An Echo

At least the realtor lady was nice. The one who had shown them the last house had acted like she didn’t give a crap if they bought the house or not. Guess she figured if they didn’t buy it, someone else would. Dad had gone with them that time; this time it was just Matt and Mom. The lady was showing Mom the kitchen now, but Matt was still interested in the “secret” room she had shown them just a minute ago. There was a section of wall that, if pushed on just the right way, slid open, revealing a long, dark hall that led down to a small room. Matt had asked her why the room was there; she didn’t know.

As the lady led Mom further into the house Matt decided to take another look at the hidden room. He walked down the sloping hall until he was in the room, slightly below ground level. There was a light socket, but no bulb. The room was dimly lit with whatever light could reach it down the long hallway. The walls were made of concrete, smooth with only a few cracks. He ran a hand along one of the walls; the hand came away slightly damp.

His mind conjured up images of what this room may once have been use for. Maybe the room had been built in the days of Prohibition. The Mob owned the house, and this room was where they stored a cache of bootleg liquor. Maybe a spy had once lived here, and this room was where he kept his top secret documents, and his equipment for transmitting secret messages. Even better, maybe---

“Por favor.”

It was barely a whisper. Matt whipped around, but there was nobody there. He stared up the hallway and saw only the dim rectangle of light that marked the open doorway.

“Por favor!”

The voice was louder this time, a young boy’s voice. Matt thought he could detect fear in it.

“Where are you?” Matt spoke aloud to the empty room.

“Por favor el señor, no me lastima.”

Matt tried to remember what he’d leaned in those Spanish classes he took last year.

Por favor el señor, no me lastima. Please mister, don’t hurt me.

“Who are you?” Matt asked. “Um… quién son usted?”

“El es lo que usted merece, pendejo!”

This was a different voice, a man’s voice, angry. Matt’s arms broke out in gooseflesh.

“Por favor! No me mate, por favor!”

The boy’s voice again. Don’t kill me, please!

Then there was a loud, animalistic grunt and a scream of pain. Matt covered his ears and ran up into the light, into the sane world above ground. He slid the wall/door back into place and waited for Mom in the car. As they drove home she prattled on about how great the house was, but Matt wasn’t really listening; his thoughts were elsewhere. As they came to a stop at a red light he interrupted her stream of talk.

“Mom, I don’t think we should move there.”

“Why not, honey? Didn’t you like it?”

“Mom, please, I don’t want to go back to that house.”

She looked at her son then, saw the tears in his eyes.

“Matt, what’s wrong?”

“Just please, Mom, okay?”

She thought for a moment. The light turned green and they started moving again.

“I’ll tell your father we didn’t like this one. We’ll look for a better place next week.”

Matt wiped the tears away with a sleeve.

“Thanks, Mom.”

There was a lot of traffic. They didn’t get home until after dark.

© 2011 M. Ramon