Motionless, Penelope sniffed delicately. The house was stale as if unlived in and possessed a faint foul odor like spoilt food. Perhaps the owners were haphazard visitors. In all the times she watched the place, she only saw a few people from the back of the opposite side of the house where the detached garage was located. They drove away in a black Chevy Suburban and came back sometimes days later. There hadn’t been movement in the house for days.
There were the safes to consider. She would go to the basement, locate the real safe, and it would take forever in thief’s time to open it. It was a Fort Knox safe; the theory being that it was as safe as the army fort and the gold contained therein. It had many safety features the middle-class citizen could afford, and it wasn’t so heavy that it would take a crane to lift it into place. The particular model was fire protected for up to 50 minutes at 1450˚ F. It had a 1/4” thick steel door made of 10-gauge steel. There were six active door-locking bolts and locking dead bolts, including top and bottom bolts. It weighed 753 pounds and had a volume of 25 cubic feet. It could keep most of the average homeowner’s goodies protected.
However, given a little time and opportunity, the above-average thief always had a way to crack the box. Sometimes they even cheated at that effort just like she was going to do.
Penelope slid the kitchen door open. It was a pocket door that glided on decades-old ball bearings and protested slightly with the movement. She winced at the moaning complaint of noise and stopped to listen. Again the house was still and without activity. Houses like these old monstrosities always made a dozen varied noises at any given time. The eaves creaked. The bricks settled. Rats scampered through the attic, their claws clattering at the beams and air conditioning ducts. A little creak of a door was nothing. No one would even perk an ear at it.
There was a hallway outside the kitchen. To the left were the living areas. Three living rooms and a den dominated the southern part of the house. A grand staircase made of oak and mahogany led to the second and third floors. To the right was the formal dining room and further down the hallway, a pantry with an entrance to the basement.
Penelope turned silently to the right. She didn’t care what was upstairs. There wasn’t a safe upstairs, and the inside information indicated that the most valuable goods were in the basement safe. Time wasn’t her buddy right now, and Penelope didn’t want to be trapped in a windowless basement without an exit plan if someone decided it was a good time to come home.
The pocket door to the formal dining room was shut, and Penelope went past without faltering. She stopped as she passed a doll sitting on a small table in the middle of the hallway. Even in the murk she could see the fine quality of the nonchalant statue sitting there. Made from real feathers and leather, it was a kachina doll. Then Penelope remembered that Jeremy’s friend, Jobe, had mentioned the owner’s interest in Native American artwork. There were other items around. A bear-like fetish of some sort hung on the wall. A framed sand painting, frozen in time by some sort of chemical process, sat propped on the floor next to the door to the dining room. The kachina doll gave her pause because of its vivid colors. Red, blue, and green conflicted with yellows and oranges. Its leather skirt was decorated with elaborate beadwork and the mask adorned with feathers that swayed with a slight breeze.
However, it was the expression on the lavishly created doll’s mask that gave Penelope the most hesitation. Static, its tiny and precise features snarled out at her, malevolent and vicious, waiting to vehemently curse the next person to cross its path. Exaggerated teeth dripped with blood, heavily painted eyes glared out at her. The kachina wasn’t merely angry; it was prepared to rend an individual to a pile of steaming entrails.
The voice was back in her head. It’s not too late, it said.
Swallowing the urge inside her, Penelope steadfastly ignored the doll as she continued on her way. The pantry door was open about two inches, and she cast a guarded look over her shoulder before she opened it enough to slip through. Closing it silently behind her, she was enveloped in blackness.
Noting that no light came from the basement door opposite from her, she retrieved her Mini Mag from a pocket. Penelope twisted the flashlight, and light filled the room. The small room was lifeless. She moved to the other end and slowly opened up the basement door. Undersized and slender, it would barely allow a normal-sized human to pass, and even Penelope had to duck her head.
