As the locker door swung open, squeaking on its hinges, Chief Fresco found that his body was tensed and in a state of high alert. On a conscious level, he knew this was ridiculous. After all, the locker was far too small for anybody to hide within it.
But on a level of pure instinct, he felt there was very much a need for caution. Over the years, he had learned to place a great deal of value on his intuitions, and he knew he would be foolish to ignore his gut feeling.
Tensed and ready to leap into action (though he couldn’t imagine why he might need to do so), he finished opening the locker door. But as the interior space was revealed, he found there was nothing to be alarmed over.
Inside, there was only what one would expect to find: a couple of textbooks, a few sheets of loose paper, and various supplies, consisting of pencils, pens, erasers, and a spare set of socks. It was just a typical middle school locker, filled with all the things that were to be expected, and nothing out of the ordinary.
The chief let his breath out with a laugh, chuckling at how apprehensive he had been when he had opened the door. “Well, what did you expect, knucklehead? Nobody is small enough to hide in one of these lockers - not even a student,” he observed. “You’re losing it, chief. You get one weird case, and you start getting all wacky. You don’t want to ‘flip your wig’, as the kids say!”
Despite Chief Fresco’s joking words, his policeman’s perception was telling him there was still something off about the locker. Contrary to its mundane appearance, the chief couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it than met the eye. Once more trusting in his gut feeling, he left the locker door open, intently peering inside.
What had caused the noise he had heard, he wondered? There had been a brief rattle and a muted thwump. The chief narrowed his eyes as he considered the possibilities. Had it simply been one of the books, sliding down until it fell into place? Would something like that create such a noise?
“More than likely, that sound didn’t even come from this locker. I probably just imagined it,” he reasoned aloud.
Yet, he did not walk away. Instead, he reached forward and began poking around, moving the assorted items about as he searched.
As he pushed the textbooks to one side, he found something that was completely unexpected.
“What... on... earth?” he whispered.
At the back of the locker, there was a hole. It had been hidden by the books, but was now revealed. It was circular in shape, and about six inches in diameter. Clearly, it was far too small for anybody to squeeze through... but what purpose could it possibly serve?
Gripped by curiosity, Chief Fresco withdrew his service flashlight, which he had previously removed from his police utility belt and tucked into one of his pockets. He turned it on and focused the bright beam inside the locker.
Inspecting the hole, he found that it had rather rough edges - almost as if it had been rendered with a can opener. But the lockers were built from heavy steel, and Chief Fresco couldn’t imagine what kind of tool must have been used to cut through it. He placed one finger against the edge of the hole, and he discovered that it was warm.
“Hmmm... must have been recently cut. Still warm from the friction of the saw, or whatever was used to make it,” he murmured, pondering the connotations. “What manner of mischief is this?”
He focused the light at the center of the hole, in order to see what was behind it. As he suspected, it was simply the interior of a wall, with nothing but studs and wiring - the things you would expect to find inside there.
He took his time peering around, and even reached inside the hole. There was nothing hidden within, and he once more wondered what its purpose could possibly be. If it wasn’t being used to hide something, and it was too small to move through... then what was it for? And, more importantly, who had created it?
Before he could contemplate the matter any longer, his attention was drawn by other sounds, coming from further down the hall. It was a series of rattles and taps and thwumps, all coming from a place nearby.
“Now I’ve got you, you sneaky little devil,” Chief Fresco murmured.
His eyes adopted the steely quality they got when his determination became fixed, and his teeth clenched with an unwavering resolve. Stepping away from the locker, he once more grabbed the food cart and began wheeling it down the hall, slowly moving toward the strange noises.
The sounds grew louder, and soon he came to a stop. They were coming from the other side of a door, he realized.
But this was not a classroom door. This was a solid wooden door, and instead of a window at eye level, there was only a brass placard that had been secured with bolts. Upon the surface of the placard, there was a single word printed in capital letters: JANITOR.
This was Jasper’s door, the door that led to his supply closet of brooms and buckets and cleaning supplies.
“So you are behind this, just as my girls suspected,” the chief muttered. He leaned closer to the door, listening intently to the strange sounds. “I should have known.”
He reached underneath the cart and procured a loaf of French bread that the lunch lady had been saving in her van for a rather unreasonable length of time. When they had been loading the cart with foodstuffs, the chief had decided to stash the loaf of bread. It was quite stale, and it would make a formidable weapon, should self-defense become necessary.
The chief once more noted the increased temperature of the hallways, and he removed his cap to wipe at his sweaty brow. Taking a deep breath, he struck the door with the sturdy loaf of bread, knocking loudly.
“You come on out of there right this moment! The jig is up, Jasper!” he shouted.
The noises that had been coming from the other side of the door abruptly ceased. Chief Fresco waited a few seconds, listening intently. After a moment, he heard a soft noise… was that the faint sound of giggling, he wondered? He scratched at his head with the end of the French bread, glowering at the door, which remained closed.
“You don’t have anybody fooled, Jasper. Open up!” Chief Fresco commanded, rapping the door with his French bread. “Don’t make me come in there. I will not ask you again - open this door!”
With an audible click, the door came unlatched, and as the chief watched, it slowly began to inch open. The interior of the room was rather dark, lit only by a dim, green source.
Chief Fresco squinted his eyes, peering inside as the door slowly opened farther, and he could just barely make out the shapes of buckets and racks of supplies. The smell of pine scented cleaning formula wafted forth, filling his nostrils.
And then, to his utter astonishment, he saw a pair of hands begin to emerge from that darkness, stretching toward him.
His eyes grew wide, and he found himself breathless. For those were not the hands of Jasper, the chief was sure of that.
They couldn’t be, for they were unlike any hands he had ever before seen… they were not the hands of a human being.
Chapter Ten
Behind the Curtain
The Green Beans, Volume 5: The Phantom of the Auditorium Page 9
