Secret in the Cellar · Part 1 (1/2)
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Mackenzi gave the steel shell door a shove with her shoulder and it burst open, causing her to nearly fall into the sweltering garage. As if the oppressive heat and humidity outside wasn't bad enough…
She closed the door behind her again, giving it another shove to re-stick it closed. To her right was the back door to the house, and the puff of cool air conditioning sent a shiver across her damp skin as she walked inside.
The kitchen was swarmed with people, mostly her friend's female relatives. Some where cleaning up after that afternoon's barbecue; but most just stood around gossiping, escaping the oppressive heat outside. Her mother was at the sink, rinsing out dishes and placing them in the washer. Megan, a friend of hers (and quickly her immediate family's) and about seven years older than her, was pulling pies out of the 'fridge and appeared to be ignoring everything around her. Neither her nor Mack were "people" people, and that was probably why they got along so well.
It had been over a year since they had talked. Mack had spent the past year at a small, private college two states over and had stopped in at Megan's yearly "family" picnic (which always seemed to include half of her own relatives) on her way to go backpacking for the remainder of the summer. Megan owned the small hobby farm with Tony, her husband since they had bought the place shortly after they got married. Every summer while she had been growing up she had visited for a few days with her folks. Last summer, however, her parents insisted that she stay home and take care of her grandmother. The viscous, half-crazy old lady had made her life hell. The only thing that had prevented her from bailing on the whole thing was her mother's threat to not pay for her school the next semester.
Mack had made sure this year not to be in such a compromised situation. As soon as she had returned to school she had applied to every scholarship and grant she could think of, as well as snatching up a couple of part time jobs close to campus.
By the time summer rolled around again her hard work paid off. She had enough money to cover her college for the next year, as well as enough savings to purchase herself a small archaic car and spend the summer backpacking, which she was on her way to do. She had always intended on visiting her rural friends on the way to her intended trailhead, but had completely forgotten about the annual barbecue and had inadvertently arrived the day of.
She had made her way across the room finally, and stood by her friend in the doorway into the living room. "Megan, where is your bathroom?" she blurted, her bladder suddenly elevating its message of urgency.
"You came in just in time for desert! Oh, uh, the bathroom is down the hall on the right. Same place it's been."
Mack ducked down the hall and grabbed the door, but it was locked. She knocked franticly, fighting the urge to dance.
"Oh, Kenzi, don't go down there," said her friend, who had poked her head around the corner. She pointed in her direction, " next one over."
Mack looked at the next door over, which was slightly ajar.
"Thanks!" she said as she pushed the door open.
All the memories revolving around her friend's mysterious basement came flooding in: The door was always locked. Not only that, but they would even lock the door behind them if they went down to get something (always alone) yet her friend and her husband both acted like there was nothing precious or dangerous down there.
Mack wiped her hands on the towel and contemplated what to do next. Now that her bladder had been relieved and her hands no longer sticky from sweat she felt no desire to return to the insufferable heat out doors.
Her hand on the doorknob she over heard her mother's voice in the hall talking about something indistinguishable. She was about to tune her out when she caught the words "Mackenzi's photo album." Knowing she couldn't remain ignored by her relatives with them gawking over her baby pictures she gritted her teeth and opened the bathroom door. Her Uncle Carl, a British man with no blood relation to her was standing there, apparently waiting for his turn on "the loo".
"Quick!" he said, "They have your baby pictures. I'll help you through the office window so you can duck out." Further down the hall was a small office that had a window opening onto the driveway behind the house. Stealthily she opened the window and climbed out before turning to her Uncle.
"Are you coming?"
"No," he replied, "I'm going to wait it out on the throne with a good book. Remember to stay away from the windows!" he added with a wink. With that he closed the window and latched it behind her.
The sun felt like it was pushing her into the scorched earth. Because of how the living room was positioned on the East side of the house, there weren't many places she could go. The living room had almost 270 Degrees of view, encompassing almost all of the front yard, the yard to the East, and the backyard. The only section that was safe was the area immediately to the West, occupied by the driveway, six beehives, and bordered by the world's most disgusting drainage ditch; and the driveway, which was blocked from the view by the garage that stuck out from the middle of the back of the house. It being the afternoon meant that the only shade on this side of the building was her own shadow. Unless…
She eyed the two big garage doors. She could open them, allowing the inside of the garage to air out and be shade instead of a giant sweat box.
