8

  The house looked no different than it had several hours ago, although this time it was shrouded with a menacing aura. Andrew went around the side of the house straight to the crawlspace, which once again had been left open, the plywood lattice thrown aside. The opening appeared darker and more foreboding than it had earlier in the morning, but Andrew reasoned that it was due to the sun dipping further into the West. He peered into the hole and located the pile of old pipes that was his destination, but he couldn’t see the black stone laying anywhere amongst them. The detective breathed a heavy sigh, flattened himself on the ground, and pulled himself into the opening.

  Once his body was inside, he found that the ceiling, or rather the floor, was higher than he initially thought, which allowed him a little more breathing room. Almost immediately, the thought of the house suddenly falling on top of him like the witch in the Wizard of Oz. There’s no place like under a home, he thought to himself and smiled, easing his mental tension.

  Andrew guessed that the distance between him and where he first saw the rock was about forty yards; an easy enough distance to walk, but when one had to crawl along the ground, especially in a dress shirt and officer’s slacks, the journey became much more strenuous and tedious.

  He shifted his whole body to the left, moving them away from the opening and letting in as much light in as possible. Once his eyes had adjusted to the low light, Andrew looked at his surroundings. Ahead of him was the pile of new pipes, and further beyond those were the old pipes marking his goal. His eyes scanned from left to right, noting nothing exciting until he saw something that caused him to jump and almost hit his head on the foundation above; two glowing eyes peering at him from a corner on the other end of the crawlspace. It was not in a pouncing position, nor was it swishing its tail back and forth, the cat equivalent of a snake rattling its tail, but Andrew decided it would be best to keep his distance from it regardless.

  To the right of the cat, along the far wall, Andrew could make out tiny mounds of disturbed dirt. “Probably the portion of the crawlspace the cat set aside as its litter box,” he quietly said to himself. He always liked cats, he even had one as a pet while growing up. Well, he thought to himself, it was really Bernie’s cat. For his sister’s seventh birthday, their parents had gotten her a manx kitten, a tiny ball of fur that she named Clarence. Initially he was only comfortable around her and her mother, but over time he became a family cat. Andrew had always loved swishing around a frayed piece of string and watching Clarence chase it with wild murderous intent. The memory gave Andrew a pleasant feeling in his stomach and made him think that the cat further in the crawlspace knew he was not a threat. Nevertheless, he still didn’t want to get too close.

  Andrew made another cursory glance around the space and saw another mound of disturbed dirt, but this one was to his left and pushed further back into a corner. He made a mental note to investigate that mound on his way out.

  He crawled for what seemed like an hour, possibly longer, too long for the forty or so yards he had judged the distance to be. His forearms were beginning to feel raw and irritated, as were his knees. His right elbow came down on a rock and sent a sharp bolt up his arm, causing him to collapse into the dirt. Andrew straightened himself, rubbed the pain out of his elbow, and continued on his path.

  When he finally reached the pipes and looked back towards the opening, it appeared to be just as close as the pipes appeared when he first entered the hole. Why did it take me so long? The pressing thought coursed through his mind, unable to come to a solitary answer. It was as if entering the crawlspace had put him in some other dimension, where time and space existed in an arrangement that was dissimilar to ours.

  Andrew had to take hold of his thoughts; whatever strange ideas were beginning to creep into his mind needed to be pushed away, he didn’t have time to be questioning his own sanity in a situation like this.

  A situation like crawling under a dead family’s house, looking for a rock.

  The thought brought a cynical smile to his face as he rummaged through the pipes. He was staring at the exact spot he had seen the rock earlier, but it was no longer there. The officer began digging out handfuls of dirt, dumping them left and right. He looked up and saw that the cat was still staring at him from its spot along the right wall. “It’s not as strange as it looks, I promise. And you do the same thing all the time!” he said to the cat, tilting his head to the multiple mounds of dirt beside it. It only stared at him with an apathetic glare.

