Afraid

by Jo Gibson

  Julie took a deep, shuddering breath and moved past the elk. More sharp antlers cast crazy, nightmarish patterns against the walls of the freezer. And the wild boar, with evil-looking tusks that seemed ready to pin her to the wall, pierce her trembling body, and stare down in sightless fascination as the life ran from her veins and stained the floor red. The bear was horrible with its shaggy, dark bulk. One swipe of its razor-sharp claws and her face would be cut to ribbons. Even the Rocky Mountain sheep, normally stately and taciturn in a natural setting, looked sinister and frightening now.

  There was a sudden noise, and a blast of air that made her heart jump to her throat. Julie opened her mouth to scream, but she was too terrified to make a sound. The carcasses were swinging, swaying, taking on a life of their own. They looked ready to grab her, devour her, as she stood helpless and trembling, rooted to the spot in paralyzing fear.

  But it was only a powerful blower. The cooling unit had kicked in. Julie sighed, a ragged little sound that emerged from her throat as a moan of terror, and made herself move past the bodies of the dead animals. At least there was air. Or was there? It could be a closed unit, merely recycling the frigid air that would soon lose its oxygen. But it was best not to think of that.

  She was almost there, only a few feet to go. She had to keep her legs moving, force her imagination to stay in check. These huge animals couldn’t hurt her. They were already dead. As dead as she’d be if she didn’t get out of here soon.

  That was exactly the impetus she needed. Julie broke into a shambling, awkward run, and reached the door with a thankful sob. Her hands reached out, searching, searching . . . and finding nothing. No handle. No way out. She was trapped like those awful dead animals. Trapped with them to become just another unfortunate victim.

  It was colder here, near the outside door. But she couldn’t go back to the other end of the cooler. She couldn’t force herself to pass all those hideous carcasses again. It would be over sooner here. There was no reason to try to hang on. No one would find her. No one would save her. She was doomed.

  “No!” Julie’s cry of protest bounced against the walls. She would not willingly become a victim. She’d fight until she couldn’t fight any longer. She’d walk the length of the cooler again even if she died of fear. At least it would be quicker than freezing to death.

  This time she watched her feet, one in front of the other, trying to ignore the swaying shadows on the floor and the wall. Step and step again, steady and straight. She had nothing to fear except fear itself.

  Julie smiled then, although it was more of a grimace. The quote was from Franklin Delano Roosevelt, and she was willing to bet he’d never been locked inside a game cooler. But the smile seemed to help to keep her feet moving forward. She’d head for the warmest spot, right by the door that led into the kitchen, and hope that someone would find her.

  At last she reached the door, and Julie gave a thankful sigh. She had to think positively. She couldn’t actually freeze to death. It was above thirty-two degrees. Of course she could suffer from hypothermia, but she wouldn’t think about that. The butcher could come before then, if he worked on Saturday. Or Red Dawson. He always did taxidermy work on his off hours. She had to keep the faith. She had to believe that someone would find her. Any other possibility was too horrible to contemplate.

  Julie shivered, and then she yawned. She was so tired. Unusually tired. All she wanted to do was curl up near the door and go to sleep. But she couldn’t do that! She remembered a story she’d read about a man falling asleep in the snow and freezing to death. She had to keep moving, keep her body generating warmth. But she was so tired, she could barely raise her arms.

  She’d pound on the door. She’d pound with her arms, raise them and lower them. That would keep her body warm. Julie raised her right arm and whacked the door. It hurt and that was good. She couldn’t give up and go to sleep if her arm was hurting. She raised her left arm and banged it even harder. How long could she keep this up? It had been almost four in the morning when she’d decided to put away the platter, and Mrs. Robinson was always in the kitchen by six-thirty. Two and a half hours to go.

  Long minutes passed as Julie raised and lowered her arms, pounding and knocking until her arms wouldn’t obey her mind’s command. She slipped to her knees, and then to a tired, huddled crouch. She knew she couldn’t give way to exhaustion. She had to keep pounding so Mrs. Robinson would hear her.

