A Place in the Dark
by Brent L. Petretti
Having had two husbands disappear without a trace, Sarah Williams was known to have a bit of a reputation. And the very day she tied the knot with husband number three was a good time, in fact as good a time as any, for the tongues in town to start flapping. It didn’t start out as much since these things tend to gradually gain strength as the day as well as the Champagne is steadily consumed. But toward evening the gossip had turned ugly, and even the groom was unable to escape its claw-like grasp.
Walt Wesson stared at the gold band now adorning his left hand and had to chuckle a bit at the absurdity of it all. A professed bachelor for some fifty-eight years, he couldn’t help but
wonder about what he had gone and done. Him get married? Footloose and fancy free old Walt with a wife to support? It sure didn’t seem possible and yet it sure was true as the gold ring seemed to shout its proclamation.
He was still shaking his head in subdued amazement when Harry Schultz ambled up, right hand extended in a congratulatory gesture while his left hand held a near-full glass of Champagne.
“Congratulations Walt, you old good-for-nothing,” offered Harry, a bit louder than even he had intended.
Walt accepted his hand and shook it absent-mindedly. “Thanks Harry.”
Harry was clearly feeling no pain. “I never thought it would happen. Especially to you, old boy,” he went on, still shaking Walt’s hand.
Walt finally managed to pull his hand free. “I really didn’t either, but Sarah managed to catch me at the right time.”
Harry’s head bobbed up and down as he tried to subdue a belch. “That’s what they all say. But it makes no difference. You’re still stuck all the same.”
Walt didn’t care for the way Harry said the word ‘stuck,’ but chose not to comment on it now. After all, it was his wedding day. He forced a smile and turned to walk away when Harry reached out and clamped a hand on his shoulder. A flickering flame of anger began to grow a bit brighter in the recesses of his stomach.
“I’m sure you know,” whispered Harry over Walt’s shoulder.
Walt stopped in his tracks as if suddenly jolted erect by some invisible force. It was true he didn’t know, no one did for sure. But he had heard. And what he heard was just the thing that gives small towns a bitter and dark side.
He whirled around to stop just inches from Harry’s smug looking face. “I’m not so sure, Harry,” said Walt through gritted teeth. “What am I supposed to know?”
Harry stumbled back a few steps, spilling half of his Champagne over his hand. “Hey, take it easy Walt. I was just talking about what everyone here in town has been saying for years now.”
Walt was not about to let up. “And just what have the kind and compassionate people of this town been saying?”
All of a sudden Harry himself was no longer quite as sure. “Well, you know,” he mumbled. “About Sarah and the others. You know they say...”
Walt was in the process of winding back to let go with a punch at Harry’s fat sneering face when he held back at the last moment. Around the corner stepped Sarah, a large bouquet of assorted flowers held before her, and a pleasant and contented smile adorning her face. She looked happy, but she was also slightly upset that Walt had wandered away from the main gathering of wedding guests.
“Why there you are,” said Sarah, stepping toward Walt and Harry. “I was beginning to wonder where you had run off to,”
Walt smiled. “Just needed a little fresh air is all.”
Harry could not have asked for a better opportunity to make his escape. “See you two. I’m heading back for more of the old bubbly.”
Sarah nuzzled up close. “Walt, dear. What’s the matter? Is something bothering you?”
There was something bothering him all right. At the moment it was very small, in fact just now entering his conscious mind. “No Sarah dear,” he lied. “I just don’t like crowds.”
Sarah smiled in agreement. “Well, we won’t have to put up with this much longer. And
then it will be just the two of us in our own sweet little home.”
“Your sweet little home,” added Walt, still feeling somewhat guilty that he never chose to buy a house of his own. Instead he had opted to find the lowest rent available while banking what was left. And after many years of this practice he had accumulated quite a nice sum.
