a moment, allowing their eyes to adjust to the gloom.
“Look, I see a sliver of light,” Janie said. She nudged Brownie in the right direction. At the end of the hall was a doorway. Beyond the closed doors were lights that were causing the line of light they could see. The whole building didn’t have many windows, and Brownie hadn’t ever been here before, so he didn’t know what was back there. Could be elephants with cattle prods, I reckon.
Abruptly they could hear a strange murmuring. It sounded like a chant. It was rhythmic and strangely enticing.
“I don’t like this,” Janie muttered. “It sounds satanic.”
“Satanic,” Brownie repeated.
“My grandma calls me that when I’ve been bad,” Janie whispered. Her little hand clutched his shoulder so fiercely he thought he would have finger-sized bruises there the next day. “Be quiet,” she whispered quickly.
They inched closer and closer to the single line of light between the two doors that opened into who knew what. “Stay behind me, Janie,” Brownie murmured. “I’ll protect you.”
“But I know jujitsu,” Janie argued.
“We’ll look through the crack,” Brownie said, “at the same time.”
They made their way to the door and positioned themselves such that Janie was lower and Brownie just above her, so that they could see through the crack at the same time. It took them a few seconds for their eyes to adjust to the lights in the other room.
Brownie closed one eye so he could focus the other one better on the contents of the inner room. It could be a collection of moldy thieves, perhaps with the Fat Man as the ringleader, wearing his shoddy suit and sweating up a storm. They would have all the stolen goods in their lair, laid out as they prepared to sell them to the highest bidder. Perhaps the spatula was really a lost piece of artwork or government technology accidently sold to Miz Adelia. Spies could be all around them. It wasn’t Sam Spade-like but it was interesting. The brassieres could be part of the cover-up in order to fool the local yokels. The tree could be an add-on to further muddy the waters. Who knew about the plush penguin? Could the Boomers be in on the deal?
Yeah, sweetheart, we’re the ribs, the patsies, and we ain’t goin’ take it no more. We got your number. We’ve got you crabbed, dingus.
It was a little difficult to see through the crack in the door. The edge of the door was lined with a strip of rubber to keep the cold out, and the strip was blocking them, even though it was cracked and peeling. There was enough of a gap to let the light through and little else. Brownie adjusted his stance, propping his hand on Janie’s back. Janie was trying to jam her face against the door in order to see through the obstruction.
Inside were figures moving, which was odd considering that the parking lot was empty outside.
Highly suspect, Brownie thought. He leaned forward just a tad.
“What do you see?” Janie muttered.
“People moving inside. A lot of ‘em,” he whispered back. “Sounds like they’re chanting, just like you said. Could be a cult. A cult who wants weird stuff.”
“Do you see any of the missing items?” Janie said lowly.
Brownie tilted his head. “No, I don’t see anything except some folks moving back and forth and saying, quiet down, they’re saying…”
Janie said, “What the heck?”
“‘ On top of spaghetti ,’” Brownie sang along, “‘ all covered with cheese .’”
“What?”
“‘ I lost my poor meatball, when somebody sneezed .’”
“My grandma sings that song,” Janie said with disgust.
“That’s not chanting,” Brownie concluded. “‘ It rolled off the table and onto the floor. Then my poor meatball rolled right out the door. ’”
“It’s, like, for little kids,” Janie said. “Babies.”
Brownie leaned forward again, and that was his mistake. One of his hands came up to rest on the door, but his weight must have been a little too much
“Look, I see a sliver of light,” Janie said. She nudged Brownie in the right direction. At the end of the hall was a doorway. Beyond the closed doors were lights that were causing the line of light they could see. The whole building didn’t have many windows, and Brownie hadn’t ever been here before, so he didn’t know what was back there. Could be elephants with cattle prods, I reckon.
Abruptly they could hear a strange murmuring. It sounded like a chant. It was rhythmic and strangely enticing.
“I don’t like this,” Janie muttered. “It sounds satanic.”
“Satanic,” Brownie repeated.
“My grandma calls me that when I’ve been bad,” Janie whispered. Her little hand clutched his shoulder so fiercely he thought he would have finger-sized bruises there the next day. “Be quiet,” she whispered quickly.
They inched closer and closer to the single line of light between the two doors that opened into who knew what. “Stay behind me, Janie,” Brownie murmured. “I’ll protect you.”
“But I know jujitsu,” Janie argued.
“We’ll look through the crack,” Brownie said, “at the same time.”
They made their way to the door and positioned themselves such that Janie was lower and Brownie just above her, so that they could see through the crack at the same time. It took them a few seconds for their eyes to adjust to the lights in the other room.
Brownie closed one eye so he could focus the other one better on the contents of the inner room. It could be a collection of moldy thieves, perhaps with the Fat Man as the ringleader, wearing his shoddy suit and sweating up a storm. They would have all the stolen goods in their lair, laid out as they prepared to sell them to the highest bidder. Perhaps the spatula was really a lost piece of artwork or government technology accidently sold to Miz Adelia. Spies could be all around them. It wasn’t Sam Spade-like but it was interesting. The brassieres could be part of the cover-up in order to fool the local yokels. The tree could be an add-on to further muddy the waters. Who knew about the plush penguin? Could the Boomers be in on the deal?
Yeah, sweetheart, we’re the ribs, the patsies, and we ain’t goin’ take it no more. We got your number. We’ve got you crabbed, dingus.
It was a little difficult to see through the crack in the door. The edge of the door was lined with a strip of rubber to keep the cold out, and the strip was blocking them, even though it was cracked and peeling. There was enough of a gap to let the light through and little else. Brownie adjusted his stance, propping his hand on Janie’s back. Janie was trying to jam her face against the door in order to see through the obstruction.
Inside were figures moving, which was odd considering that the parking lot was empty outside.
Highly suspect, Brownie thought. He leaned forward just a tad.
“What do you see?” Janie muttered.
“People moving inside. A lot of ‘em,” he whispered back. “Sounds like they’re chanting, just like you said. Could be a cult. A cult who wants weird stuff.”
“Do you see any of the missing items?” Janie said lowly.
Brownie tilted his head. “No, I don’t see anything except some folks moving back and forth and saying, quiet down, they’re saying…”
Janie said, “What the heck?”
“‘ On top of spaghetti ,’” Brownie sang along, “‘ all covered with cheese .’”
“What?”
“‘ I lost my poor meatball, when somebody sneezed .’”
“My grandma sings that song,” Janie said with disgust.
“That’s not chanting,” Brownie concluded. “‘ It rolled off the table and onto the floor. Then my poor meatball rolled right out the door. ’”
“It’s, like, for little kids,” Janie said. “Babies.”
Brownie leaned forward again, and that was his mistake. One of his hands came up to rest on the door, but his weight must have been a little too much
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