Rain droplets spattered on the mahogany coffin lid. The day
was gray and grim, with a chilly late September storm enveloping the graveside ceremony.
A cluster of men, women and children holding black umbrellas stood in a
horseshoe around the hole in the earth and the coffin poised above it. An
elderly priest with a wisp of fluttering grey hair stood under a canvas tent
top, holding the bible in his left hand like a tray of appetizers, imploring
the Lord to accept the ever-faithful William Paul Keppler into his heavenly mansion.
Sarah Keppler-Hardt, William’s eldest daughter, stood solemnly under her
husband Brandon’s umbrella.
The coffin was finally lowered into
the muddy abyss and mourners shuffled by Sarah and her younger sister Amy, hugging
them mechanically and whispering words of condolence. As the last guests made
their way through the small cemetery to their cars, Sarah took Amy’s hand.
“How’re you
doing?”
“I’ll be
better once I get out of this place. I can’t believe Mom didn’t want to come,”
responded Amy.
“There are
days when she doesn’t even remember being married.”
“Does it
mean Alzheimer’s is in our future?”
“Why don’t
you stop by the house before you leave town to warm up? I’ll make some coffee.”
Fifteen
minutes later, Amy was peeling off her raincoat in the entryway while Sarah
bustled around the kitchen. Brandon disappeared upstairs and Amy joined her
sister at the kitchen table.
“Can’t I
talk you into spending the night?” asked Sarah.
“Thanks,
but I’ve got to work tomorrow and it’s a seven hour drive back to Chicago. The
coffee will help. When are you moving?”
“We have a
bid on this place, so it might be soon. There are sill things of Mom and Dad’s
to go through. I have mixed feelings about moving into the house we grew up in.
Freaks me out a bit.”
“Yeah, I
can appreciate that,” said Amy, her gaze fixed on some distant event. “But
you’ll have a lot more room, and once you’ve painted and got your furniture in
there, it’ll be fine.”
“You
couldn’t wait to get out of there.”
“That had
to do with the occupants of the house, not the structure itself.”
Sarah put a
hand over her sister’s. “I know. Sorry.”
“It’s okay.
I just got so tired of the ‘Do as I say, not as I do’ act.”
“I can
relate.”
“I always
felt like they were putting on an act in front of us. Like, they were hiding
their true selves and wearing the parent mask only when they were around us.”
“I’m no
expert, but I think that’s what all parents do.”
“I suppose,
but I didn’t feel that way around my friend’s parents. Anyway that’s old news. Thanks
for the coffee, but I should get on the road.”
Sarah stood
on the porch and waved as her sister pulled out of the driveway and disappeared
down the misty street. She regretted alluding to the past, but it was pretty
hard not to do after you’d spent 17 years living with a person. Although she
always tried to be the adult big sister, she empathized with Amy’s feelings
about their parents. They never seemed to be genuinely engaged.
The house
sold and Sarah and Brandon spent time at their new home painting, tearing out
old carpet and cleaning. Two weeks later they were officially moved in,
although stacks of boxes were piled up in almost every room. Throughout the
move, Sarah reminisced about events that happened in this room and that, some
that were happy and others that brought tears to her eyes.
Boxes of
seasonal decorations went directly to the basement. Even as an adult, Sarah didn’t
feel comfortable in the large, musty room. Shelves that looked older than the
house lined two walls, and there were several pieces of her parent’s furniture connected
by cobwebs piled in a far corner. Small rectangular windows let in dull,
dust-filled beams of sunlight that did little to warm up the room. She
remembered having nightmares about the basement as a child and would only come
down the steep stairs if someone else, usually her sister, joined her. Sarah
wiped her damp palms on her jeans and trotted back up to the kitchen, closing
the door behind her.
Two days
later Sarah found herself back in the basement with Brandon putting more boxes
up on shelves. Brandon knocked a screwdriver off of a shelf and bent down to
pick it up.
“Hey,
what’s this?” he asked, kneeling down to inspect what appeared to be a doorbell
button on the wall hidden under a shelf.
Sarah came over and looked. “I have
no idea.”
“Should I push it?” he said
smiling. Before she could answer he pushed it. There was a slight “snap” from
somewhere and the entire shelf structure swung out slowly like a large door. “What
the fucking fuck?” he asked. Behind the bookcase was a wood door with a padlock
on it. Sarah’s expression grew concerned. Brandon turned toward her
expectantly. “A secret room? You had a secret room and you never said anything
to me about it?”
“I didn’t know about it,” said
Sarah weakly.
“Come on. You’re kidding me.”
“No. Honestly, I had no idea it was
there.
“So you don’t have a clue as to
what’s behind the door?”
“No.” Her answer was tentative, and
she didn’t know why.
“And you
don’t know where the key is.”
“No. Of
course not.”
“Could
be…treasure, Matey.”
