J.D. reassured himself the morning’s errands were necessary. The truck really did need a wash. He really did need to make a deposit at the bank. And driving the long way was good for business, more people would see the truck that way – free advertising! But he knew sooner or later he’d have to roll up for the inevitable confrontation.
He finally hit the turn indicator and drove into the neighborhood. J.D. was not the kind of man to avoid unpleasantness. He had a job in no small measure because it was unpleasant work most folks would rather avoid. He wasn’t afraid of conflict. But the longer he knew a clash was coming, the more it stressed him out. Sometimes he put off checking his bank balance so he could pretend there was money in there. This felt like that.
There was the Dead End sign. He made his final turn. He craned his neck to see if he could tell where the old woman lived. She wasn’t outside. Somebody was, however. J.D. sighed as he applied the emergency brake. Both Mr. and Mrs. Crowe were standing on their porch, waiting for him.
He took a deep breath and let it out. His suspicions from the day before couldn’t be ignored any longer. He could see the shed out of the corner of his eye. What were these crazy people up to? And how exactly did he fit into all this? If their son was still alive, there must be a purpose in getting rid of all his stuff. That thought relaxed him some. Surely they wouldn’t be paying all this money to clear out their basement unless the boy was really gone. Money that he desperately needed. But then, what were they hiding in that shed?
While he could not command his heart to stop beating so fast, he chose to fall back on the working man’s standard operating procedure: minding his own business. Even if there was something shady going on, it had nothing to do with him so long as they kept things professional. Besides, he had bigger problems. Namely, whether they had noticed his tire tracks in the yard yet. If that was going to come up, it would come up right away, so he might as well get to it.
He considered his strategy as he gathered his things. Best to act like nothing was out of the ordinary. If they suspected – well, not much he could do about that. He waved at his customers.
“Morning!”
No answer.
He approached the steps, the Crowes staring down at him. He didn’t care for the position.
“I’d like to settle up from yesterday if that’s alright. Three loads.”
“That’s not too many,” said Calvin Crowe.
Uh oh. “Yes sir, the weather prevented me from doing as much as usual.”
Mrs. Shannon scoffed. Her husband continued.
“The weather?”
“Yessir. Rain was crazy yesterday.”
“I would have thought you’d get more done with the truck down in the yard.”
He knew. Play for time.
“Sir?”
“You didn’t bring the truck into the yard yesterday?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Mrs. Crowe jumped in, “You mean to tell me you’re going to stand there on your two feet and tell me–”
“Shannon!” snapped Mr. Crowe. He turned back to J.D. “Come with me.”
They were walking toward the hill. J.D. thought fast. He was about to be fired. Was that such a bad thing? These people had been nothing but difficult since he first arrived. But they had paid on time every time, and there was still a lot of money to be made downstairs. He couldn’t lose this job. But maybe he didn’t have a choice anymore.
Mr. Calvin stood by where the truck had been stuck yesterday. He gestured to the ground.
“Well?”
The scoring wasn’t actually too bad in the sun, most of the grass was still there. But the yard was so overgrown that any difference stood out. No point in lying now. J.D. sighed.
“I was just trying to save time. Got caught in the rain.”
“Maybe you wouldn’t need all that time,” said Shannon Crowe, “if you didn’t waste so much talking to nosy neighbors.”
Mr. Calvin barked in rebuke, but J.D.’s hackles rose.
“What are you talking about?” he interrupted.
Shannon pushed her husband aside and stepped to J.D.
“I know you’ve been talking to that crazy old bat from up the street. Listening to her stories instead of working.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“And you’re a cussed liar!”
J.D. felt anger pop behind his eyes. His vision blacked at the corners as his volume increased.
“What business is it of yours who I talk to?”
“When you’re working at my house, you do the job the way I want it done.”
“I’ll talk to whoever I want, and I’ll do my job the way it’s supposed to be done, not the way you want.”
“How about I post the worst review you’ve ever seen, telling everyone just how nasty you’ve been? Run you right out of business!”
“And how about I tell everyone just what you’ve got hidden away in that shed of yours?”
Silence struck the summer morning. J.D.’s stomach dropped out. He couldn’t believe he’d said that, he was just so angry. Sick of that woman talking at him. But she wasn’t talking now. In fact, she didn’t look angry anymore. Her neck rolls were shining with sweat, shaking as she swallowed. Her eyes darted from him to her husband, she even took a step back. J.D. looked at Mr. Calvin. He was standing stock still, eyes wide.
“Dear God,” thought J.D., “it’s true!”
