by Andrew Karre
“Yes, I suppose I’d better explain,” said Spangler. “But first, I wonder if we might find another source of illumination. This lighter isn’t going to last forever.” The flame was getting disturbingly low. “And those dreadful bats seem to be where the light isn’t.”
“Don’t look at me,” said Dante, gesturing to his clothing.
Miranda whacked Vincent across the chest again. “I think even your mom would call this an emergency. You can use your cell phone as a light.”
“Wait, you’ve got a cell phone?” asked Dante. “Why don’t you—I don’t know—use it to call for help?!”
Without a word, Vincent pulled out the phone, but when he hit the power button, his face, bathed in green light, showed only confusion.
“What, no signal?”
“No anything,” and he turned the screen toward the others. It pulsed in varying shades of green.
“Ivor, you were a genius.” The flickering light of Spangler’s lighter was replaced by the sickly green glow of Vincent’s cell, which was now a very expensive flashlight. It was brighter, but hardly more comforting.
“So, tell us what’s up with Shandor,” said Dante.
13
“As it turns out, it wasn’t chance that brought one of Europe’s great architects to Bridgewater to build a high school,” Spangler said. “It was geology.”
“Rocks for jocks. Admissions counselors see right through that on a transcript.”
“Shut up, Vincent!” Miranda hissed.
“As I was saying, it was geology that brought Shandor here. Specifically, a sinkhole that appeared in Bridgewater the year before Shandor dropped everything to come here and build a school. As I’m sure a future Ivy Leaguer must know, a sinkhole occurs when the stone underlying the surface suddenly collapses, creating a hole seemingly out of nowhere. The hole itself can be only a few meters deep. Or it can be thousands of meters.”
“Let me guess,” said Dante. “The one in Bridgewater is really deep.” The pieces of the puzzle were coming together.
“Correct,” said Spangler. “I believe it may be the deepest in North America, perhaps the world.”
“But wait, I’ve never heard of a sinkhole in Bridgewater—”
“Is it—”
Miranda and Dante both started to talk at once and then both stopped to apologize to each other.
“No one has seen the Bridgewater sinkhole for a little more than a hundred years. Shandor arrived here shortly after it opened and within days had charmed the city officials into allowing him to donate his services as an architect for any building they wanted, as long as he could build it over the sinkhole and have complete control over the materials.”
“But why would he want to build a school over a huge hole in the ground?” Vincent asked.
“He didn’t care about the school. He would have built a roller rink if they’d asked him to. What the people of Bridgewater wanted the building for didn’t matter. Shandor believed it would eventually serve a much darker purpose.”
“Spit it out,” exclaimed Dante.
“Shandor’s specialty as an architect was entryways—grand doorways, entrance halls, gates, and the like. It’s my belief that this school is an entryway of sorts. Though it’s not really a front door—more of a trapdoor. A trapdoor over h—”
The building rocked and seemed to tilt steeply before righting itself.
14
The tremor lasted only moments, but it was enough to knock Dante, Spangler, and Miranda to the floor and to send Vincent reeling backward against the bank of lockers. As he grabbed for something to brace himself, his phone clattered to the floor in front of him, face down.
Dante started. “Is everybody all ri—” He bit off his question.
Click.
In the darkness, everyone’s hearing seemed to sharpen. In a flash, Dante dove for where he thought the phone might be. He fumbled it right-side-up and looked up in time to see exactly why the St. Philomena lockers were so large.
As the latch moved, the large floor tile beneath the locker’s owner tilted down violently, like a seesaw. The two locker doors swung apart with ridiculous force. With the locker wide open, the floor pitched forward, as though a huge weight had landed on the opposite side of the seesaw, launching the locker’s owner—now the locker’s victim—inside.
Vincent hadn’t been standing directly in front of the locker. When the trap was sprung, only one foot had stood on the seesawing part of the floor. So instead of being driven with terrible force headfirst into the back of the locker as the other students must have been, Vincent was able to catch the side of the locker. His head still hit the back of the locker with a sickening thud.
