I never knew that hatch was there.
I'd been working in here for 42 years, ever since I can remember...And yet, when I was shifting some crates out of a back corner of the basement, I found the hatch.
It was a square diamond plate deal, with a faded sign on it:
QuoteDANGER - AUTHORIZED MAINTENANCE PERSONNEL ONLY!
Well, hell, I'm the only maintenance guy in here, right? So I grabbed a pair of bolt cutters and - with some effort - cut the massive padlock off. I grabbed a pry bar, and levered the hatch open. It gave a hideous shriek of metal on metal, and then popped open. A cool draft came from the man-way that was revealed. An iron ladder was fixed to the side.
At no time did it enter my head that this might not be the smartest place to explore.
I turned my headlamp on, and started down the ladder. It was a long, long way down, and I was a little exhausted when I got there. Glancing around, I saw a large chamber with pumps lining the walls, and a hallway leading out at one end.
And a small, red-headed boy.
"What the hell are you doing down here, kid?"
"I'm looking for my snowmobile. Have you seen it?"
"Your
snowmobile?"
The boy glanced at his shoes. "It's not a for real snowmobile. It's a toy one that my daddy bought me for my birthday. And now it's gone missing. I think Philip Knight stole it. He's too big for it, but he would steal it anyway, just to be mean. I have to find it, and I want to get back at him."
"Well, I haven't seen..."
The boy was gone.
I unclipped the Qrae from my belt, and took a reading. If the air was bad enough to make me see kids that weren't there, maybe I better get the hell out...Nope. O
2 was normal, no CO, no hydrogen sulfide, no methane.
What the fuck?
I walked across the chamber, noting that about half the pumps were running. I also noted a vibration in the floor, like you'd get with a massive turbine in need of bearings. Following the hallway out of the room, I came to a small motor control center.
And there was the kid again, or maybe his older brother. Red-headed kid, about 12...And he'd taken a beating.
"What the hell happened to you, kid?"
"Some of the other kids ganged up on me, and kicked my ass."
"Well, there's only one thing to be done about that. Find them one at a time, and fight each one individually."
"Yeah, thanks, mister. I need some payback."
"No problem. By the way, what are you doing here..."
Gone again.
I was more than a little freaked out, now, but nothing
harmful had happened...So I decided to continue exploring. Already this place was larger than the actual basement above, and it kept going.
So I kept going. I eventually came to a staircase. Looking over the side, it went down multiple flights. Down the shaft, I could see multiple landings.
At the second turn in the stairs, the redhead again. He looked to be about 16, acne and all. He looked absolutely miserable.
"I don't suppose you're going to tell me what you're doing down here."
He just looked at me.
"What the hell is wrong?", I asked.
"My girl ran off with my bastard of a brother."
"Ohhhh, that
sucks."
"I'm going to make him pay if it takes me the rest of my life."
"That's no way to live, kid.", I said, feeling more than a little hypocritical (I am a vengeful man, myself).
"I don't care. I loved her, and we had an argument, and there the bastard was."
"It takes two to tango", I replied.
"Yeah, but I don't feel right doing something horrible to her."
"That's probably a good..."
Once again, the kid was gone.
I tried the door on the first landing. It was nailed shut. A date was written on the door in chalk, "1992". Through the filthy reinforced glass, I saw something big moving around. Ooookay. Next door.
The next door had also been nailed shut, but at some point had been forced open. I walked in, and wasn't too surprised to see the redhead. He was wearing a soldier's full kit, and he was covered in mud. He looked like maybe 19 or so, now.
"You got any smokes?", he asked.
I fished out a marlboro, and handed it to him. He lit it with a zippo, and sat down on a box. "Jesus", he said, "Jesus, am I tired."
"You look a little beat up."
"Yeah, just humped it through the Mehingas. Fucking lost my smokes. Just watched the bastards float downstream. Number fucking 10."
"So, look. If I ask you a question, do you promise not to disappear?"
"Disappear?", he looked at me like I was looking at him.
"Trust me on this one."
"Okay, shoot."
"How did you get down here?"
"I don't know, to be honest. One minute I was about to clobber Teeters. The fucker bums smokes off of me all damn year, then when I'm out, he won't give any up. I was just leaning back to knock the dogshit out of him, and then I was here, and you were here."
"I see. Here. Have the pack...I have another in my jacket. Now you don't have to knock Teeters out."
"Well, yeah, but it's the principle of the thing, you know? But yeah, the nic fit's gone, and..."
You guessed it. Gone again.
I hit the staircase again. At the next landing, an iron fence was set up to block the rest of the staircase. Shrugging, I walked through the door.
And looked at myself.
I was sitting behind a desk, smoking one of those cheap cigars I love so much, with a stack of paperwork in front of me. A nameplate on his desk said "Doktor Howl". I was bald, and I was smiling in a way that would make my face hurt, if "I" tried it (I don't smile much.).
"Well,
you're early.", he/I said.
"What the fuck?"
"Oh, it's simple, really. You just couldn't resist that hatch, right? Just HAD to find out what's waaaaay down deep, under the basement. Well, here we are. You found me."
"Who the fuck
are you?"
"I'm you. More to the point, I'm the you that stopped caring about lost toys, cheating girlfriends, and trivial shit like some bastard shorting you on the smokes. I'm the you that got past the Horrible Thing in the "doll factory". I'm the you that deserves to go through that gate outside. You know what that gate is, right?"
"Well, I figure the progression I've seen so far makes that...um, tomorrow?"
"That's right. So I'm going through that gate, and you're gonna sit your arse down here and get these damn maintenance variances under control. They're a fucking week late. Frankly, I didn't expect you for another day, at least."
"How come YOU get to go, and I get to stay?"
"Because that's the only way you'd have it. You can't let go of shit, and down here, you don't have to. Me, I want to see tomorrow, not think about shit that happened 37 years ago."
What could I say? When I'm right, I'm right. Let this fucking wuss go down those stairs, let him see the future, let him get fucked over and fucked over, and just keep sticking his crank in the meat grinder. Me, I know better. I know he's gonna get fucked, and he isn't going to do a Goddamn thing about it, because he's weak. He's weak, and he won't get back his own, won't protect what's his.
A few minutes later, I heard the gate clang shut, as I settled down to work on the variance.
"Sucker", I thought. "Everything he/I need is right fucking here in this basement. Why the hell would I want to go anywhere else?"
The other me's, who had filed into the room, all nodded in agreement. Together, we'd be fine. Together, we'd never forget
anything.
Yeah. HELL yeah.
The ending was set up well. Protagonist turns to antagonist.
You made me remember that one corridor in the attic. The long one where every single door is nailed shut.
Damn you.
Damn good, Roger. Also, pretty fuckin' creepy. The 1992 door was really nice imagery.
Wow. I take a day off and I miss this. Great job, couldn't stop reading it! :mittens:
I've caught dreams with these sorts of hidden spaces sometimes. Like the one where I realize the old apartment had that garage space I never really ever used, but could have set up a proper workshop in, or finding the door to the loft in the current place. They get me thinking about what I could have done in the old spaces if I just had, well, more SPACE. That's not what's really holding me back though. The clutter, the stuff, it can all GO anytime. I just need the will to push it all off, organize the space for what I want to accomplish.
Dude. :horrormirth: Why aren't you writing for a living?
Although, the real answer to that question is that because you can support a family as an engineer. A writer? Not so much.
Now I'm gonna be wondering what the "doll factory" really is... :eek:
I already had my yearly drink. Damn it.
That was one hell of a write up Roger-Gold actually. Will trigger me thinking for days now.
Thanks for bumping.
Oh-as a side note-I miss Frys!