Joan:
Aunt Carol had left the place tidy and inconspicuous. The front of the cabin had a covered porch and two windows. There were two more windows along the side and a back door that led to a storage shed. It was a one floor box-like structure with nothing but flat grassland for miles in all directions.
I smiled, “ its perfect.”
Hank raised his eyebrow skeptically, “its tiny,” He said.
“Exactly,” I replied, grabbing my backpack from the car, “small spaces are easier to defend and take less time to fortify.”
Hank trailed after me as I led the way to the cabin. “Kinda sticks out like a sore thumb though, don’t it?” he quizzed.
It took me a minute to get the keys out of my bag and then to set to work on the numerous locks, “that would only be a problem if I was hiding, which I’m not.” After some fiddling the final bolt clicked back into place.
“If not hiding, what are you doing?” asked Hank.
I shifted my weight against the old door, “Waiting.”
Other than the dust and stale smell that inhabits every uninhabited space, the interior was still in good condition. The kitchen and sitting area were combined into one big room. The only room separated by a door was the bedroom, which also held the only bathroom. There was a fireplace, a dirty rug, a sheet protected couch and a rocking chair to make up the sitting area. In the far left corner was a small, square table with four chairs. A matching set of pale wood bought at a garage sale decades ago. Next to it the kitchen was furnished with an old gas stove and oven that required a match to light. More pale wood made up the cabinets above and under the sink as well as a square of counter top. Pretty sparse all things considered. I knew the bedroom wouldn’t hold much more than the common area. There was just a queen-sized bed and a large oak chest that served as storage. The bathroom replaced what could have been a closet. Aunt Carol figured it was better to have slightly wrinkled clothes from lack of a place to hang them than to have to go outside every time nature called, as was the original intent of the builders. I did an initial sweep of the rooms and cabinets to be sure there were no unwelcome visitors, humans and roaches included. No one was here but a few spiders in a couple corners and they were alright by me. Hank stood all the while in the main room, taking it all in. He couldn’t keep from grimacing.
“I knew you’d like it,” I teased. Embarrassed by his candid expression, he tried to recover some semblance of decorum.
“Oh no, its fine. Really,” he struggled to say, making me laugh at his dilemma. I approached the filthy straw rug and bent down to flip back the corner.
“She may not be a palace, but there’s more to this place than meets the eye,” I said before sneezing from the dusty mat.
Hank raised an eyebrow skeptically, and asked, “like what?” I found the off-colored fake plank and pulled it up to reveal a metal handle.
“Like this,” I replied and pulled up on the handle to reveal Aunt Carol’s secret hideout.
Hank:
I couldn’t believe it, a real trapdoor. This little shit hole in the middle of nowhere had a hidden basement.
“I’ll be damned,” I said, stunned. Who the hell were Joan’s people? Spies? Rebels? Criminals? Or maybe, they were just good old hard working people paranoid about the government, invaders, or zombies. “Why exactly did your aunt build a secret room?” I questioned. Joan smirked and dug around in her backpack pocket before extracting a flashlight.
“Let’s just say anarchy runs in my family,” she answered mischievously.
I stood watching as she descended the steps until her head was below floor level. Somewhere in the logic driven part of my brain, I knew Joan was not more than a few feet away from me. Unfortunately, any rational thought was overshadowed by a creeping dread. I’d never been a fan of small spaces but ever since my time in the big house I absolutely hated dark, cramped rooms. My foot froze on the first step and the back of my neck started to sweat. I could hear blood pounding through my ears and saw the earth and soil and darkness swallowing me. Then Joan flicked the lights on. I was momentarily dazzled by the light, but when my eyes adjusted I saw…not at all what I was expecting. In addition to a bright overhead light there was a soft glow from fake candles and fairy lights in every corner. The walls were covered in posters and colorful tapestries. There was a flat screen on one wall flanked by bookshelves. Standing opposite was a squashy fold out couch with blankets piled next to it. There was even a small bar tucked in the space behind the stairs. Flabbergasted, my feet must have moved automatically since I was suddenly at floor level with Joan.
“Told you so,” she said, practically beaming.
“You sure did, kid,” I breathed, “your aunt did all this?” Joan walked over to one of two small barstools and plopped her backpack next to it.
“Nah. She made the room and added the bar and flat screen but everything else was my doing,” She replied simply and moved behind the bar. I took the other bar stool,
“So what’s the plan here?” I asked, shaking my head when she gestured to the bottles behind her. Joan reached under the bar and pulled out a can of off brand soda. “Have you ever seen Home Alone?” she asked, opening the can with a hiss.
I nodded, “Yah?”
Joan took a swig of cola before answering, “That’s the plan.”
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