With another mechanical click, the floor righted itself. The door began to swing back into place. Dante dove like he was the last defender going for a streaking wide receiver’s ankles. He grabbed the edge of the nearest of the locker’s doors. It stopped for a moment, but then Dante felt the tremendous power of whatever mechanism was closing the door. The door began to drag him. It had about eight inches to go before he’d have to let go and lose Vincent or risk losing his fingers (and probably Vincent too).
“Guys! A little help here!” screamed Dante.
Miranda and Spangler scrambled to grab the door. The three of them succeeded in pulling it back another few inches.
“Young man! Now would be a good time to—“
Miranda yelled over him, “Vincent! Fat envelope from Princeton!”
At that, Vincent heaved himself through the gap. He rolled clear just as Dante, Spangler, and Miranda let the door slam shut. The crash of the door echoed down the hall, disturbing the bats roosting just beyond the light of Vincent’s phone.
“Well,” said Vincent, “at least we know what happened to everyone else.”
15
“Time is running out,” Spangler hissed as they crouched on the floor. Miranda clung to Vincent’s arm. “Listen carefully. I have what may be the key, but I need help interpreting it. I was doing a bit more research on Shandor in preparation for the next edition of my book. As I leafed through the blueprints and architectural notes in the school library, this sheet of paper fell out. Listen.”
The testimony of Wassily Konstantinos, chief engineer for Ivor Shandor
I can scarcely bring myself to write these words, but I know I must. I know Master Shandor to be insane. If this building and its sinister purpose were not enough evidence, then what I saw today must leave me with no doubts.
I was checking the work of the bricklayers on the outer walls of the boiler room when I heard Shandor enter. He was not alone. With him was one of the apprentice pipe fitters—a lad of no more than sixteen, and small for that age. The master led him over near the edge of the Pit at the room’s center. The floor was still unfinished over the sinkhole. He asked the boy to pick up a small, heavy crate. As the boy knelt to lift the load, the master stepped back, drew up his cane, and brought it down on the child’s skull. It was a miracle I did not cry out in horror.
But the blow was not the end of the atrocity. The boy was motionless for only a moment while the master satisfied himself that he was alone. As the boy attempted to push himself onto his hands and knees, the master placed his boot firmly on the wretch’s ribs. With one hard push he sent the boy plummeting over into the terrible abyss.
The master peered over the edge for a moment. Then he turned his attention to the compass that he is never without these days—though I cannot understand why. With the iron ore deposits that line the pit, the instrument’s needle does nothing more than spin.
Frighteningly, he seemed to take great pleasure in what he saw on the compass.
Having seen this, I am resolved to do whatever I can to hamper the master’s plan. I know I do not have the courage to confront him, and outright sabotage of the building’s mechanism is out of the question. He would know in an instant that his creation had been marred. What I can do is make subtle changes. I can misalign critical
parts of the locker mechanisms—parts that I daresay I know better than he. The building will still work, but it will do so more slowly than the master intends, and I pray this may give those poor souls caught in its clutches the time to escape.
My dear wife does not know of my plan, and she must not. She believes in the master’s vision with all her heart. I do not pretend she would take my side if forced to choose.
May God have mercy on my soul and hers,
W.K.
“So that’s why Mrs. Konstantinos was spinning all those combos. She was undoing her husband’s sabotage!” It chilled Dante to remember her methodically moving from locker to locker.
“But if that’s our Mrs. Konstantinos’s husband, wouldn’t it make her,” Miranda gulped, “like, over a hundred years old?”
Spangler sighed. “I don’t understand it myself, but clearly she is mixed up in this in a bad way. This makes this document all the more important—”
“That document is trash—the ravings of a coward,” came a cold voice from just beyond the light of Vincent’s phone. Then came the sound of a match striking, and a candle flickered to life. Mrs. Konstantinos stared at the four with complete contempt. “My husband was a fool. Every moment I have lived since that day has been to prove to the master that I never lost faith in his genius. My husband disappointed the master, but I never will.”
