The Last Winter

Saturday: Beware the Howler (15)

Michal
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

She's gone. I'm too late.

Nolan and Vena come up behind me, silently taking in the empty room. An old oil lamp is hanging on a wall, the plaster cracking and crippling to the floor. The room is about the size of a large closet, and it's barren aside from some dust bunnies and what looks like a dead rat in the corner.

I grip Maggie's bat anxiously.

"Right," I mutter. I bite my lower lip and shake my head.

Why does she have to run off like that?

"Stay here," I tell them. "I'll go look around and see if I can find Maggie."

"Uh, no," Vena says. "No way. Nolan can stay, but I'm going with you."

"I'm not staying!" Nolan says defensively.

I sigh irritably and shrug. Whatever. I tried.

"Stay close, then. And be quiet," I whisper, sneaking toward the open door.

I carefully peek around the bend.

Sure enough, this must be some kind of closet. I'm looking out into a wider room, consisting of old wooden chairs, desks, cobwebs, shelving units--some kind of office for several workers. Of course, it doesn't look like it's been used for a long time. There is debris scattered all over the tile floor, papers everywhere--there's even various office supplies that have been left behind: pen nibs, erasers, staplers, and paper clips. This place had been left in a hurry.

"It's freezing in here," Vena chatters as we step out into the office, shivering uncontrollably.

I pull my collar closer to my neck, noticing the clouds of breath that hang in the chilly air.

"Then go back to the lodge," Nolan mutters.

"It wouldn't be that much warmer," I shoot back. I clench my teeth and hold the bat even tighter to keep my hands from shaking.

"Whoa, look at this," Vena says, pointing at an old black safe sitting against a wall.

The door is dented severely, and a rusty crowbar is lying on the floor. With one easy motion, my brother swings the door open. Someone had already broken into it.

Vena crouches down and squints into the opening. "See any money?"

Nothing. There are only yellowed folders and documents left in here.

"Nope," Nolan tells her, rifling through the papers.

"They must be important, though. Important enough to be kept in a safe," I say.

I reach inside and pull out a stack of what first appears to be index cards bound together with rubber bands. I step into the doorway of the closet so I can use the light of the oil lamp to read.

"Name cards," I mutter, flipping through them and glancing at the faded time stamps. These are what they used to clock into work back in the early to mid 1900s.

Sure enough, the date on one is December 14, 1953. I squint at the company name in the left-hand corner: Hitchwood Mining Co.

Mining? Well, I guess I shouldn't be surprised. I'll just add abandoned underground mining tunnels to the list of what makes these mountains so creepy.

A strange whine echoes into the office room, and we all grow very still.

"Did you hear that?" Vena asks in a whisper that's just barely audible. Her eyes are as round as saucers.