They reached a compromise: press the button, see if anything happened, and then explore the perimeter of the hotel. The porch roof creaked and seemed less stable. The laser was still on, and they found the hatch right where they remembered. It was a strange feeling — confirming their surreal memories.
“Okay, so press it,” said Jack.
Ben peered at Jack — “I thought you were going to press it.”
“Wait!” said Stephen. “What if it’s a bomb or something?”
“This is a weird time to think of that,” said Ben.
“I can’t help it,” said Stephen. “It just seems like it could be a bad thing.”
“Well then tell my mom goodbye,” said Ben as he reached out and hit the button. He pressed it all the way in — it sank more than he expected. A loud “CLICK” made them jump. Ben
“Hey, the laser’s out,” Stephen noticed.
“I know it was on when we came up here,” said Jack.
“Probably turned off by the button,” offered Ben.
They paused, not sure what to do next.
“Press it again,” said Jack.
“Why?” asked Ben.
“Just do it.”
“Okay,” said Ben.
Ben pushed the button again. There was no click this time so he held his finger in for a moment and then released.
“Wait,” said Stephen, “did you hear that? Do it again.”
“Hear what?” asked Jack. Jack and Ben turned to Stephen.
“I heard something behind that wall,” answered Stephen. “When you held the button in, there was a sliding noise or something.”
“I didn’t hear anything, but whatever,” said Ben. He pressed the button a third time and held it. They all held their breath and listened with all their energy. After a few moments, Ben’s shoulders slumped and he began to remove his finger from the button. Then they all heard it.
A scraping sound began somewhere inside the hotel. Jack pressed his ear against the side of the building and Ben cocked his head to try to focus the sound. It sounded like a heavy piece of metal being dragged across stone or rough concrete. After about five seconds, the sound stopped and a the same “CLICK” repeated itself.
“Sounds done, whatever it was doing,” said Ben. “But maybe we should try again?”
“Not yet — let’s think about this,” said Jack. “It really did sound like something was opening or closing in there. And I get the feeling that it was completed.”
“Yeah,” said Stephen, “it moved and finished.”
“Let’s see if anything changed,” said Jack.
The three of them poured over the section of wall they could reach from the porch roof. Inside the small wooden compartment, where the laser used to come out, and around and above — they could find no more holes, latches, or compartments.
“Now what?” said Stephen. “Are we missing something?”
“I wish we had the letter with us,” said Jack. “I think there’s more to that than we saw.”
“Let’s go see if we can look inside,” said Stephen. “I think we’re done up here.”
The hotel had engaged them now — captivated their attention. No longer tentative, they stalked around the back of the hotel looking for a way to see inside. One of the boarded up windows had a corner that was slightly exposed. Each took a turn pressing their eye up to the hole and shining a flashlight in. It was so dark in the hole that it took Ben several minutes to realize that they were only seeing a dozen inches.
“There’s concrete inside that window,” said Ben. “Check it out — there’s nothing to see.”
By holding the light up to another gap in the opening, Ben illuminated the gap between the plywood and a solid concrete wall on the other side of the window.
“What the hell?” asked Stephen. “Let’s find another.”
Along the back wall they found two more holes and confirmed the story of the first window. As far as they could tell, the windows opened to nothing more than a solid wall.
“Does this make any sense at all?” asked Jack.
Eight the next morning they were up. They figured Jack’s mom would get suspicious if they had too many mornings of sleeping late, so their plan was to get up and dressed by eight-thirty. Groggy, Jack tried to force himself to act normal. His dad was working at home that morning — catching up on paperwork.
Ben and Stephen sat at the kitchen table and poured cereal. Jack stood near the refrigerator and debated what to have. His mom walked in and sat a bag of newspapers on the counter.
“Oh, hi boys, you’re awful quiet — I didn’t know you were in here,” said Jack’s mom.
“Hey mom,” said Jack.
“Hi Mrs. Randolph,” said Ben.
“Good morning, Ben,” she said. “Do you want something cooked for breakfast?”
“No thanks. Cereal’s good,” said Ben.
Jack’s dad materialized from the door to the office. “Hey,” he said, “everyone’s here!”
“Hi dad,” said Jack.
“Jack, Ben, Stephen, I’ve got a favor to ask of you this morning,” said Jack’s dad. “I was talking to the sheriff yesterday afternoon.”
Jack studied his father for a sign of trouble and, sensing none, tossed a look of caution to Ben and Stephen who had stopped breakfast mid-chew.
Jack’s dad continued: “He’s very interested in the shells you found at the pits. He said they match the type used by the boys he suspects of killing dogs. He’d like to talk with you this morning.”
“Okay!” said Jack. “When?”
“Hand me a glass — would’ya Bub?” said Jack’s dad. “He’s coming by this morning some time, so just stay in the house until he comes by.”
Jack handed him a glass from the cabinet and his dad filled it from the sink.
“No problem, dad. We’ll just hang out in my room,” said Jack.
Jack started to head out of the kitchen towards the stairs.
“Aren’t you going to have any breakfast?” asked his mom.
“Oh yeah,” said Jack as he turned and went back to the kitchen table.
Sheriff Kurtwood sat in the big chair in the living room. Rather, he sat on the edge of the big chair. When Jack was a kid he used to curl up in that chair sometimes and take a nap so he could hear his dad working in the adjoining office. The sheriff hunched forward over the coffee table, where his notebook and day-planner were open — he was flipping through his calendar.
Ben, Jack, and Stephen sat on the couch opposite the sheriff.
“So,” the sheriff began, “you said you were hiking on the fifth?”
“Yes,” said Jack. “July fifth — it was the day after we went to the fair.”
The sheriff flipped backwards to the previous page of his notebook. “Huh,” he said. He scanned down the page with his finger and tapped the page. “Your dad said your mom found the casings when she was doing laundry on Sunday. But you found them on the fifth.”
“Yeah,” reiterated Jack, “it must have been before the sixth, because I still had my sling on.” He pointed to his right arm.
“That’s right,” said Stephen. “He reached for the casings, but couldn’t get them because of his arm, so I had to get them.”
The sheriff studied Stephen during his interjection, and then looked back to Jack: “How long were you wearing a sling?”
“Three weeks. It smelled like cheese,” said Jack, wrinkling his nose.
“I bet,” he smiled. “And you were still reaching for things with your bad arm after three weeks?” asked the
