Chapter 78

Did You ever have a day you wished you stood in bed ... not like standing ... like never got out? That kind of stood.

In your mind ... make all the sounds from every creepy movie ... all the creaks and cracks, squeals and groans every door you hoped wouldn't open made and scared the shit out of you when it did. Those sounds and more accompanied the raising of the one ton trapdoor in the forklift room. As it lifted light shown around the joints in the floor.

The forklift room ... probably not its original use ... was pretty dark and and there seemed to be a thin fog ... like today you might find at a rock concert ... that makes the light emanating from the basement all the more spooky. The farther the trap opened the more fog there was. When the trap was completely open the hinge end slid in a notch that seemed to be a block against closing.

All Arnold and I could say was, "I hope the fuck that stays open." And we are not twins.

We stood at the top of the very heavily built steps and did the 'After you, old boy ... Not at all, I'll wait for you, ' and, 'Age before beauty, old chum ... be my guest, ' until Grace and the girls screamed, "GET ON WITH IT!!" They mumbled comments derogatory to our gender.

The basement lights ... the bulbs manufactured in Shelby, Ohio by the Shelby Electric Company in the late 1890s ... were still on. At least that's what we could see from halfway down the steps. If I wasn't afraid he'd known I was afraid, I'd have sought comfort and courage by holding Arnold's hand.

The mist grew heavier the farther down we went and it seemed we went down much farther than your normal basement was deep. Probably anticipation. Then a gust of wind evaporated the fog and it was a normal 14 foot deep basement.

Hold on there, Slick.

HUH? What?

You already told us there wasn't any other opening, right?

Uh huh ... bricked over.

If the only other door wasn't ... where did the draft come from?

From over by the still.

What still?

That one.

"Arnold? Isn't that a moonshine still over in the corner?"

"The one with the..."

"Grace!!"

Her head showed over the trap hole and a foot stepped on the first step. "What?"

"Call the cops," I said. "And get out of the way, because I ain't a-staying down here."

Arnold and I levitated the 14 feet out of the basement.

Grace had the cops on the phone before I made it to her but I snatched it out of her hand in mid word.

"Hi, I need the police and probably the morgue and the coroner and maybe the Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms people and anybody that's part of a federal agency with three initials. Hold on! Grace! Don't go down there!" I handed the phone to Arnold, "You tell them where we're at. GRACE!"

Grace is Grace. Grace is the one who sailed the boat when I had the broken arm ... remember? Grace is the first twin to discover the joy of flying ... because she barged in line. If you tell Grace, No ... she's going to do it.

I grabbed her by the hood of her sweat shirt and jerked her out of the basement.

"Grace, pack up the guns and put them in the van. The police are coming and they'll confiscate, as evidence, every gun they see ... and we'll never get them back."

I upset her ... packing the guns back in the van, she broke a nail.

I parked the Suburban in the front lot and was back in the building before they showed. One of the first things the cop noticed was that my truck was snow free and the hood was still warm. The best laid plans ... uh huh. I know he knew the hood was warm because I watched him lay a hand on it. Upstairs window.

Grace was bitching up a storm about the nail ... the girls were standing around her looking at it. Arnold looked just plain nervous and the cop with the warm hand asked me if I'd moved it since the call. I lied. Said I'd got in about an hour or so ago ... he let it ride.

"What is going on?"

"You need to come with me to the basement. We bought this place a year ago and had the upstairs set up as an apartment for us. We moved in just when school was starting ... didn't find out there was a basement until I bought the deckhouse in Detroit. Pete at Detroit Wreckers mentioned it had a basement. Arnold," I pointed at the entirely too tall black guy, "and I opened the trap door and went down stairs ... and I'd rather you see the rest for yourself."