She closed the door behind her and found herself on a narrow wooden staircase. The floor creaked and groaned under her weight, but Penelope ignored it. No one except someone very close could hear her. She avoided the worst spots of the stairs by keeping to the edges and the sides and descended into intimidating blackness. The constricted staircase stopped at a cement landing, and the room opened up to show where coal had once been placed for a coal furnace. The furnace was long gone. The rest of the floor was red earth, darkened by shadows into the color of pitch. The walls were the same brick as the exterior, and the room absorbed even the meager light of the Mini Mag. There was a section of wall that showed fresh cement grout and she knew where the safes had entered this dank, foul-smelling pit of a room.
Penelope disregarded her feelings of anxiety and smiled when she saw the false safe centrally located on the far side of the room. It was in plain sight and the exact same model as the one she would be opening. Wryly hoping the owner had gotten a good deal on the pair of safes, she passed it by and went to the deepest darkest part of the basement. Casements that had been half sunk into the ground outside had been bricked over, leaving dead space below. She stepped lightly over a pile of debris left by the workmen and moved a cardboard box filled with mothball-scented clothing.
There was a wooden workbench here, and it swung out of the way. It was fixed to hinges for easy access and merely camouflage for the safe. A new set of Craftsman screwdrivers and an unused Jim Dandy hammer were strewn across the top. The decoy arrayed with pristine tools was meant to fool the casual thief. Jobe hadn’t seen the workbench, but Penelope knew the owners probably wouldn’t have moved the safe out of the basement. They had bolted it into the cement in a recess that had once held some sort of pipes for the upstairs use of the occupants.
Next to it was the closed face of the dumbwaiter that went to this level. Penelope frowned until she considered that the manual device must have been used to bring coal up to some of the bedrooms on the second floor.
Wedging the Mini Mag into place on the workbench between a screwdriver and the new hammer, Penelope took out a few tools she had brought with her and got to work. After all, one never knew when an owner might pop in to discuss security issues.
At 60.5 inches tall, the safe was precisely 4.5 inches shorter than Penelope was and she bent over slightly to go to work. The first tool was a set of latex gloves. She took her leather gloves off and replaced them with latex. She needed to feel what she was touching. The second tool was a cloth bag with no metallic parts to rattle. She would need something to carry away what she would be taking. The final tool was a little piece of note paper.
Penelope grimaced. There was no one like a thief to tell a homeowner how to successfully secure their castles. The very first rule of business is when having a safe installed in one’s house, then…A rustle of faint noise distracted her for a second. It sounded like something shuffling in the dirt. Is it a rat? A cat? It’s nothing. Where was I? Ah, yes. The very first rule of business is when having a safe installed in one’s house, then one NEVER ever has the workman program the safe’s combination. Penelope opened the folded piece of paper and looked at the combination with disgust. The second rule is never ever to use a simple unforgettable combination. 5-10-15-20-25. That’s almost as stupid as 1-2-3-4-5.
Her hands were working busily on the safe. She had practiced on a mock-up of this safe until she could have opened it in the dark and without the use of one of her hands. But her hands hesitated as the rustle of faint noise repeated behind her. It sounded as if the earth was moving itself around. They
…they…oh, hell, what is that noise?
Penelope knew the door to the basement hadn’t opened. And she had thoroughly looked over the basement. Every corner had been empty. But she caught the aroma of something incredibly foul, and her nose wrinkled. Had an old septic system burst? She ignored the smell and the sound and returned to her activities.
The safe opened with a smooth movement that had her admiring the well-oiled mechanism. Most thieves wouldn’t be able to get into the box in under several hours. They’d have to drill the mechanism and then force it open.
The sound repeated behind Penelope. Shuffle. Crack. Shuffle. It stopped. She hoped she wouldn’t have to wade through a ravenous horde of rats, or gophers for that matter.
With a fierce frown, she looked inside the safe. There was antique jewelry and cash there. Much of the jewelry was turquoise and appeared to have been made with the largest, most luminous pieces of the blue-green stones. The jewelry went into the bag. There were three stacks of cash, mostly hundred dollar bills that followed. She nodded her head in approval. Bracing the handles of the bag across her head and shoulders, she checked every shelf of the safe and was about to turn away when a glitter caught her eye.