Like an
excited child, Brandon rummaged through a box full of tools, pulled out a
crowbar and began violently twisting and turning the lock. Sarah went upstairs
to the kitchen, trying to understand the odd feelings she was experiencing. How
could she not know about a secret room in the basement? What was her family
hiding? She became apprehensive. Maybe I don’t want to know what’s behind the
door, she thought, busying herself with tedious tasks. Ten minutes later there
was a triumphant cry from below. “Got it.” Curiosity pulled her to the stairs.
Twisting a
fall of her long brown hair with her fingers, Sarah found Brandon standing in a
space about the size of a typical bedroom, his arms outstretched, wearing a
triumphant look. A single overhead light illuminated the cold room, which
clearly wasn’t built for food storage. White soundproof panels covered the
walls and ceiling. The floor was concrete with a large drainage grate in the
middle of the room. Benches attached to the wall lined the longer section of
the room. The smell was overwhelmingly earthy and musty, but there was also a
tinge of smoke lingering in the air. It was bare of any visual hints as to its
use, but it felt oppressive to Sarah and her eyes teared up.
“Do you
remember something?” asked Brandon.
“No. I just
don’t like it in here.”
“It’s
creepy. I’ll give you that. What the hell were your parents into?”
She gave
him a, “How-could-you-ask-such-a-thing” look and left the room.
Brandon
considered going after her, but the lure of high strangeness in the most common
of places kept his feet from moving. Taking a second look around, he noticed details
he’d initially missed. There was an air vent high on the wall that brought in
fresh air and a dead bolt lock on the inside of the door. He knelt down and discovered
four dark marks on the floor in a rectangular pattern, like the scars table
legs might make. His mind ticked off possibilities, but he couldn’t come up
with a satisfying explanation for the purpose of the room, and was especially
puzzled by the need for drainage in the floor. An additional subtle odor in the
air caught his attention. He could swear he smelled bleach.
Sarah stood
impatiently at her bedroom window, phone to her ear, waiting for her sister to
answer.
“Sarah?”
“Did you
know about the secret room in the basement?”
“What?
What’s wrong?”
“A secret
room behind the shelves. I was just in it.”
“Honestly,
I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sarah tried to speak, but her throat
was clinching and tears started cascading down her cheeks. “Sarah? Are you
okay?”
“No.”
“Listen, it’s
Friday. I’ll book a flight and be there later this evening.”
“No, that’s
crazy,” said Sarah.
“So is what
you’re saying. I’ll call you when I get in.” The phone went dead.
Amy, still
wearing her coat, stood in the middle of the secret room with a bewildered
expression. “I really don’t understand. What is this place?”
Sarah leaned
against the wall, just beyond the room’s threshold in the basement. “You had no
idea this was here?”
Amy turned
and locked in on her sister’s eyes. “Not a clue. How could they keep this a
secret for seventeen years? What’s it for?”
“There’s
one way we might find out,” said Sarah.
“She can
hardly remember what happened ten minutes ago, let alone the past thirty years.”
“I know,
but every once in a while there’s a moment of lucidity. Maybe we can tap into
one. This…is such a weird thing, she might remember.”
A short
time later, Sarah and Amy traversed the hallways of the Webster Assisted Living
Center on their way to their mother’s room. They stopped at room 148, each stealing
a moment to inhale the stale, urine tainted air before entering. The room was
dark and stuffy as usual. A small TV glowed in a corner with its sound off.
Elizabeth sat hunched over and sleeping in her Lay-Z-Boy. The women looked at
each other and then Sarah reached out and touched her mother’s bony shoulder.
It took several gentle prods to get Elizabeth to stir from her slumber. As she
did she looked around the room as if everything was new to her.
“Mom, it’s
Sarah and Amy.”
Gauzy, marble
eyes searched in confusion until they finally rested on Sarah’s face. Gaunt, her
skin pale yellow, Elizabeth wore a stained housecoat and slippers, her thin
silver hair a rat’s nest of neglect. She brought a bony hand up and brushed
Sarah’s cheek.
“Amy, my
sweetheart.”
“It’s
Sarah, Mom, but Amy’s right here.”
Amy leaned
in. “Mom, it’s me.”
“How nice.
Is dinner ready?”
Sarah knelt
down and rested her hands on the arm of the chair. “I’m sure they’ll be serving
dinner soon.”
“The food
here is horrible,” confided Elizabeth. “I swear they’re trying to poison me.
Where’s William? Why hasn’t he been here to visit me?”
Sarah knew
this was going to be difficult. “Mom, can I ask you a question?”
“Of course,
Dear.”
“It’s about
the…secret room, in the basement.”
“The what?”
“Remember
in your house, where you used to live with William. In the basement of that
house, there was a secret room. Do you remember?”
Elizabeth’s
expression went through several transitions before it settled on agitation. “No
one’s supposed to know about that.”
Sarah shot
a glance at Amy. “Right. You’re right, but we found it today. What is it?”
An orderly
poked her head in the door. “You all doing okay?”
“Fine,”
said Amy.
“That’s the
one who stole things from my purse,” said Elizabeth.
“Mom,”
coaxed the patient Sarah. “You were talking about the secret room in the
basement of our house.”
Elizabeth’s
gaze turned to the window. “It was truly amazing.”
“What was?”
asked Amy.