Mrs. Crowe was trying to get her mouth started up again, “I don’t – I don’t know what, what you think you know...”
Her husband broke in, “It’s alright, Shannon.” He turned to J.D. “Could we speak privately? Inside?”
The offer sent a shudder through J.D.’s spine. No way he should be going anywhere with this man alone. But the sunken, wrinkled eyes of Calvin Crowe did not seem threatening. He looked cowed. J.D. felt he had won the exchange, and perhaps it was the confidence from that victory that made him agree. He clomped up the wooden steps and passed into the Crowes’ home through the front door, discreetly putting a hand to the utility knife he always kept in his pocket.
The inside of the house was as dreary as ever. Mr. Calvin led him into the den. The place deserved the name. The ceiling was low, and the stringy brown carpet made it seem just like an animal’s hole. He turned on a side lamp, which only added to the illusion with its dirty orange light. There was too much furniture in the room, and the couch was worn out. They’d clearly had a dog at some point. Maybe more than one. And it smelled like a fire. J.D. glanced over to see hardened mounds of ash in the fireplace. But the man sat, and gestured for J.D. to do the same. He perched on the corner of a couch.
Mr. Calvin sighed and rubbed his face with both hands. He ran his fingers through his long gray hair. He looked exhausted. Finally, he spoke.
“I’m sorry my wife raised her voice like that.”
J.D. shrugged. “That’s alright. I’m sorry too.” He wasn’t, really, but he was keen to end this interview quickly.
“She hasn’t been herself,” Mr. Calvin continued, “since we lost Shawn.”
“I can understand that.”
There was a long pause. J.D. thought he caught a gleam in the man’s eye, but it was gone in a moment.
“I might’ve known you’d get curious about that shed.”
J.D. didn’t answer. His hair was starting to stand on end.
“I know it probably seems strange, but...”
Mr. Calvin drew a deep breath and put a hand to his lips, staring at the window as if he was trying to decide whether to continue. Then he turned his eyes back on J.D.
“We haven’t buried our son yet. He’s out back in that shed.”
J.D. felt his arms prickle with goosebumps, despite the heat of the day. He had been right. Well, half right?
“You mean – I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“Which part?”
“You’ve got his body in there?”
Mr. Calvin nodded. J.D. felt the bloom of adrenaline near his heart. What kind of freak show had he wandered into?
“I know what you’re probably thinking,” continued Mr. Crowe. “But Shannon’s having a hard time letting go. Cleaning out that basement is a huge step for her. She’s run off everyone I’ve tried to hire. I’m just hoping this will give her the push she needs to let me finish it.”
“Well, that explains the smell!” thought J.D. The other man was waiting for his reaction, so he swallowed and said out loud, “I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“It’s been a trying time.”
That tore it for J.D. This hadn’t felt right since the beginning, and now his gut was telling him to run. He felt his spirits lift a little as he decided.
“I don’t think I can keep working here.”
Calvin Crowe sat up. “What? Why not?”
J.D. nearly laughed at the obvious, stupid question. “Sir, this is a little more than I’m used to. Plus, we haven’t really been getting along. I think it would be best if I just pulled out now.”
“We had a deal.” There was almost a threat in the man’s raspy voice.
“Yes sir. And I’m sorry about that, but–”
“It would really help us if you could finish up.”
“I understand that, but–”
“And you’re already here today.” Mr. Calvin was talking over him now. “Couldn’t you just do one more day and see how it feels?”
“I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Please. We can’t do it on our own, we don’t have the tools. And what with Shannon’s disability.”
J.D. tried not to scoff at the idea of whatever disability that awful woman had chosen to fake.
“Mr. Crowe–”
“What if I pay extra?” He named a figure. It was a large figure. “Just for today.”
J.D. tried to think in the awkward silence. Okay, so these people were cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, that was for sure. Which only made sense, having raised a hoarder son like that. But he supposed that if Mr. Calvin was telling the truth, there was no crime being committed. Nothing he would have to report. At his old job he had once been called to clear out an apartment because of the odor. Found an elderly lady dead in her bed. The corpse had ruptured and filth was all over the room. There was a police inquiry and everything. But this didn’t seem to rise to that level. He felt himself calming down after the argument. Could he keep working here? He thought he could. He had this man right where he wanted him, now. Might as well finish up, make his money, move on and forget it. If that was possible.
He decided.
“Alright, Mr. Crowe. Sorry again for losing my temper. It’s none of my business. And I’m sorry again for tearing up your yard. It won’t happen again.”
“Okay then! I’m sure you’ll feel better tomorrow. And no hard feelings about the grass. It’ll grow back.”