Penelope stopped. Now something else was calling to her. It sounded like that voice in her head, but it wasn’t quite right. Take me. Take me now. It beckoned to her with a thick, voracious voice that rang through her head. Her hand began to tremble as she reached for it. Even through the latex gloves she could feel the power stemming from the twinkling object that invited her to touch it, to pick it up, and keep it forever. As the tips of her fingers made contact, an electrical shock of recognition shot through her body. She almost jerked her hand away in utter astonishment. But the shock faded away, and her fingers caressed the cool surface with the affection of greeting a beloved man.
Something cracked loudly behind her, and Penelope abruptly realized it wasn’t just rats in the basement with her. Somehow, someway, someone had gotten into the room with her, and she wasn’t alone any longer.
Chapter Three
Friday, July 4th
Pennyweighter (slang, origin unknown, probably 1930s American) - a jewelry thief
Penelope wasn’t prone to histrionics. She knew very well that kind of reaction rarely got a thief anywhere. She also didn’t believe that a thief should carry a weapon with them on any creep. Besides the fact that armed burglary carried a heavier sentence in the state of Texas, there was always the possibility of violence, and she didn’t want to be responsible for harming anyone or being injured herself. And the worst part was that local law enforcement was not kindly disposed toward the average criminal if a weapon was found upon their person.
One had to be smarter. That was the credo Penelope used. It was the one that Jacob Quick had cited frequently, believing that cleverness could allow any thief to escape nine times out of ten. She believed in it as well but rarely had to practice it since her pre-creeping preparation was exhaustingly researched. If one knew what to expect, then logically there wouldn’t be any nasty surprises.
The impulse to shuck her drawers and head for the hills was a throwback to fight or flight. However, it wouldn’t get her out of the basement, and the diamond-like glitter in the back of safe was calling her name.
The sparkling item at her fingertips was a large egg-sized gemstone without ornamentation of any type. There was no setting, merely a large faceted jewel whose sleek black lines caught the light of the Mini Mag and returned them in a wondrous array of sparkling beams. Closing her fingers around the stone, she withdrew her hand from the safe. Even through the thin layer of latex, the gem felt like it was a cube of ice, as glacially cold as only a mineral could be. Her other hand retrieved the leather gloves and the folded paper. The bag swung slowly from its secured position around her neck and shoulder. Slowly she turned toward the figure that stood so silently behind her.
The Mini Mag’s light was pointed toward her and caused Penelope to blink. All that could be perceived beyond the yellow beam was a large human figure positioned not ten feet away from her. Jesus God, it’s a linebacker from the Cowboys. He’s like seven feet tall and half as broad. Then she wondered how the man had managed to get through the narrow door at the top of the narrower stairs without crushing the hundred-year-old door frame to smithereens. Furthermore, how could such a big man have been so damn quiet while coming up behind her?
Then there was that gut-wrenchingly awful stench, as if the man had rolled in a pile of decomposing manure and then wrapped road kill around his neck for good measure. The combined awful smells made Penelope want to gag and lurch backwards at the same time. But what really made her nervous was that the figure was so completely motionless. He stood there, beyond the range of her little light, and stared wordlessly at her.
“Texas Utilities and Gas, sir,” she shot out, causing her face to close in a fierce frown of disapproval, hoping that her body blocked most of the fact that the safe was wide open behind her. “I’m having a serious problem with finding your gas meter and I was looking in every nook and cranny. I didn’t think anyone was home.” Even Penelope knew that sounded weak.
Silence answered her. The shape didn’t move. It didn’t even appear as though the man was breathing he was so still. He’s not falling for it. Penelope thought, Oh, the hell with this. In for a dime, in for a dollar. “We’ve got a major leak in the area, and we’re trying to track it down before half a square mile goes up in an explosion that would make Mt. St. Helens look like a little puff of smoke. It’s rather urgent, so if you’ll just point out where—” She shifted to one side, trying to see the man’s face, so that it would be easier to gauge his reactions. In eerie harmony, the figure abruptly shifted with her, and she got a fresh whiff of that foul smell that caused her throat to swallow involuntarily. “— the gas meter is,” she finished feebly. “Maybe you can already smell that rotten egg smell, it’s all around us.”