Once again she shoved the access door open and walked into the sweltering garage. The latches on the two big doors inside were the simple lever type found on many unpowered garage doors. She tugged and pushed on the latches, but nothing budged: the rusty bell-cranks firmly stuck in place.
A frown spread across her face and her eyes probed the cobweb covered corners in search of something to pry on it with. Not finding anything, her attention turned to the cluttered workbench in the back of the garage. There was no easy path through the clutter, so she began climbing over the medium sized tractor. She mused over how small the machine appeared outside, but how large it seemed to be when squeezed into the garage. Sliding off the hood onto the front tire, she jumped down. Her eyes scanned the piles of junk, parts, and tools before her gaze fell on the stairs to her left. The dark, concrete stairwell sloped downwards towards the basement of the house. As her eyes adjusted she could see it terminate in another door set in the foundation of the house. Curiosity gripped her, as well as the memory of her parents house before her father broke down and got air conditioning.
On hot summer days she, her siblings and mother had stayed in the basement, where it remained cool simply by being underground. Mack slowly stepped down the stairs, her nerves straining to detect any relief from the heat. It wasn't until her foot stepped off the final stair that it splashed into the refreshing pool of cold air that settled there. She quickly sank to the concrete floor, enjoying the goosebumps that washed over her legs. She put her hands palm down on the cool concrete, feeling the ceramic pull the moisture and heat off them. Even though the oppressive heat still caused the rest of her to sweat profusely, at least her hands and legs were cool.
A few minutes went by, and her eyes adjusted more. She watched a thread left by a passing spider twist and turn from where it clung to the bottom of the basement door. Sticking her finger close to the crack she realized that there was a small draft. Instantly she longed for the chill darkness that she knew lay beyond the door.
That's when she noticed the door wasn't completely shut. Oh, sure, it was closed, but there was just a slightly larger than normal gap in between the door and the frame. Standing up, she gently tried the knob. It was locked, but a gentle push on the door caused it to swing into black void. A wave of cold air washed over her legs, and tendrils of cool wrapped around her, drawing her in. She couldn't see anything around her, and she didn't care. She would finally be able to relax in the cool, un-harassed by solution of families above. Just as quickly paranoia tickled her, the basement feeling welcoming and yet foreboding.
Softly she pushed the door closed, giving it a gentle push until the latch clicked home. She would wait only until she heard the group break apart upstairs and then she would slip back out the door into the garage. Until then she didn't want any sign that she was down here.
The door closed, she sprawled out on the floor, letting out a deep breath and closing her eyes. According to the voices upstairs they were still looking at pictures of her as a toddler, indicating that she still had plenty of time; even if nobody else had albums of their own to share.
Minutes dragged by. The concrete floor that had started out so comfortable and cool quickly became downright cold and very hard. Her eyes had adjusted to the low light and she grew restless to find something more comfortable… Or at least less hard. From where she lay she could see two dog kennels in a corner next to the furnace. Many times she had visited in the past she clearly remembered hearing the dogs running loose in the basement–playing and crashing into things as they ran around. They had recently lost one to cancer, but she knew Megan would want another before long.
Mack stood up. Maybe they had a couple of dog beds somewhere she could lay on. In the corner on the other side of the door she had come through there was a washer and drier as well as a folding table piled high with what looked like canning equipment and a smoker. Directly in front of her was a set of stairs that led up to what she presumed to be the door in the hall. She walked towards the furnace, her eyes straining to see in the little bit of light allowed in by a small window. In the far corner there was some weightlifting and exercise equipment.
Turning around, her view was blocked by what was clearly their pantry and beekeeping storage. Two large tables divided the room in half underneath the staircase and they were piled high with empty honey supers, cases of empty honey jars, dried and canned food, honey extractors, and bins labeled "rice", "white", and "wheat". Perhaps this was why the door remained locked. Maybe Megan and Tony didn't want it to be known that they had enough food stashed away to feed and entire clan for a year.
Mackenzie thought it was pretty cool, though she could understand the looks it might earn from more judgmental family members. Still, no dog bed. Not even a pile of rags to lay on. Tearing her eyes off the larder she walked back around the staircase and towards the laundry area. She would even relax on a pile of dirty clothes. Anything to get her off the unforgiving concrete floor.