And that was the exact reason why he so badly wanted to smash Harry’s face a short time before. Of course he had heard the rumors. He had even wondered about it himself. Who wouldn’t. Two husbands disappearing over a twenty year period with never a trace seemed highly unlikely. Even he had to admit to that. But small town gossip had her murdering both to collect on some rather lucrative life insurance policies, and so these ugly rumors still persisted to this very day. She was never charged with any crime, there never being any point according to the investigative reports, and so that was that. At least apparently Walt felt as much, seeing how he had just become husband number three.
As time passed it was plain to see that marriage was agreeing with Walt. He had put on a few pounds, and he seemed to smile and laugh a great deal more than he had in the past. Sarah was not only a great wife, she was also a warm and caring friend, something Walt had done without his entire life. If thought of the ugly rumors from her past was ever a concern before their marriage, it was clearly not a part of his life now. Walt felt that marrying Sarah was unquestionably the best thing he had done in his entire life.
As winter approached and the nights were getting colder, Sarah and Walt would build cozy little fires in the fireplace and watch old classic movies. Sometimes they would make popcorn and see which one could name the old actors before they appeared on the movie credits. Walt would invariably win because he had a lot of practice. Being a bachelor all those years, he had spent many a night relieving his boredom in the whimsical fantasy of a good old
classic movie.
It was on one such evening, while sitting before the fire, that Sarah turned to her husband. “Walt, dear. You know it’s getting a bit too cold in here even with the fire. I think it’s time to light the pilot light to the furnace.”
Walt was thumbing through the local television guide. “I’ll take care of it first thing in the morning. I’m sure I can find a few of those extra long wooden matches to reach in there with.”
Sarah slowly shook her head. “I hat to say this dear, but I don’t think they make matches long enough to do any good. You see, the only way to light the pilot on this furnace is from under the house. You know how those old floor heaters are.”
“What? You mean crawl under the house?”
“Why yes,” said Sarah, a bit surprised at her husband’s sudden reaction. “What’s the matter? Does that bother you?”
Walt was clearly agitated. “No, of course not. It’s just the idea of spiders and bugs and maybe rats under the house. I hate spiders more than anything else in the world.”
“Why Walt dear, I never knew that about you. How come you’ve never said anything about this before?”
Walt forced a smile. “Well it’s not something I’m exactly proud of you know. Some people don’t mind crawling around in the dark. But it frightens the hell out of me.”
Sarah studied Walt as he spoke. “It really does bother you,” she stated, slightly amazed. “I never would have guessed that about you. I tell you what. If it bothers you that much, I’ll try and do it myself. Okay?”
“Of course not,” replied Walt, attempting to sound as brave as he could muster. “It’s
about time I got over such a thing. Like I said, I’ll take care of it first thing in the morning.”
But Walt did not sleep more than a few hours that night, and when he did manage to doze off his dreams were filled with great hairy spiders with beady little glass eyes lunging at him from the black recesses of the space under the house. He felt this all encompassing fear must have its roots in some horrible childhood experience, but for the life of him he could not recall one. But the simple truth of it all was that he was scared out of his wits to crawl under the house.
In fact, when morning finally managed to arrive he was determined to call someone, anyone, and pay handsomely to have this unholy task carried out for him.
He was leafing through the yellow pages a short time later for just such a person when he heard a scraping and prying sound coming from outside the back porch. He quickly went out and found Sarah opening the little wooden door which led to the crawl space under the house.
A sudden fear engulfed him. “What are you doing?”
Sarah jumped back almost losing her balance. “Jesus, Walt. You startled me.”
“What are you doing?” he demanded again.
Sarah seemed a bit hurt by the harsh tone of his voice. “I was just trying to be a good wife and do you a little favor. You made it very plain to me last night how much it bothered you to go under the house. So I thought I would do it myself. I don’t like it much either, but I will do it for you.”
Walt had been accustomed, in his previous bachelor style of life, of doing everything for himself. He had that if you need the job done right do it yourself mentality. So when his wife offered to actually crawl under the house to light the pilot light herself, a task that made him shudder even at this very moment, it moved him in a way that he had no recollection of feeling before. He didn’t know whether to be angry with Sarah for trying such a thing, or to be pleased and very appreciative of the fact that she truly must love him in order to go to such extremes on his behalf. All he did know, and this was perhaps the most frightening fact of all, was that he was going under the house to light the pilot light himself.