Her Spider-Sense was tingling, and it was letting Penelope know that she was in big trouble. Big, fat, hairy trouble with a four-foot expanse of shoulders that would have made Arnold Schwarzenegger jealous and a nasty silent disposition that would have scared the hell out of any creeper that Penelope knew. She knew she could talk her way out of 95% of all bad situations she had gotten herself into, but there was always the other five percent to consider.
Penelope shifted to the left. As if a reflection in a carnival mirror, the large figure mimicked her, and she knew she had just fallen into the other five percent category. After tucking the leather gloves and paper into a pocket, she reached slowly for the flashlight and was pleased that the figure didn’t move. It wasn’t threatened by the gloves or the flashlight. She retrieved the Mini Mag and unhurriedly rotated the tiny metal canister in the opposite direction, not wishing to cause anyone to suddenly jump at her.
The beam of light leisurely traveled over the floor as she directed it where she wanted it to be, wishing to look upon the man’s face. But Penelope stopped as the light revealed a section of the dirt floor just behind and to the right of where the figure was so motionlessly standing. A large rough hole had been exposed; a hole that hadn’t been there earlier.
Something, or someone, had emerged from the earth to confront her. Penelope froze in disbelief. Someone had been hiding in the ground, waiting for her to rob a safe? It seemed like the plot of a marvelous fictional novel, but the evidence presented itself before her in the shape of an oversized being, wordlessly parodying her as it inevitably moved with her movements.
Her fingers twitched around the Mini Mag, and she brought the light up to where he waited. Waiting, she thought. We’re waiting for something. For someone else?
“The hell with your gas leak then,” she muttered and darted left. The flashlight’s beam struck his face, and she bit her lip to keep from screaming. It was the same horrifying mask as the kachina doll upstairs, except it was giant sized. The twisted, malevolent face with its carefully painted features stared at her and
he effectively blocked her before she could take two steps. But the glaring eyes held her attention for a petrifying second. One was brown. The other was a bloodshot blue. One drooped as if affected with palsy; the other was open wide.
Penelope’s hand dropped, and she saw the rest of the figure that blocked her. The kachina mask ended at the shoulders. A loose black robe covered the man’s hulking shape, exposing only his wrists and forearms and his booted feet. But nothing matched. It was like looking at a terrifying jigsaw puzzle gone crazily insane.
The thoughts that careened in Penelope’s head didn’t make sense. She had seen disabled individuals before. But no one she’d seen had ever looked like him. One hand was as large as a pie plate, and the forearm above it bulged with muscles. The skin was the color of ripened peaches, and a Mickey Mouse watch bit into the flesh of the huge wrist. The other hand was soft and feminine with long curved nails. Its color was snowy with a simple gold wedding band adorning the ring finger. An uneven hump protruded from the upper right shoulder and made the material of the robe tent as if around a pole. The legs, although covered with roughly hand-stitched leather, appeared to be a mismatch just like the remainder of him.
“You know, I’m just doing my job here,” Penelope tried again, hearing the quaver in her voice and not liking it one bit. A quaver wouldn’t get her out of a sticky situation, and it made her sound…afraid. “The police won’t like you keeping me trapped like this. They frown on people who do sick, perverted things like this and…”
There was a sudden burst of sound, an earsplittingly loud, thunderous roar of cascading booms that could have been a thousand cannons firing at once. The Trinity Fest’s extravaganza of fireworks had begun in spectacular form. The man in front of her let his head swivel curiously about, and Penelope saw tufts of hair sticking out the back of the mask. There were three distinct colors of hair: gray, black, and red. It didn’t look as though someone was trying to make a fashion statement by dying their hair in different colors. Penelope didn’t know what it made her think of, except that something deep inside her was making her shudder.
Shadow People Page 2