She had been hoping for a blanket to fold up or even a couple of towels, but the area around the washer and dryer was disappointingly tidy. Laundry must have just been done, since the only things that remained were some dirty socks and a muddy pair of men's shorts. Mack let out a quiet sigh and turned to walk back to the bottom of the staircase when her eye caught the dark void in between the cluttered laundry table and the stacks of honey supers.
The gap was only about a foot and a half wide, and even though her eyes had become well accustom to the gloom of the basement she could barely make out the shapes of objects in the inky darkness beyond. She briefly scanned the laundry area for a flashlight before setting her cellphone down at the entrance. She had thought briefly of using it as a light, but stopped when she thought of dropping it or it falling out of her pocket in the inky gloom. The only thing worse than being caught down here would be to leave identifying evidence. The very thought of having to ask her friend and her spouse for it back made her face flush.
Her phone safely at the entrance she dropped to all fours and waved her hand into the opening and across the ground, ensuring that she didn't crash into anything. Slowly she made her way forward, and as she did she was surprised how quickly her eyes further adjusted. Though she still couldn't make out fine detail, she could see the objects in the room more clearly. Straight ahead of her there was a workbench against the far wall. She could make out the silhouette of a vice mounted on the corner and tools hanging on the backboard. Surprisingly, the surface appeared free of clutter, at least from where she was on the floor.
In the final corner of the basement There appeared to be a large desk or something. More clutter appeared stacked on top, the front appeared to be facing out and a dark spot on the side with a panel leaning on the wall next to it suggested that it was down here to be repaired. In front of the desk along the side wall of the basement was a large footlocker. Shadows of bizarre shapes on it piqued her curiosity as to what or what combination of things would make a silhouette like that. Beside the locker a sizable chest freezer rumbled on, the low tone lulling her mind at ease.
In the center of the area something small and round lay on the floor. Mack's first impression was that it was a shallow pet bowl, but as she crawled up to it on her way to investigate the objects on the footlocker she found it was not so. It was a metal collar, about an inch and a half wide and hinged on one side. On the opposite side was a latch; a dime sized, spring-loaded knurled knob about an eighth of an inch thick on one of the collar halves that Mack twisted on the open collar. She wondered briefly why someone had such a unique and cool looking collar down here kicking around on the floor instead of on their dog or at least on a shelf. She shrugged to herself and set the collar back on the floor.
Mack crawled over to the footlocker, eager to see what other oddities might reside down here. A small LED on the chest freezer cast an eery shadow over the locker, and she squinted to see what object or objects were forming the silhouette.
Mack jumped as she made out the figure of a dog's head sitting on the locker. She tried to recompose herself, re-assuring that there had to be a good reason why her aunt and uncle would keep a decapitated canine in their basement. Timidly she reached out to pick it up. She wanted to take a closer look, and something like this deserved better light. Picking it up she instantly realized that it was part of a costume. The bottom of the hood terminated in a narrow but thick metal collar, back part of the head falling open to either side along what she felt was a zipper. The pull had a short, wide forked tang on it that had a hole on either tine.
Her hand moved down to the collar, which had tine-shaped holes on either side along with a similar knob as to that of the other collar on the floor. Mack thought about how cute it would be to walk around costumed to match her dog. She brought the head to the gap near the washing machines to get a better look at it. The realism and detail was fantastic. Holding it facing herself it really appeared as if an eyeless German shepherd-type dog was looking back at her, ears alert and mouth slightly agape. The collar seemed a bit out of place, however.
It would be very high on the wearer's neck -immediately below their chin- and even though it was at most only a half inch wide it was nearly as thick, hinged on either side of the head to allow the costumer entrance.
Her fingers felt something very smooth on the inside of the head, and she opened the back and flipped the head over to get a better look. The inside was lined with a polished black rubber. Mack wondered briefly why someone would want something so hot inside an already warm fur head, but then she figured it might be that way to protect the faux fur from all the sweat. She adjusted the head to see deeper inside, and noticed small holes on either side, presumably to let the wearer hear, as well as a grid of very small, rounded metal nubs that covered the inside of the hood from the Back to above the ears all the way to above the eyes. This puzzled her. The grid reminded her of something use to pick up brain waves, but what for? She couldn't think of anything, and rolled the head to look a the inside of the face. When she did, she gasped "Oh cool!"