All the rigidness seemed to leak out of his body as he stepped up to his wife. “You really are something special Sarah. To think you would do this for me.” Sarah smiled sheepishly. “Well, what did you expect?”
Walt shrugged his shoulders. “I guess I didn’t expect as much for me.” He gave her a hug. “Anyway, I’ll take care of this. Just let me find my old coveralls and a hat. Besides, I might need you topside. If nothing else you can keep me company from up above.”
Sarah looked concerned. “Are you sure? Maybe we should just call somebody out to do the job.”
“No need, I’ll do it,” said Walt as he turned to go find the old clothing he would wear. He discovered he was somewhat surprised at how calm he actually felt at that very moment. But he also knew this calmness wouldn’t last as he suddenly realized that during the entire conversation with his wife he had not once looked at the dark opening of the crawl space.
About a half hour later, long after Sarah left to resume her own chores about the house, Walt positioned himself before the opening and checked to make sure he had everything, because he was positive there would be no second trip. Flashlight, channel-lock pliers, crescent wrench, a can of spray lubricant, and of course a box of wooden kitchen matches were all made ready for the task at hand. Yes, he had everything he needed, everything except perhaps the courage it took to actually begin.
He sat next to the opening under the house and slowly slid forward, feet first, along the ground. Whether it was his imagination or not, Walt swore he could feel an icy coldness surrounding his feet and ankles as he inched further and further in. It felt as if he were entering a dark pool of chilled water, his body becoming numb as he slowly submerged. Any minute he expected irrationally to fall in completely and land, stuck and floundering, on some gigantic spider’s web. Once there he would not move. Oh God, he wouldn’t even breath. He knew all too well what happened if you tried to struggle. After all, he surely wasn’t as dumb as a fly. All that was left now was to duck his head completely under the ledge, which Walt did quickly without thinking about it. “What I don’t know won’t hurt me,” he mumbled aloud to himself, hoping this would bolster his courage. He fumbled for the flashlight with his gloved hands and hesitated for a moment before flicking on the switch. Out of the blackness there was suddenly light, and instead of monstrously black and orange striped spiders he found foundation blocks and floor beams and an assortment of plumbing lines running this way and that. And as luck would most certainly have it, he finally located the undercarriage of the floor furnace stuck back in one of the darkest recesses of the crawl space.
Walt took a deep breath and began a slow crawl forward. There was perhaps two and a half feet of clearance between the dirt floor and the wooden base floor of the house, but Walt chose to keep as low to the ground as possible. He had read somewhere that spiders lived up under the floor beams and the farther away he stayed the better. In fact he did see a lot of webs hanging down from the floorboards, but so far he hadn’t seen any spiders. At least not yet.
After what seemed to be an eternity of crawling, Walt finally managed to position himself directly under the floor furnace. He was out of breath from the sustained effort and beginning to sweat, which only added to his discomfort. He propped the flashlight up against one of the foundation blocks, directing the beam of light toward the gas inlet line. There he located a circular hole in the metal furnace frame about the size of a silver dollar, and just inside this area of darkness was where he would ignite the pilot light.
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Sarah, you up there?” he shouted, startled by the empty and hallow sound of his voice echoing from under the house. He needed her to turn on the pilot gas valve from upstairs. He called again. “You hear me Sarah?” There came no immediate reply, and with this silence a seed of fear was firmly planted. It wasn’t even a conscious thought at first. But why didn’t she answer?
“Sarah!” he shouted again, this time as loud as he could. Still no reply.
Walt reached down to the pocket of his overalls and fumbled about for the crescent wrench. Suddenly he jerked. He could feel something walking along the exposed area of skin just above his left wrist. Something dark and hairy with large venomous fangs poised and ready to strike. He quickly rubbed the area on his hip, hard and without mercy.
