The Rain

Rainy Days

Growing up I used to live with my grandfather, and he would always tell me stories. He taught me to fear the rain, he would tell me stories about Goldfield, the local maximum security prison near us. He would tell me about all the violent criminals, and the terrible acts they committed to end up in there. He would explain to me how some these men were so dangerous and unstable that they couldn't be trusted to stay in normal cells, and that they even needed to be chained to the stone walls.  My grandfather told me how during stormy and rainy days the rain would weaken the stone, and how some of these men could pull the chains out of the wall if the weather was bad enough. He even showed me newspaper clippings of escaped convicts, and that every time there was one, it was always on a rainy day. He would tell me how the escapees would flee too the surrounding neighborhoods and hide, how they would hide in people's garages or under porches waiting for the rain to end. He would tell me how sometimes the men would break into the families' homes and do unspeakable things to the people living inside.  We lived around 7 miles from Goldfield prison.

During rainy days my grandfather would remind me of this, he would tell me that during those days it was best to just stay in my room, lock my door, read one of my comic books, and just not think about it. He even taught me how to turn my closet into a small fortress, we threw a blanket in there and a couple of pillows in there, I had a some superhero posters on the closet walls, a box full of comic books, and a small footlocker full of junk food and some cassette tapes. My grandpa always encouraged me to hide and stay in the closet whenever it rained, and even more so when it stormed. And I would just sit there listening to my Walkman, reading my comics and I would snuggle the pillows and drift away to sleep. I didn't feel fear the hours I stayed in there. I would always felt safe in my closet.

He would tell me that most of the time during escapes, the convicts would only hurt people they happened to come across. So if they broke into a house to avoid police, and there was a family sitting around the TV in the living room, they would strike. He would tell me that if a Goldfield prisoner escaped, came to our neighborhood, and broke into our house, that as long as I stayed in my closet, I would be okay. It would be possible for a convict to find me and hurt me. But as long as I stayed in my closet fort, I would be as safe. I would remind myself of this on rainy days. I would sit in my closet and it would make me feel safe.

My grandfather went missing during June and since my parents had died years ago I was alone. I was afraid to call the police because I knew that if something had happened to my grandpa, they would take me away and force me to live somewhere else. I didn't want to live somewhere else, I already had a home. So I kept his disappearance a secret for about a week, I would walk myself to school and grab money from my grandfather's emergency stash to go to the store and buy food and water. However one day, around 7 days after he went missing they let us out of school early because of bad weather. "Storm of the Century" they called it, thunder, heavy rain, and lightning all night. The rain was so heavy the streets had started to flood, and by time i got home the water was up to my ankles. As soon as I got home I ran into my hiding space and tightly held my blanket as thunder roared outside. I was very afraid. 

The storm by itself was already scary, but what terrified me the most was thinking about Goldfield prison and how easy it'd be for prisoners to escape during this storm. After some time, the power went off, so I sat in the closet in the darkness. I turned to my Walkman for comfort, but after a few hours the music stopped. The batteries were dead. I continued to sit in silence with the only sound being the storm outside, when suddenly I heard another noise. It sounded like a scratching noise coming from somewhere in the house, I tried to ignore it. It kept growing more consistent and louder until I reluctantly decided to leave the safety of my closet. As I stood in my doorway it was clear that the sound came from downstairs, with my heart racing I went down the stairs. I stood in the kitchen and stopped to listen again, but it still sounded like it was coming from below me.

We didn't have a basement, so I found it odd that the sounds were coming from below. As I kept walking around I noticed the sounds were louder in the living room, and there I was standing on the rug in the living room.  Below me the sounds were the loudest, after struggling for a bit I managed to pull away the rug and I was staring at a trap door below my feet.  I had no idea it existed, I didn't know there was anything under that rug. It had a padlock, so with my fear being replaced by adrenaline and sheer curiosity, and wanting to find out what was there I went to look for a ring of keys my grandfather kept in his room. I tried all the keys until one finally went inside the padlock, but as I was about to open it something pounded against the trap door. THUMP! THUMP! Muffled voices followed the thumping, I couldn't understand what they were saying. THUMP! Something pounded against the door again this time followed by a scream, "Help us!!". I understood that and I turned the key and lifted the trap door.

The worst smell I had ever encountered hit me and filled my nostrils. I instantly heard a woman crying and a man's voice sobbing, "Thank God oh thank God please we need water please".  The next few days were a whirlwind of activity in the house, police, media and gawkers all came, the news of a home-grown serial killer shocked the whole town. The media and the police were relentless with questions, "where is your grandfather?" I don't know.  "Did you know what he was doing?" "Did you help him hide his secrets?" No, I'd say, never.

"Did you help your grandfather bury the bodies in the backyard?". No.
"You must have helped.", said the police. No.
"You must have helped! An old man like your grandfather wouldn't be able to dig in the Arizona clay all by himself." And then I understood. "Rain", I said. The policemen looked at me puzzlingly, "What?" 

"He'd wait for it to rain"