking she had her winter supply of food close at hand. Potatoes might be piled on the floor in the back, along with turnips, onions, squash.

  Mrs. B. came and sat beside me. “Not going in this time, huh? Thank goodness your curiosity took you in before. Your meowing gave us a clue.”

  Granny went in, leaving the door open. There was no way to open it halfway since it was heavy and had to lie flat. So it couldn’t have closed by itself, by accident. No wind could have blown it.

  I tried to reenact the scene. Granny opens the door, lays it back. She and Mrs. B. go in. Could Mrs. B. have tripped her? Possibly. Cats with their habit of weaving between legs could cause an accident Mrs. B. tripped Granny, she grabbed at a shelf as she fell. The shelf came loose, spilling jam, and hitting Granny’s arm. Granny blacks out. But the door is still open. There had to be another person to close the door.

  Another possibility. Granny has her jam. She starts up the steps. She pulls at the heavy door. It swings suddenly. Granny gets off balance and topples back down the stairs, the door slamming. Then Granny would be lying partly on the steps, or at the bottom.

  I stepped down the last two steps. I could still see the rag-doll heap of Granny lying in the cellar. Way over by the shelf. And how had the shelf come down if it didn’t fall when Granny got the jam? No, that theory didn’t work out. The only possible scenario for where Granny was lying, for the accident, was that someone shut the door either after the accident or before. If someone shut it while Granny was down there, it would be suddenly dark. Granny could knock against the shelf trying to get out.

  A shiver of apprehension flew over me. Why would someone shut Granny in the root cellar? All the other pranks — although I could hardly call them pranks now — were fairly harmless. Granny could have died down here. The other things were also directed to me. Did someone plan to get to me now through Granny?

  Just the dim, cool cellar seemed unsafe all of a sudden, and I scampered back up the stairs, pulled the door up, and, making sure Mrs. B. was out, slammed it with a bang.

  Mrs. B. jumped straight up in the air and took off around the house. I was glad for an excuse to laugh. Not much was funny about my thinking and my deductions that someone had actually tried to hurt Granny or scare me through her.

  I chased after Mrs. B., but stopped abruptly at the cabin door. I knew I hadn’t left my tape player on, but it sang out clearly.

  “No pity, no pity,

  No pity, he cried.

  My mind is for to drownd you

  And leave you behind.”

  I ran to shut it off but not before the next verse had played.

  “He slipped up behind her

  And choked her down.

  And throwed her in the water

  Just below the dam.”

  I ran back out to the front of the cabin and looked in all directions. No one. But how easy to escape down the stairs. There was no time to get to the wall Or was someone on the other side of the cabin?

  “Rick? Rick, was that you? I’m not scared. It’s no fun to scare someone who’s not scared.” My voice sounded funny in the silence that surrounded the cabin.

  Rick knew I was alone. He said he enjoyed scaring me. Would he wait and come back up here for fun?

  I stepped back inside the door, waiting to hold it for Mrs. Butterworth who sailed in, tail high and furry as a feather duster. Had she seen someone or sensed a presence?

  Quickly I shut the door and locked it. Then the thought hit me that whoever turned on the player could still be inside.

  CHAPTER

  16

  MRS. B. rubbed against my ankles. I picked her up, holding her close until she wiggled, but my plan was that I could throw her at an intruder and have time to get away myself. “Sorry, Mrs. B.,” I whispered. “I have to let you help me.”

  Slowly and quietly I clicked the lock back open, then tried to cuddle Mrs. B. so she wouldn’t want to get down. Most cats won’t stand for being held too long.

  There was total, absolute silence as I stood. My own breathing sounded as loud as snoring. I shut my eyes, took a deep breath, and tiptoed toward Granny’s room, having first glanced around the couch, although it was flat against the wall.

  I nudged the bedroom door with my foot, swinging it all the way open. From the doorway I knelt and looked under the bed, my heart pounding. Then raising Mrs. B. in front of me, I pulled aside the curtain on Granny’s closet. No one.

  I felt some relief, although there was still my bedroom to check. Should I just leave the cabin, lock the door, and go down to the road? I could start walking and maybe eventually get a ride to town. How often did anyone travel Granny’s road? It was a long walk to town. Maybe I should phone for the sheriff to come out and check around. I could hear him saying, “You want me to come look in your bedroom because you’ve gotten yourself scared out there by yourself?” He would probably laugh. And besides, what was I going to do while I waited for him to come? Guard the cabin’s front door so no one could leave? What I wanted was to lock myself in until tomorrow when Neal would come for me and we’d go get Granny.

  This was silly. Mrs. B. purred — she had done without loving for days — as I climbed the stairway ladder to my bedroom. From the next to last step I could see right under my bed. There was no one there. And I’d left my closet curtain open. There was no one in the closet. I crumpled in a heap at the top of the stairs. Mrs. B. purred all the louder and started meowing in my lap.