“You can’t
tell anyone, William said.”
“You can
tell us. We’re family.”
Yellow
teeth appeared behind a sudden smile. “Remember how we used to play hide and
seek?”
Sarah’s
expression morphed from expectant to perturbed at the sudden change of topic. “Yes.
We remember.”
“But every
time we played, Amy used to hide in that broom closet off of the laundry room. She
thought it was the best hiding place in the world. Lord, we caught her every
time. Silly girl.”
“Okay,
Mom.”
“And tell
William to come visit me.”
The late
afternoon sky was a low grey blanket and the air was brisk. Sarah and Amy
walked in silence across the parking lot amid swirling leaves, pulling their
coats around themselves, each lost in the disconnected words of their fading
mother. Once inside the car, Sarah turned to Amy. “What do you think she meant
by ‘It was truly amazing?’”
“No idea.
Why do you think she brought up playing hide and seek as kids?”
Sarah
pulled the car out onto the highway. “I think we should check out the closet as
soon as we get back.”
Brooms, a
vacuum, and bottles and cans of cleaning fluids were now sitting out on the
kitchen floor as Sarah and Amy surveyed the small closet off of the kitchen.
There was one row of shelving about chest level that ran across the three
interior walls. Barely enough room for the two of them, the women bumped into
each other as they searched for anything that might be out of the ordinary.
“Look. Up
there,” pointed Amy. In one corner, near
the ceiling there was a paper patch about ten inches long and four inches high.
Sarah brought in a step stool that allowed her to reach the paper.
“It’s
covering a hole,” she announced, and then poked her fingers in and started
tearing away the brittle covering. Reaching into the dark crevice, she pulled out
a black scrapbook and blew off a layer of dust. The women looked at each other,
knowing that it was hidden for a reason, and that they may find out much more
than they wanted to about their parents and the secret room. Sarah stepped down
off the stool with a determined expression.
“Come on,”
she instructed Amy.
They sat on
the couch next to each other with the book laying unopened on the coffee table.
“Are you
ready?” asked Sarah.
“No, but
let’s do this.”
Sarah
turned over the cover. On the first page, three photos were stuck to the thick,
black material. Written in the margin next to the photos: “1967 - success.” The
images were dark and not well focused, but they appeared to show a group of
black robed people sitting in the secret room on the benches against the walls,
six on each side. Hoods hid their faces in shadows. In the middle of the room was
a waist high, rectangular table like one you might see in an old medical school
photo. Candles are burning in wall sconces. Both women shook their heads in
disbelief.
“This is
before either of us was born. What the hell are they doing?” asked Amy.
Sarah
reluctantly reached down and turned the page. It took a few moments for the
subject matter of the seven photos to reach clarity, and when it did, both
Sarah and Amy gasped. Now lying on the table was a naked body. It wasn’t the
body of a living person, but a corpse. Patches of flesh hung from the body like
torn material. Skin and muscle were missing along the person’s arms and legs,
exposing sections of bone. Insects and time had ravaged the face and lips were
missing, exposing grinning rows of rotted teeth. The body was in such a state
of decay it was impossible to tell if it was a man or a woman. A robed
individual stood at the feet of the corpse, hands held out, palms up, seeming
to be praying or chanting, but the face was hidden. Amy’s hand came to her
mouth as she tried to hold back the nausea. Scanning the photos, Sarah came to
the fifth in the series.
“Oh my
God,” she cried aloud.
In this
photo, the upper body of the corpse has risen several inches off of the table.
As the robed person supplicates, the subsequent photos record the dead body
sitting up until it is perpendicular, its spine poking through the thin skin of
its back. Amy took her right hand and angrily pushed the book off of the table
onto the floor. Sobbing, Sarah wrapped her younger sister in her arms and they
both clung to each other in a state of shock and disbelief.
“This is
insanity. What were they doing?” asked Amy.
“I want
answers.”
“What?”
Visibly
upset, Sarah got up and retrieved the book. “I want to know what in the fuck is
going on here. What does this mean? Is it some kind of sick Halloween prank?
Get your coat, we’re going to the Webster Center.”
They didn’t
talk in the car as Sarah drove through the light drizzle, her hands turning
white from gripping the steering wheel. The shock of seeing what their parents
were involved in had both of them shaking with disgust and anger. Tires
screeched as she turned quickly into a parking slot and stopped. Sarah, the
book tucked under her arm, and Amy marched across the wet lot to the Center
entrance. The small, round receptionist smiled as the women passed, but the
gesture wasn’t returned. Sarah pushed open the door to room 148. Elizabeth
wasn’t there.
“Excuse
me,” called Sarah as they approached the reception desk.
“Yes?” the
woman managed to say through her perpetual grin.
“Elizabeth
Keppler. She’s not in her room. Do you know where she is?”
The woman
referred to a log in front of her. “Oh right. Her husband came in about thirty
minutes ago and took her for a walk.”
“What?”
whispered Amy.
“I know
it’s none of my business,” she said, leaning in and lowering her voice, “but that
man don’t look well. Not well at all.”
