The trapdoor banged shut above her and the darkness in the abandoned well was total.
She clung to the corroded iron rungs on the wall, her heart pounding wildly. She was afraid of losing her grip, of falling; afraid of what might be hidden below. Her arm brushed against the rough concrete and something slimy smeared off on it. Gooseflesh rippled; she gasped, sucking in dank, evil-smelling air that seemed to catch in her throat. She gasped again; her chest heaved but still she felt she was suffocating.
Then, from somewhere above, she heard a muffled crashing and splintering noise, male voices yelling in bloated triumph. They were inside the house…
A hiccoughing sob came out of her, echoing in the black cavern. Don’t make noise! They’ll hear you!
Footsteps. Shouts.
“Ryerson, you cocksucker, where are you?”
“You can’t hide. We’ll find you!”
Her palms were wet, slipping on the rungs. Her right hand lost its grip, and she clutched frantically at the rung below; the violent motion dislodged her feet, pulled her other hand loose, and she fell with a stifled cry. Sharp objects tore into her buttocks, her back. She lay trembling, feeling claustrophobic, trying to breathe.
Something heavy fell somewhere inside the house. Footsteps drummed on the floor above. The shouting voices overlapped to form a continuous lusting bellow. Then one set of footsteps seemed to be coming this way, toward the pantry. She’d closed the door, now she heard it open, followed by a faint snapping sound. The light switch? She looked up and saw lines of light, the faint outline of the trapdoor.
The carpet! She hadn’t put the carpet back!
She’d pulled the square of it up in a panic, tearing her fingernails, ripping it from around the tacks that held it down. Grabbed the metal ring on the floor and yanked the trapdoor open. And then stood there, looking down into the fetid cavern, her flesh crawling, unable to move. She’d had to fight off panic to make herself climb into the well, had done it in a single scrambling motion that took her down the rungs and brought the door down so quickly it had almost banged her head. It had never even occurred to her to replace the carpet…
She got up on her haunches, ignoring the pain in her buttocks and back. The knife-what had happened to the knife? She’d had it when she entered the pantry. Had she set it down when she ripped up the carpet? Dropped it climbing into the well? All she knew was she didn’t have it now.
In a frenzy she felt around her feet, then to either side. Her fingers encountered rocks, pieces of glass and metal. Recoiled from something damp and spongy. Didn’t find the knife. Didn’t find anything that could serve as a weapon Hard footsteps in the room above.
Oh God, they’ve seen the trapdoor!
And a voice shouted distantly, “I hear ’em! They’re up in the tower!”
“Adam! Come on!”
Overhead the footfalls turned abruptly, started away. In the dim light from the low-wattage bulb, whoever it was hadn’t seen the square of carpet or the iron ring. She was still safe.
She let out a sobbing sigh, moved over to the wall, and found the rungs and started to climb them. Twice before she reached the door she had to stop and dry first one hand and then the other on her pants legs. She listened. The footfalls were gone; all the sounds she could hear were muffled by distance. She pushed at the door. It was heavy and resisted; she heaved at it, almost losing her balance. It rose a few inches, then fell back.
What if I’m trapped in here?
She heaved again, her breath coming in ragged gasps. This time the door moved about a foot. She jammed her arm into the space just before the heavy wood fell back again. Pain shot through her elbow; she almost bit through her lip stifling a cry.
The trapped arm braced her. She moved onto the top rungs so that her hunched shoulders were wedged against the door. Then she shoved upward with the strength of her whole body-and the door lifted, fell backwards against its hinge stops.
She scrambled through the opening onto the pantry floor. Knelt there for a moment, listening. They were all in the living room, shouting, beating on the tower door. And in the next instant she was up and running to the outside door, dragging it open, stumbling over the jamb, almost falling headlong as she plunged out into the fog-shrouded night.