  Heat rises. The moment the thought occurred to her, Julie tried to stand again. But she was so tired, she could barely pull herself up to a kneeling position. She’d lean against the door, and pound on it with her fists. That was a very good idea. She’d do it, in just a minute. But first she’d close her eyes, just for a second, to gather her strength.

  Julie knew she was making a mistake as her eyes flickered shut. But she couldn’t seem to open them. Just a moment more, and she’d be ready to stand up. It seemed much warmer now, almost toasty warm. Snug and cozy, with the heat register open, huddled beneath the blankets in her warm, safe room with the lovely blue walls and the . . .

  Julie’s eyes snapped open and she pulled herself to her feet. She’d almost gone to sleep! She had to fight the lethargy that stole over her. It would be a battle to stay awake, but she would do it.

  Julie propped herself against the cold metal door and pounded hard with both fists. They were already bruised and sore, and the pain would help to keep her alert. Just as she felt her strength beginning to ebb again, the door flew open. And she tumbled out. Right into Donna’s arms.

  “Oh, my God!” Donna’s mouth fell open. “What were you doing in there?”

  “I . . . I think I was freezing to death.” Julie gave a shaky laugh. She was so glad to see Donna, she almost cried.

  Donna helped her to a stool. Then she poured a mug of leftover coffee, popped it into the microwave, and turned to face Julie with a bewildered expression. “But . . . why did you go into the game cooler in the first place?”

  “Somebody left a platter of cold cuts out on the counter. I didn’t know the combination, so I couldn’t put it away where it belonged. So I put it in there.” Julie pointed to the game cooler and shuddered. “The door closed behind me and I . . . I couldn’t get out!”

  Donna nodded, but Julie noticed that her hands were trembling as she handed her the steaming mug of coffee. “It’s my fault, Julie. I left that platter out. That’s why I came back here. I figured I’d better put it away before your uncle found out.”

  “What time is it?” Julie knew there was a clock on the kitchen wall behind her, but she couldn’t seem to gather the energy to turn around.

  “It’s almost five-thirty. How long were you in there?”

  Julie blinked. She was so tired, she could barely do the simple subtraction. “Over an hour. I . . . I don’t think I could have lasted much longer, Donna. You saved my life.”

  “But you wouldn’t have gone in there if it hadn’t been for me.” Tears welled up in Donna’s eyes, and she looked terribly guilty. “I almost killed you!”

  Julie managed a grin. “Okay. You almost killed me, but you saved my life. It all cancels out. That’s what friends are for, yes?”

  Donna frowned, and then she gave a shaky grin. “You must be all right. That’s two jokes you’ve made since I let you out. But how did the door close when you were in there? There’s a little rubber thing on the wall to hold it open.”

  “I . . . I’m not sure.” Julie took a sip of the scalding coffee and studied the door. Donna was right—there was no way the door could have closed on its own. “Maybe I didn’t open it all the way?”

  Donna looked dubious, but she nodded. “That must be what happened. You sit right there and warm up. I’ll get the platter and put it away.”

  Julie watched as Donna opened the cooler door and stepped inside. The rubber door-catcher held it securely. She was almost sure she’d opened the door all the way, and she thought she remembered the rubber catcher engaging. But her memory
must be faulty. If she’d done it correctly, the door couldn’t have closed, unless . . .

  The whispery voice! Julie shivered in spite of the warm air blowing down from the heat register directly above her. He’d said that he was watching her. And he’d warned her to mend her wicked ways. What if he’d found out that she’d kissed Paul or Dick Stratford, and decided to punish her by locking her in the cooler?

  “Okay. All done.” Donna came back with the platter of meat and stored it in the walk-in refrigerator. “Do you want some more coffee? I can make a fresh pot.”

  “No, thanks. I’m fine now. Why don’t you come up to my room? We can sleep for a couple of hours, and then we can look for those tapes in the attic.”

  “Okay.” Donna grinned at her. “I won’t let you go upstairs alone, anyway. You’re accident-prone. First the avalanche, and then this. The next thing I know, you’ll end up stuck in the elevator.”