Her free hand disappeared into her shawl and came out with what was unmistakably a gun—a very old gun, but still a gun. “I won’t have you ruining things now.”
Dante, who had been seated near the middle of the hallway, edged back from the candle’s light. He cast a quick sideways glance at Vincent, who seemed to understand. Dante slid closer to Miranda, whose eyes were locked on Mrs. Konstantinos.
“Mrs. Konstantinos, look, I’m really sorry about those overdue books,” said Vincent. Dante eased off one of Miranda’s shoes, hoping she’d catch on and not make a sound. Vincent continued, “I swear, I’ll return—“
“Silence, fool,” she said. She cocked the gun. “It would mean nothing to me to destroy you.”
“Come on, will that gun even fire? I mean it looks even older than—“
Everything happened very quickly, and nobody was sure what came first. Dante definitely threw Miranda’s shoe. Vincent definitely dropped his phone facedown. And Mrs. Konstantinos definitely dropped her candle and fired her pistol—which definitely worked.
And then the building took over again. It seemed like the whole floor dropped six inches and then stopped just as suddenly. The ceiling didn’t hold up well under the strain, and its massive tiles began to crumble.
16
“Is everyone all right?” asked Miranda, still in darkness. “Vincent?! Say something!”
Everyone held their breaths for what seemed like forever. “Sorry, I was just enjoying everyone’s concern,” Vincent said. He flipped on his phone’s screen again.
Mrs. Konstantinos lay unmoving, a large chunk of ceiling tile and Miranda’s left shoe near her head.
“Nice throw,” said Spangler.
“Is she . . . dead?” asked Dante.
Miranda scrambled over and searched for a pulse under the high neck of the librarian’s dress. “No, I think she just hit her head.” Miranda grabbed her shoe and the gun.
“Careful with that thing,” winced Spangler.
“Relax,” she said as she spun the cylinder on the ancient revolver. “Firearms safety merit badge, eighth grade. Besides, looks like she only had one bullet.” Miranda flung the gun aside and pulled on her shoe. “What now?”
“Look, we have to get to the boiler room. There’s no other way. Why Shandor was throwing people into the sinkhole, I don’t want to imagine. But note how Wassily Konstantinos says they were in the boiler room.” He gestured to the paper again. “And your dear librarian clearly didn’t want us heading in that direction.” He pointed at the concussed Mrs. Konstantinos. “I believe some crucial part of the mechanism must lie there. But I’m not sure we should go into that room unprepared . . .”
“I thought you said you were armed,” said Vincent.
“Ah, that was merely to frighten you. Before I knew if you were friend or foe . . . ” said Spangler.
They all looked around and at each other as though helpful items might suddenly appear. Dante tugged on his shorts and shirt.
“Don’t look at me,” he said sourly. “It’s not like I’m hiding some sticks of dynamite on me.”
Vincent snapped his fingers.
“I’ve got it. I’ll be right back.” Vincent flipped open his cell and followed the faint green beam down the hall.
“Vincent!” yelled Miranda.
“I say, what’s he up to?” said Spangler.
He stopped about thirty lockers away and yelled “Here it is. Jellybean, what’s your combo again?”
Dante’s eyes widened.
“Just kidding, I already memorized it for y—”
Dante sprinted down the hall toward Vincent. In seconds he had him wrapped up and sprawling on the floor like a JV running back. Vincent looked up, stunned. “Don’t try the locks, man,” Dante said.
Vincent was gasping from the impact, but he managed to cough and point at the bottom of the locker. Miranda’s scarf was jammed in the door. The locker wasn’t latched.