  “No, Mrs. B. I’m not going to sit here and hold you all evening. But I hope you’ll want to stay inside all night.”

  I was at the bottom of the stairs when I saw the closed bathroom door. We usually left it open but that didn’t mean anything. Fleecy could have closed it. I stared at it for a minute. I had two choices. Leave here some way and go back to town. Or open the door and prove that my imagination had run away to think whoever had turned on the tape would hide in the house.

  Quickly, before I could think any long
er, I reached for the knob, unlatched the door, kicked it open, staying ready to run. No one. I felt limp as the fear drained out of me.

  Talking to Mrs. B. about how silly I was, I immediately locked the front door and sat down at the piano to play the loudest piece I knew.

  The playing soothed me and took away some of my anxiety. I switched to a quieter piece. About seven o’clock I decided popcorn and cheese would be plenty of supper after my big lunch.

  I had made a heaping bowl of hot popcorn, melted butter on it the way I like, and had carried it to the living room when the phone rang. It could be Neal making plans for tomorrow. It could be someone asking about Granny, or even the doctor. She’d gotten worse. There was a third possibility. I sat through six rings before I carefully lifted the receiver and said, “Hello.”

  “Valerie. Is anything wrong? I was just going to give up.”

  “Dad! Where are you? I’m so glad to hear your voice.”

  “We’re home. How are things going? How is Granny? Have you survived?”

  I told him about Granny right away, but assured him that she was all right and was coming home tomorrow. Then we talked about my summer. “Are you really coming out? I can hardly wait to see you. When can you come?”

  Dad laughed at my bombarding him with questions, but I was so relieved that the call was from him.

  “We’ll come out as soon as possible. We need to take a breath before we start the final work on the book. I’ll get back to you as soon as we get reservations. Rue sends her love to both of you.”

  I felt good enough to sleep, feeling safe now with the door locked and Mrs. Butterworth curled up under my arm. Plus the idea that my dad and Rue would be here soon. I could tell them all the things that had happened and we’d see if we could figure out what was going on. Dad would know what to do. He always did.

  Neal called the next morning while I ate some cereal and we made plans to pick up Granny that afternoon. Granny was in a mumbling, grumbling mood, which I took as good. She was eager to get out of “that place” where she had been poked and prodded and no one had let her sleep.

  Without being obvious, I had Neal come in with me and Granny, and I checked the house for anything strange or out of place. Then I walked him to the stairs.

  “I know Granny just got back, but I can take tomorrow off, Valerie. I think I can get a recording I want. Go with me.”

  “Okay, I’ll call Fleecy. I know she’s anxious to see Granny since she didn’t get to visit at the hospital. I’m sure she’ll come over if we don’t stay long.”

  I was so glad to have Granny back I made all her favorite things: cornbread, fried potatoes, pork chops, and the buttermilk she loved. I hummed and even sang one of the old songs while I fixed supper. Granny didn’t miss much and finally said, “You seem happy, child.”

  We talked of Dad and Rue’s visit and Granny seemed pleased they were coming. But while I cleaned up the kitchen, I noticed that her mind drifted off. She was probably tired. I was going to suggest going to bed when she said, “Don’t go, child.”

  Go? “Oh, Granny. I’m not going home with Dad and Rue. They’re coming to visit. I’m going to stay all summer with you and then we’ll have a plan. We won’t leave you alone again.”

  “I don’t want you to go.”

  “Don’t worry, Granny. You’re just tired.” I helped her change into her nightgown. The broken arm was going to be a nuisance. “Can you sleep on your back, Granny?” I put one pillow under her cast to make her comfortable.

  “I’m afraid of the dark.” Granny’s eyes looked far away.

  “Granny, I don’t know how you got shut in that root cellar, but I promise it won’t happen again.”

  Was she reliving what had happened? It seemed to frighten her all over again. She clutched my arm. “The dark, child. Beware of the dark.” Was there a superstition about darkness? Granny’s insecurity frightened me, but I understood that she’d had a bad week. I tried to soothe her, and even sat holding her hand for a few minutes like I would a child who didn’t want to go to bed, didn’t want me to turn off the light.

  By the time she seemed asleep and I could leave her, I found that I was tired too. All the strain of the last few days was catching up.

  Morning brought a return of my energy. I cleaned the cabin from top to bottom and still felt like running outside and shouting. Was I that excited about Neal and our afternoon trip? I guess I was, because when Fleecy came with a message that he was going to be late, I felt disappointed.

  “Why didn’t he call?”

  “Line was busy for an hour he said.”

  Fleecy and Granny had lots of catching up to do and I soon tired of their talk. I gathered my notebook, my tape recorder, dumped some tissues and lip gloss from my tote into my backpack, and went outside. I tore a sheet from my notebook and scribbled a note for Neal. Yell for me or come up the trail. I’m on the big rock — need some thinking time.