“I think I ought to be finished in another few days. Certainly by the end of the week.”
“That would be fine.”
Back to the man of few words, apparently. J.D. stood.
“I’ll get right to it, if that’s okay with you. We’ll just need to settle up from yesterday.”
Mr. Calvin looked up at him. That glint was in his eye again, and J.D. felt his pulse quicken. All of a sudden he looked cunning, intelligent. Maybe even ruthless. Or was that just more of his imagination? His blood pressure didn’t seem to think so. This whole place had him wound tight.
The man did eventually stand and retrieve his checkbook. He wrote it out and tore it off. J.D. reached for it, but Mr. Calvin held on for a moment.
“You haven’t been back in that closet down there, have you?”
A bead of sweat dribbled down J.D.’s back.
“No sir.”
“Don’t go in there.”
“I won’t!”
Mr. Crowe released the check. J.D. folded it and put it in his back pocket. A loud squeak and a bang.
“You still paying him?”
The voice made him jump. It was Mrs. Shannon, pink hair everywhere. Clearly not as contrite as her husband, she glared right past J.D. They started to argue, and he took the opportunity to slip out the front door.
Down in the pit, shoveling junk from under the stairs, he mentally kicked himself. Was he stupid or something? He clearly wasn’t in his right mind. These people had a dead body in the shed, and he was down here clearing out the corpse’s apartment. Yes, he was getting paid, but was this job worth that much to him? He reached to unstick something that was wedged tight, holding back the rest. It was a bicycle. He grabbed a handlebar and pulled. The whole thing came tumbling down.
The smell was worse than ever today. He had broken up the last big pile, stirring up all the fumes. But then again, most of it should have dissipated by now. And maybe it was just the aftereffects of that crazy interaction upstairs, but he could have sworn he smelled something like rotten meat mixed in with the pungent basement air.
He hoped with all his heart that he was not smelling a decomposing body. That thought almost made him retch. He chose to move the remaining junk closer to the door instead of taking loads to the truck. Not really necessary, but he couldn’t go outside and look at that shed just now.
So Shawn was dead after all. The old lady had been wrong. Then again, he thought, she clearly knew something untoward was going on. Otherwise, why warn him? And it had indeed been a warning. She spoke like he was in grave danger. But if she knew, why not just call the police? Or animal control, or whomever you’re supposed to call to retrieve a dead body?
J.D.’s eyes glazed over as he shoveled. Something was nagging at his brain. He could feel his mind turning something over that it wasn’t ready to show him just yet. Pieces started to come. The harrowing cries from the shed. What was he to make of those? Was it really just a bobcat, in the end? Perhaps he had heard Mrs. Shannon shouting her grief. But that didn’t account for the howl he had heard in the storm the day before. That unholy, animalistic scream.
He leaned on the big snow shovel. What was it? Something was missing. He shouldn’t be racking his brain like this, the situation was creepy enough without his overactive imagination. The heavy meat smell came in another wave.
He was trying to avoid thinking about the journal under the golden altar. “Would they rather end my existence than aid in my ascension?” Shawn Crowe had written. It sounded like a suicide note, but then again the tone was too precious, too self-important. He had never learned how Shawn had died. “Not dead. Gone.”
All at once he realized that he did not believe Mr. Crowe at all. Something just wasn’t right. His gut was roiling and the back of his mind was begging to be heard. He remembered the strips of meat being cut up in the kitchen. Who was that for? He shuddered and started to pace, bouncing on the balls of his feet. If they were keeping their son in that shed – then what? If he called the police, and he was wrong, he could kiss his new business goodbye. But didn’t he have a responsibility to do something? At that thought, his nerves really went nuts and his hands started to tremble. He felt holed up like a hounded animal in that dark, squalid place. He tried to ignore it and mind his own business. He just couldn’t do that. He was convinced. But he wasn’t sure.
So now what?
Now what? Now what?
There had to be more. If he could only find another clue, one way or another. He turned his eyes to the bedroom doorway. It was the last place he wanted to go, but J.D. stalked quickly to the forbidden closet. He would have to be fast.
He flung open the doors. But as soon as he did, he fell back, gagging. The smell was overpowering. It had never been worse, not since he had been there. Now it was all he could do to stand in the next room. It was noxious and vile and – and gamey. Like a butchered animal.
He turned on the closet light. There was the false altar and the fiendish black grin on the wall. Everything looked the same, but the air, the stench was overpowering. He examined the shelves with his nose in his shirt, but nothing was any different. His eyes were drawn to one side. There was the square portal in the wall. Access to the crawlspace. J.D. got on his knees, stretched out with a hand and pushed on it. It budged. He pushed again and it popped inside, hanging by two diagonal corners. Before he could even reach to remove it, he knew.