“Damn it Walt, get hold of yourself,” he mumbled aloud, once he realized there really hadn’t been anything there.
He quickly snatched up the wrench this time and began pounding on the metal undercarriage of the furnace. “Sarah!” he shouted in between his assaults. “Where the hell are you?”
He finally stopped his banging because his arm was starting to hurt. He was breathing quite heavily now and sweat was beginning to sting the corners of his eyes. He kept staring up through the silver dollar sized opening in the metal frame, hoping to catch a glimpse of movement from above. In fact at one point he could have sworn he caught sight of two cold and lifeless eyes staring back down at him. Just then he began to hear rustling sounds coming from the dark corners of the crawl space. Rats! Rats and spiders he thought. Gathering innumbers. Gathering.
That was it. That was enough. He was getting out of there right this very second. He reached out in nervous haste for the flashlight and in so doing knocked it over on its side. It landed on the cement foundation block with a dull thud. Call it clairvoyance if you will, but Walt somehow knew exactly what was going to happen next. He almost expected it. The beam of light flickered on and off, on and off, then just simply off. A blackness deeper than any well, as thick and unyielding as cold wet mud engulfed him. He groped along the ground and managed to locate the traitorous flashlight, but it was broken and no longer of any use.
Walt screamed like he had never screamed before. “Sarah! Damn it, answer me!”
But the resonating sound of his voice spreading under the house was almost worse. How could he hear what was happening when he was making so much noise? How could he hear what was surely out there, creeping steadily toward him from the total blackness? He needed to listen, needed to know. Resolving not to shout anymore he now forced himself to breath as quietly as possible, sometimes holding his breath for as long as thirty seconds or more as he listened. Yes they were out there, make no bones about that. The gnawing sounds coming from behind, interrupted occasionally by faint little squeaking noises as if the rats were laughing among themselves at his misery. From in front of him came perhaps an even more ominous sound. It came in waves of whispers, like fine threads of silk floating on a breeze. Of course this was the spiders, weaving their silky webs in anticipation of their next prized catch.
And then perhaps the worst thing of all happened. Walt realized the only way out was to locate the opening to the crawl space and use the daylight outside as a sort of beacon; a truly glorious stream of light beckoning him forward and leading him to safety. He slowly turned his head in what he thought was a full circle, and then repeated the process over and over again. But all he managed to see was blackness, nothing but blackness all around, pressing in on him, suffocating him slowly, absolutely. There was no beacon of light. There was no pathway to safety. Someone had closed the little wooden door leading under the house.
He found himself frightened beyond his wildest dreams, or rather his darkest nightmares. He was going to scream but was distracted by the noises again, all around him and louder than before. Rats and spiders could see in the dark, couldn’t they? If he lay perfectly still would they be able to find him?
Just then he remembered the box of wooden matches and a bullet of hope shot through his body. He pulled off his leather gloves and reached deep into the pocket of his overalls, retrieved the box of matches, and worked frantically to withdraw a match. He struck it on the side of the box and the match lit up with a sudden burst of light, and Walt almost cried aloud at the sight of it. At last there was light. Not much of it at that, but at least enough to allow him to see his hands and fingers and the foot or so of dirt floor in front of his nose. And with this vision came a sense of reality, of actual existence in the real world. It was then that he saw it. Right before his eyes the tip of a bone stuck up out of the dirt floor.
Walt held the match too long and burned the tips of his forefinger and thumb, but he quickly lit another. He seemed fascinated by the discovery and began using the handle of his crescent wrench as a crude makeshift digging tool. No sooner had he unearthed the first bone did he find the tip of another. In fact, it seemed like there were quite a large number buried in the immediate area around him. alt could only casually wonder where so many bones could have come from. He even thought the whole matter funny for a moment as he pictured what he must look like as he dug and groped and sifted in the darkness until lighting a match to reveal his find. He now seemed to be actually enjoying himself. At least he was no longer thinking of the darkness and the rats and the spiders. For a brief second he wondered if he was losing his mind, but then he rationalized that if he could think of asking himself that question it must mean he was still sane to some degree.