  I sat in the shade and leaned against the big rock, facing the cabin. Although I couldn’t see the front door, I could see Neal if he came to the side and called.

  My thinking centered on Neal and Rick, and I realized that while I still liked Rick, my feelings for Neal were growing stronger and stronger. I wondered how it felt to be in love. I knew I wanted to be with Neal as much as possible, and just seeing him or anticipating seeing him after we’d been apart made me excited.

  Despite what he’d said, Neal was a caring person and it showed in all he did. He had been so gentle and kind to Granny yesterday when we brought her home. I couldn’t see Rick doing the same thing. Rick seemed more selfish. He liked me, but more as a person to tease, to take from. He treated me like a thing — a toy. I couldn’t believe he was very sincere.

  I had written Pam about each boy, describing them in detail. I decided to start a letter to her, putting down my feelings about each one now. She’d have an opinion. She always did.

  I had one ear tuned for Neal’s call, but got absorbed in the writing. Suddenly something covered my head and face, smothering me.

  I fought and struggled. Strong arms tried to hold on to me. I yelled but my voice was muffled by scratchy material.

  I felt a sharp blow to my head. The world exploded, filling my brain with a powerful roar. Then I slipped into darkness, total, suffocating darkness.

  CHAPTER

  17

  I WOKE to a clammy dampness, my head throbbing. Where was I? My eyes were open. I knew they were, but it was dark, so dark. I knew I had been unconscious. For how long? Was it night? I felt for the path, the rock. My pack was still on my back, the waist strap cutting into my chest.

  The rock, the ground under me, was cold. Then it came to me. I was not outside. I didn’t know what time it was, but this darkness didn’t come from night. I was underground. In a cave! Rocks all around me overhead.

  Please, please, let this be a nightmare. Let me wake up now. Wake up to sunshine — bright daylight. I grabbed a handful of gravel and squeezed till the rocks cut into my hand. Huddling in as small a heap as I could, I tried to warm myself. I rubbed my arms, my legs, brushed tears from my cheeks. This was no dream. It was real. Who had brought me here? Why? How long ago? Unanswerable questions. All I really knew was that I didn’t want to be here.

  Then I was afraid to move. I sat, listening. Only an occasional drip of water filled the silence. Was this Rick’s cave? Some other? “The Ozarks are riddled with caves.” Neal’s statement came to me.

  Soon the only thing worse than moving was sitting, feeling totally helpless. If I was in Rick’s cave, and never mind how I got there, I might find something that I remembered. Then I could search my mind for the trail we walked.

  If only I had some light, any light. Grabbing off my backpack, my fingers dug inside the cloth. I felt the familiar articles, the tube of lip gloss, a pencil, my tape recorder, a stick of gum. I don’t know why I bothered. I never carried matches. I didn’t smoke. None of my friends smoked. I guess it was a desperate wish th
at sometime, somehow, someone had put matches in my pack. I’d find them and be pleasantly surprised.

  I fought my fear. I must concentrate only on finding some way out. Running my hand along the wall I found it smooth, satiny. Flowstone? If I continued keeping the wall on my right, I could move forward and go in one direction.

  And so I traveled, cautiously, inch by inch. I was afraid even to stand up, wanting as much of my body in touch with solid rock for the security it offered. Even though rocks cut into my bare legs, and I knew my progress was so tedious that it would take me hours to reach the outside, this was the only way I could persuade myself to move.

  The darkness became a presence, pressing down on me, scrambling my mind so that at times I questioned up or down. My hand clasped empty space, and I clawed for the wall, then found the base of a small stalagmite. There was one, two, five of them, and again solid wall. I scooted my bottom forward, the scrape of my shorts loud to my ears, making my head throb with every movement.

  I became desperately thirsty. The stick of gum. It would help. I unwrapped it carefully; the minty smell seemed out of place here. TV ads of the Doublemint twins shouting, laughing, splashing in ocean waves, flashed through my mind, and I fought to concentrate on what was real, what was now.

  Get up and walk, I spoke harshly to myself. You can’t crawl all the way back to the entrance of this cave. So I struggled to my feet, feeling stiff and sore. Now I flattened myself to the cave wall and again took tiny shuffling steps sideways and forward.

  I gasped and held back a scream. My hand had grasped nothingness. My foot slipped into air. Quickly I hugged the icy wall. I gathered a small handful of gravel and tossed it ahead of me, where there should have been a trail.

  I suppose the time it took for the rocks to fall was short, but in my mind it was forever. Finally the tiny splattering sound echoed up to me. The pit. Dear God. I was sprawled on the edge of the drop-off, the bottomless pit.

  A scream rose up from my chest into my throat, choking me, trying to escape. Up, up, up, until, like a thing alive it spilled from my lips and echoed shrilly off the cave wall. I fought the panic that followed the burst of energy the scream precipitated. If I allowed myself to run, to move forward at all, I would join the spray of pebbles, falling, falling, falling to a destination unknown, yet fatal.