“Uhh, thanks man, but I’m not that dumb,” wheezed Vincent, massaging his chest. “I was just teasing Miranda. You know, she never locks her locker because she can’t remember or do the combination. She won’t admit it, of course. She has to be perfect at everything. But I saw her shove the scarf in the door this morning. She had that same scarf stuck in the corner all last year just to keep her locker open.”
Dante looked confused. Miranda buried her face in her hands, glad no one could see her in the dark.
“But anyway,” continued Vincent, “Miranda does have a weapon, of sorts, in her locker. It’s why we were coming here in the first place.”
Spangler spoke impatiently. “Well, what is it?”
“Is the suspense killing you?” said Vincent, grinning. “First, let’s make sure I can get it without being eaten by a giant kangaroo or something.”
He approached the locker carefully, his legs braced wide over the trick floor. With one finger he tugged on the door on the locker. Everyone held their breaths. Vincent stuck all his fingers in the space where the scarf jammed the locker and pulled.
The floor stayed put. The door swung open. Everyone let out a breath in relief.
Vincent stuck his hand into the locker and began rummaging through Miranda’s coat.
“Aha,” he said, turning away from the locker and walking back to Spangler and Miranda. Dante followed. Vincent opened his hand to reveal a small vial.
“What’s this?” asked Spangler, annoyed with Vincent’s melodrama.
“Oh, just a little powdered strontium,” said Vincent casually. “You know, the stuff that will spontaneously ignite when exposed to the air at room temperature. Could come in handy.”
“Hmph,” said Spangler. “I guess we’ll see about that. Let’s go to the boiler room.” He took Vincent’s phone and began walking down the hall. “Judging by the blueprints, it should be around here. Every other time I visited the school, it was always locked. I could never find anyone with a key, so I’ve never actually been inside.”
“I have,” said Dante, surprising everyone. They all looked at him. “For football,” Dante explained. Miranda raised her eyebrows. “Just a little joke,” said Dante. Everyone kept looking at him, but he didn’t say any more.
“Right,” said Spangler finally. “Very helpful.” He stopped in front of a metal door painted black. “I think this is it—do you agree?” he asked Dante.
Dante shrugged. “Dunno, I was blindfolded,” he replied.
“Ahh, I see,” said Spangler. He pulled cautiously on the door handle. Everyone else backed away. Nothing happened. Spangler jiggled the handle and pulled harder. Nothing. He muttered to himself
, examining the handle from all angles.
Vincent looked at his watch and murmured to Miranda, “Maybe we should just go back to class—I think this guy might be a nut.”
BOOM! An explosion rocked the floor under their feet. They all stumbled into each other. In the quiet afterward, they could hear what sounded like rocks falling in the boiler room.
Spangler looked panicked. “Look, I have an idea of what Shandor was trying to do. He had many . . . odd ideas. I believe he wanted to bring the world to an end, and that he thought he might be able to do it by means of—”
The floor jolted again.
“Spit it out!” screamed Miranda.
“By dropping a building full of people into the sinkhole! A massive human sacrifice to change the electromagnetic forces of the Earth!”
17
Vincent, Miranda, and Dante looked horrified.
“So that’s where everybody went when their lockers dropped?” Dante could barely get out the words.
“Not necessarily,” replied Spangler. “It’s possible they’re all in a chamber beneath the basement. Shandor would have counted on dropping everyone all at once bring about the, uh, desired result.”
“So let’s get to the boiler room before this mechanism thing finally does what it’s supposed to,” said Vincent.
“We’ll have to break down the door to get in.”
Everyone looked at Dante. He was the muscle, after all. But Dante shook his head.
“Young man, don’t you understand what’s at stake?!” Spangler shrieked.
“There’s another way in,” Dante said. Vincent started laughing.
“Why didn’t you say that before?” demanded Spangler testily.
Dante shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”
“Well, lead on, lead on,” said Spangler, irritated.
Dante led them back toward the locker rooms. As Dante pushed open the door, Miranda cleared her throat.