The nose was formed into the rubber, and there were nostril holes. Below that, however, extended a pair of wire frameworks clearly intended to fit around one's teeth. Mack moved the costume's jaw, and the bottom frame moved with it. This meant that the mouth on the dog would move with the wearer's. In front of the frames another hole was cut into the rubber, the costume's own tongue and teeth visible behind it.
She was barely able to contain herself, and she just had to try the head on. When she was a Child she had gone trick-or-treating as a skunk one year, and had loved it. Ever since then she had wanted to dress as an animal again. She had looked at costumes, even tried them on, though never bought one, and this head was possibly the most detailed thing she had seen. Holding the head by its collar she brought the thing up to her face. She could see two spots of the basemen floor in front of her, and the collar fit right below her chin.
The liner was seemed custom shaped to fit someone's head almost perfectly, but it definitely seemed like it might fit her too. Holding her mouth open she slipped her face the rest of the way into the head. It was a snug but comfortable fit. She felt the round points of the spikes raking through her hair, dragging gently across her scalp as she guided the framework into her mouth with her tongue. Once they were positioned over her jaws she bit down until they snapped into place around her teeth. She ran her tongue over it, feeling the thin coat of rubber over the tiny, rigid wire frame. Two narrow rods ran along the outside of each jaw and out of her mouth, connecting her jaw to the costume's. Reaching up her fingers found the zipper, and she pulled it closed, feeling the fur flap slide over the zipper, effectively hiding it.
It was a snug fit: the zipper kept wanting to spring open and Mack was thankful of her short "lesbian haircut" as her mother put it. If she was actually planning on wearing this she would have to buzz her head to help it fit. She finally got the zipper closed, and began wondering how she was going to keep it from springing up again. She ran her fingers over the forked pull tab, and remembered the holes in the collar. That was it! The collar doubled as a zipper latch, taking some of the strain off the zipper itself while effectively holding the pull down, and the round knob was the latch release! Quickly she found the holes on the top of the collar and pushed the tab in until she was rewarded with a "click".
There was a quiet "beep" and a dull red flash illuminated the shadow of a stack of honey supers. She turned her head, but didn't see anything. Even so, she really admired the visibility of the head. Aside from the muzzle at the bottom of her vision, her eyesight appeared to be unrestricted. She turned her head to either side, feeling the movement. Even though she had had her doubts about the thick collar, she was amazed to find how much freedom the high placement gave her. There was no binding of neck fur that usually limited her movement. The collar did prevent her from tilting her head very far down, as well as from looking extremely far up. However, with the excellent vision she reasoned she shouldn't need to stare at her feet -or the sky- anyway.
Next she opened and closed her mouth, feeling the movement of her "face" with her hands. The movement was so realistic that it felt exactly like a real dog's would. The excitement of wearing such an amazing costume was almost too much. She was beginning to tremble, and felt like yelling and dancing around like a little kid. She took a deep breath and let out a sigh, calming herself. Something on her head moved. She jumped, nearly pealing out of her own skin. Even before her heart began pounding though, there was another movement in the same place. Mack took another deep breath to calm herself and carefully felt the top of her head with her fingers. As she did, "her" dog ear twitched, and her hand jerked back.
Above her, someone laughed, snapping her attention upwards. The ears moved again, focusing the same way her nose was pointing. The voices suddenly became sharper, if not a little louder. It was as if they were on the other side of the room rather than up stairs. Or was that just her imagination? Even with the ear holes, her hearing should be worse now, not better. She did her best to keep her attention on the voices upstairs and snapped her fingers next to where her ear lay buried inside the head. The sound was muffled, and if the hole was open to the outside it did nothing to help move the sound. Excitedly she moved her hand up to in front of her pointed dog ears and snapped again. This time the concussion popped in her ear, almost painfully.
Well, she thought, that answers that.
She glanced around the basement briefly, wishing she had a mirror to look at herself with. She didn't expect to find one, so she wasn't disappointed in not finding one, and didn't bother getting up from where she knelt on the floor. Since she couldn't look at herself, her curiosity quickly turned to wondering where the rest of the costume was.
She crawled back over to the footlocker again, pretending to be a dog for a few minutes before feeling a little silly. She strained her eyes against the black, impatiently waiting for them to read just to the darkness. There was an oblong blo
Secret in the Cellar · Part 1 (1/2)
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