  Julie laughed, but her laughter sounded weak, even to her own ears. Too many accidents. The avalanche. The game cooler. And Donna didn’t even know about her brush with disaster on Dead Man’s Run. Perhaps Donna was right—she could be accident-prone. Either that, or the whispery voice on the phone was trying to kill her!

  Eleven

  “Yuck!” Donna brushed aside a cobweb, and shivered.

  “It’s creepy up here!”

  Julie nodded. The fifth floor was more than a little scary, although she didn’t think anything could frighten her as much as the avalanche, or Dead Man’s Run, or the time she’d spent locked in the game cooler. “Do you have the flashlights?”

  “Got ’em.” Donna handed her one of the large flashlights she’d borrowed from the storeroom. “If somebody cleaned those windows more than once a year, it might help.”

  Julie glanced at the clouded windows and frowned. It was obvious no one came up here unless they absolutely had to, and she could understand why. There was no electricity, and only hazy light streamed in the windows. Dust and cobwebs were the order of the day, and bulky furniture, hidden under white canvas dust covers, looked like ghostly shapes. To make the attic even more inhospitable, the wind was howling and moaning and shrieking around the eaves. She’d expected to spend a pleasant Sunday afternoon going through old trunks and mementos with her best friend in Crest Ridge, but this wasn’t going to be fun at all!

  “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.” Donna shivered slightly. “It’s chilly up here, and I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

  Julie turned around to grin at her. “It was a lot colder than this in the game cooler. Come on, Donna. Vicki’s things have to be up here somewhere.”

  Donna sighed. “If you’re really determined, count me in. I just hope we hit pay dirt soon. I really despise spiders!”

  Julie pulled off a dust cover and promptly sneezed as the dust flew everywhere. Not only was this unpleasant, it was dirty. She’d have to make sure to be through long before Uncle Bob and Aunt Caroline got back. She’d need to shower and so would Donna before they could appear in public again.

  “This is neat!” Donna pulled back a dust cover and smiled as she found an old console radio. “My grandparents had one of these. I wonder if it still works.”

  Julie shrugged. “There’s no way to tell unless we lug it downstairs. No electricity, remember?”

  “Right.” Julie replaced the dust cover, and then she looked puzzled. “You’re going to think I’m crazy, but . . . it’s warmer right here. I think I can feel warm air on my ankle.”

  Donna bent down to look. “No wonder—it’s a floor vent. I can see the fourth-floor hallway, right next to the elevator. And here comes . . . it’s Ross! He’s unlocking the door to his room. I wonder what he’d do if I moaned or something.”

  “Don’t do it!” Julie grabbed Donna’s arm and pulled her to her feet. “I don’t want him to know I’m up here. He might tell Uncle Bob.”

  Donna looked disappointed, but she nodded. “I wonder if you can see into any of the rooms through these vents. Ross’s room would be right over there.”

  “Let’s check it out.” Julie grinned and moved to the spot Donna indicated. “Help me move this rolled-up rug. It’s in the way.”

  Julie got on one end of the rug, and Donna took the other. Working together, they moved it out of the way. There was a small hole under it, and Julie motioned for Donna to look first. It had been her idea.

  Donna crouched down and peeked through the hole. She let out a gasp and stood up. “Hurry up. Take a peek. He’s changing his shirt!”

  Julie knelt down and put her eye to the hole. She gasped as she realized that she could see right into Ross’s bedroom. He was standing at the closet, taking out a fresh shirt, his skin rippling and gleaming under the overhead light.

  “Did he take off his pants?”

  Donna whispered, but Julie heard her clearly. She jumped to her feet, blushing wildly. “Of course not!”

  “Well, I was wondering what was keeping you so long. Do you think he knows there’s a vent right over his room.”

  “I’m sure he doesn’t.” Julie bent down to look again, and when she straightened up, she was frowning. “It’s not a vent; it’s a peephole! I think somebody drilled a hole in Ross’s ceiling deliberately!”

  “Vicki?” Donna began to grin. “That sounds like something she would have done. She was always getting into one scrape right after another. And let’s face it. Ross is a hunk. I noticed that you were pretty interested when you saw him without his shirt.”