Walt had successfully stacked a neat pile of bones in front of him when the cold and brutal reality of the situation began to finally sink in. It did not arrive as a blast or sudden jolt, as some realizations do. Perhaps it would have been better if it had. But this one came slowly, as the tide inching up on a sandy beach, one small wave after another until the truth was undeniably clear.
Walt’s hands began to shake. He felt cold and clammy all over. All of those rumors were true. Of course there was never a trace found of Sarah’s two previous husbands. How could there be? Who would have thought to look under the house for their bodies? Who would have thought kind and gentle and warm hearted Sarah Williams was in fact a cold blooded murderer? No one that’s who. And who would think after seeing how truly happy she seemed at her recent wedding that all along she had planned to make dear old Walt victim number three?
Walt had begun to tremble. Not only his hands this time, but his entire body. The noises from the dark were returning, their munching sound coming in unison with the advanced beating of his heart. Perhaps he was going mad. That was the only thing that made any sense. And through all of this he also knew there was one more thing he had to do, if he could only find his way out of the crawl space.
Sarah was beginning to be concerned and was on her way out of the kitchen to check with the neighbor when Walt stepped through the back door blocking her path. He was covered from head to feet with dust and dirt and webs and sweat. That was shocking enough. But it
Was his eyes that alarmed Sarah the most. It was his wild and crazed eyes that made her cringe as she stood frozen in her shoes.
“Walt dear, where have you been? I was getting worried about you.”
Walt gave her a hideous grin. “Whatever do you mean Sarah? I was under the house like a good little husband trying to light the pilot light for my good little wife. But of course you know all about that. Don’t you dear?”
Sarah was shocked at what she was seeing and hearing. “What’s the matter with you? Walt, what’s wrong?”
Walt took a step forward. “Why didn’t you answer me when I called for you? Why? You know, it really is terribly dark down there.”
“I didn’t know where you were. I thought you had gone next door to borrow a wrench or something. I walked over to see and that must have been when you called. Honest Walt, I never heard you.”
He advanced another step. “You amaze me Sarah. You really have it all down pat. I guess you are a lot tougher than I thought. It must have taken some nerve to shut the door to the crawl space all the while knowing I was still down there in the dark. I guess you thought my old ticker wouldn’t be able to take the ordeal.”
Sarah backed up against the refrigerator door. “I didn’t know you were down there,” she repeated, her voice taking on an alarming tone. “Honest Walt, I didn’t know you were down there. I shut the door to keep the neighbor’s cat from getting under the house.”
Walt chuckled softly. “Or to keep one big cat in.”
All the while he had his right hand concealed behind his back, but now he brought it to the front in plain view. He held a five pound maul before him, the cold dull steel appearing
incredibly hard in the afternoon light. He admired this for a moment as a surgeon might admire the sharpness of his favorite scalpel.
“I know what you did to the others,” he said calmly, in a matter of fact sort of way. “I found them under the house. Or should I say what was left of them.”
Sarah was on the point of hysterics. “Walt, what are you talking about? Please stop all of this. Please!”
“Too bad for you, Sarah, that I couldn’t be number three.” He brought the maul up high over his head. “Too bad for you.”
Sheriff Ed Duggan was finishing up his questioning of Walt and Sarah’s next door neighbor, and even he seemed a bit perplexed. “Must have hit her a good thirty times or more with that oversized maul. I guess you never know about some people.”
The neighbor simply shook his head.
“Funny thing about old Walt though,” the Sheriff continued. “Kept saying that he found the bones of Sarah’s two previous husbands buried under the house.”
The neighbor chuckled and shook his head and this caught the lawman’s eye. “What’s so funny?”
“Well this goes back well before your time,” said the neighbor slowly. “But long before Sarah had her house moved on to this lot it used to belong to the Stacey family. Old man Stacey owned and operated the first slaughterhouse in town. The only bones old Walt foundunder that house are the one’s of cows long since dead and buried.”
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