He thought the blood-soaked scent had been overwhelming before. Now it was like a protean monster, reaching for the entry points, filling him up with the foul taint of what was hidden beneath that horrid house.
J.D. didn’t want to look. He didn’t. He pulled his phone from his pocket, tearing off a glove with his teeth. He pressed the little button that turned on the flashlight. And he looked.
Inside the crawlspace, just far enough to be reached with a long arm, there was yet another pile of refuse. Not candy bar wrappers or sweat-soaked clothing. It was a mound of what were immediately apparent to J.D. as human bones. A rib cage protruded from the top, with the long femurs and humeri just below. Large chunks of torn flesh still clung to the bright white skeleton, and the floor was soaked in blood. The whole mass glistened, somehow still wet; moisture preserved in the damp crawlspace. J.D. could not see the skull. But from within his own, he gasped, mandible clacking. A finger lay just inside the doorway. A cockroach was feeding on it.
He finally sputtered out a horrified cry and threw himself away, scraping backwards along the floor, the heels of his boots trying to grip the carpet. He kicked the closet doors shut. One bounced back and he slammed it again, putting a dent in the door with his foot. He could still scent the fumes of the rotten body, wafting through the cracks in the door.
No wonder they had wanted him to stay away from the altar in the closet. It had nothing to do with their son’s secrets – it was their secret they were protecting. They weren’t keeping Shawn’s body in the shed. Shawn was still in the basement! Whatever he had been planning, these psycho people had chosen to end their own son’s life and stuff him in the crawlspace. And J.D. had been just outside the room this whole time!
He needed air. He needed to breathe air that did not reek of blood and death. J.D. stood up, but caught himself before he left the bedroom. Got to think. If he went outside and they were there, he didn’t trust himself to keep his composure. He could haul another load to the truck and just drive away. But the truck wasn’t full, and they might be watching from the porch. And after the argument this morning – he had unknowingly threatened to expose two murderers! All of a sudden Calvin Crowe’s generous offer cast a nefarious shadow. He tried to catch his breath, but the smell was still so, so foul.
What to do, then? Could he signal that old Asian lady somehow? No, that was silly. He had his phone right there in his hand. The light was still on from looking behind the wall. He turned it off immediately, as if to remove any reminder of that awful sight. He dialed 9-1-1 and held the phone to his ear. As desperate as he was to leave that room, he needed to stay out of the main space. He wouldn’t put it past the Crowes to eavesdrop.
“911, what is the nature of your emergency?”
“Hi yes, my name is J.D. Cartwright. I work for a junk removal company, and I’ve just discovered a dead body in my client’s basement.”
There was no answer for a moment.
“You found a body in the basement?”
“Yes! Yes, I’m clearing out a hoarder’s house, and – look, these people are crazy, you’ve got to get someone down here right away.”
The woman sighed before she responded, “Alright sir, could you give me the address of your current location?”
“She doesn’t believe me,” he thought, trying not to panic as he gave her the address. But halfway through, she broke in again.
“I’m sorry sir, could you repee–e-e-e-e-e-e-ee...”
Her voice sounded like falling down a digital staircase, ending in a loud KEE-tk-kunggg. J.D. jerked the phone down and looked. No, no, no, no, NO! The screen was powering down. He had no battery left. The phone died.
J.D. could feel himself shaking, like he had fallen through the ice into a frozen lake. His mind was racing in too many directions. Could the police station track his phone? Even if they could, the woman hadn’t really believed him, and he was down in a basement, with no battery. Maybe someone would come? But how long would that take?
There was no choice now, he had to get out of there. He doubted the Crowes would shoot him from the porch, but his tightening chest wasn’t so sure. He stalked carefully into the main room, cursing the heaps of junk he had piled up in front of the door. He tried not to make a sound as he walked through. One wrong-placed foot sent a cascade of clanging metal scraps to the hard basement floor. So much for stealth. He took hold of the doorknob and wrenched his wrist to open it.
It didn’t turn. The door would not open.
J.D. tried again, but it simply wouldn’t budge, not a millimeter. He threw his shoulder into it, scattering more junk, but nothing happened. He tried pulling and pushing both, but the door stayed shut. Looking closer, he could see the deadbolt was fastened.
Desperate now, he raced up the stairs two at a time, though he knew what he would find. That door was fast shut too. It was a light door, but it felt sturdy; something was pressing against it from the other side.
He was locked in.
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