  Julie fought down the blush that was rising to her cheeks, and nodded. “You’re right. I can understand why Vicki did it . . . if she did it. Let’s see if we can find any more peepholes.”

  “This must be your room.” Donna walked over and pointed to the floor. “No sense looking here. Vicki certainly wouldn’t have drilled a hole in her own . . . oh-oh!”

  “What’s the matter?” Julie felt her heart beat faster as Donna whisked aside a crumpled dust cover and knelt down. When she stood up, she was frowning.

  “What did you see?” Julie began to frown, too.

  “It’s your room. And the peephole is right over your bed. But there’s no reason Vicki would drill a hole in her own ceiling!”

  “That’s true.” Julie nodded. Now she understood why there had been a cold draft over her bed. It hadn’t been a visitation from Vicki’s ghost. She’d known that idea was ridiculous when she’d thought about it the next morning. It had been cold air from the attic, seeping down through the peephole!

  Donna seemed to be intrigued by the puzzle. “We know Vicki didn’t drill those peepholes. And neither did Ross. Who do you think did it?”

  “I don’t know. We’re assuming those holes were drilled recently, but they could have been there for years. For all we know, my great-great-grandfather did it. Or someone who worked for him.”

  “Very true. But why?”

  Julie shrugged. “Was the fourth floor ever used for guests?!”

  “Never. It was always for the help. Of course, your great-great-grandfather might have had some very pretty girls working for him.”

  Donna was grinning, and Julie grinned back. “Are you suggesting my great-great-grandfather was a Peeping Tom?”

  “Maybe. Did you see the portrait of your great-great-grandmother, hanging over the fireplace in the private dining room?”

  Julie nodded. “I saw it.”

  “Then you can understand why your great-great-grandfather drilled those holes!”

  “Donna! That’s mean!” Julie giggled in spite of herself. But she had to admit that Donna had a valid point. Her great-great-grandmother had looked very prim and proper.

  “So what shall we do?” Donna looked serious. “Shall we squeal on your great-great-grandfather?”

  Julie thought it over for a moment and then she shook her head. “Let’s not. But I do think we ought to plug up those holes. Let’s move something heavy over them.”

  “How about this for yours?” Donna pointed to an old
steamer trunk. “It’ll take both of us to move this.”

  But Donna was wrong. The trunk moved quite easily, sliding over the hole with a screech of metal casters against the wood floor. The sound was very familiar and Julie shivered. Was that the sound she’d heard in her dream the night she’d seen the face on her balcony?

  “Oh, my God! Pay dirt!”

  Julie whirled to look at Donna, who had raised the lid of the trunk. “What did you say?”

  “These are Vicki’s things. That’s the sweater she wore in her school picture. And this is her backpack. I’d recognize it anywhere. We found it, Julie! They stored all Vicki’s things in this trunk!”

  Julie’s hands were trembling as she helped Donna lift out her cousin’s things. And way down in the bottom, under all those beautiful, expensive clothes, was a rosewood box with a lock.

  Donna pointed to a zippered makeup case on top of a pile of sweaters. “Find me a pair of eyebrow tweezers, will you? Anything narrow and sharp will do. I’ll pick the lock.”

  “You can do that?” Julie was amazed.

  “Of course. I used to pick the lock on Paul’s bicycle all the time. No problem.”

  Julie watched as Donna slipped a scissor blade into the hole on the lock and twisted. There was a soft click and the lid lifted.

  “Oh, boy!” Donna grinned as she turned the box so Julie could see. “Here’s Vicki’s videotape collection. You’ve got a VCR in your room, don’t you?”

  Julie nodded, a bit reluctantly. She wasn’t sure it was right to watch her cousin’s personal videotapes.

  “What’s the matter? Having an attack of morals?”

  Julie sighed. “Just a slight attack. But don’t worry about it, Donna. I want to see those tapes every bit as much as you do!”

  Twelve

  Julie gasped as her cousin’s picture appeared on the screen of the color television set in her bedroom. Now she understood why everyone had been so upset the first time they’d seen her. She did look exactly like Vicki!