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  Andrew repeatedly dug his hands into the soft dirt, throwing aside handful after handful until he had three large piles of soil surrounding him. Where the fuck could it have possibly gone? It’s only a rock. Had the cat moved it? No, surely he would have found it by now if the cat had kicked it away somewhere. Had he simply imagined the rock was therein the first place? The crawlspace was dark and was home to a cat who dug where it pleased, he could have easily mistaken a mound of dirt for a rock. But it had been so shiny and glossy, and so black that the surrounding crawl space appeared luminous in comparison. Andrew kept digging. He would find it, had to find it.

  Again, that terrible nagging thought pierced his mind: Am I going insane?

  The detective reached both hands into the dirt to bring up another pile when he felt something scratch his left hand. He stopped and slowly began to overturn the dirt, searching for a glimpse of the black rock. After removing another handful of dirt from the hole, he found its jagged edge. He tried pulling it out then, but it was stuck. He dug out more of the dirt around it until he could firmly grab it with his thumb and two fingers. The jagged edge of the stone bit into his fingers, but not deep enough to draw blood. It still would not budge. Andrew dug out even more dirt so he could actually hold it between his thumb and palm, and pulled. The stone cut into the soft flesh of his hand and drew some blood, but it finally came loose. In his hand was a three-and-a-half-inch piece of black stone; one side was perfectly smooth and rounded while the other ended in a jagged point, now dappled with blood. “Where the hell did these come from?” The officer asked nobody in particular. When he looked up, the cat had disappeared. Looking around, he couldn’t spot the glowing slits of its eyes anywhere. Andrew took that as a sign that he should probably leave too.

  But not before solving the mystery of the secluded mound; he had made it this far, what was another fifteen feet? He pulled out his wallet and slid the new stone into the same pocket as the other, then pivoted his body and began moving towards the displaced dirt.

  The trip was much shorter than his last, and for that he was thankful, but Andrew wasn’t sure if that was better than what he felt now; an ever-growing sense of dread. The officer couldn’t explain to himself, but as he stared at and got closer to the mound of dirt, an exponentially increasing wave of terror began broadcasting at him. His mind was racing at the thought of whatever gut-wrenching horror could be waiting for him, concealed under a few layers of dirt. Why was he doing this? What more was there to find? He had what he came for, yet he was somehow drawn, no, compelled to investigate the mound. The urge to turn away became greater with every inch he moved, yet his body would not respond to the urgent waves of panic and fear that his brain was sending out. He knew that as soon as he turned away and crawled towards the exit his heart and stomach would lighten, but then the horror would be behind him and out of his sight, leaving him completely vulnerable. Still, Andrew thought that even that might be preferable to the terror he felt as came face to face with the pile of dirt.

  He had a scream ready to burst from his lungs, but remained deathly quiet, just in case something besides the cat had occupied the space with him and would take offense to the noise. Icy trepidation pierced his body as he reached a hand towards the mound. Andrew’s hand shook violently as it touched the cool earth and began to push it away. Using his right hand, he slowly pushed away a large part of the pile, revealing a small glint of white beneath the black soil. His heart instantly stopped in his chest and he froze. After a few breathless seconds, he shakily inhaled and reached for the white object. He pushed away more dirt and grabbed the thing with his thumb and forefinger.

  Instantly all feelings of fear and anxiety washed away and were replaced by complete serenity. His jaw unclenched and his muscles loosened. Andrew took a long breath in through his nose, slowly exhaled through his mouth, and pulled. The cat’s jawbone came out cleanly and easily from the dirt, unlike the rock had. A few of its sharp teeth were missing, but the remaining ones had turned different shades of yellow and gray with age. Andrew carefully placed the jaw to the side and fingered the dirt, feeling the outline of a skull and the slender shape of its neck bones. He felt sorry for the creature, and carefully replaced the jaw where he had found it. He covered the mound again and traced ‘R.I.P’ in the dirt with his finger, then turned and crawled towards the exit.

  As he neared the light at the end of the crawlspace, Andrew looked back on the makeshift cairn. The sadness he felt began to once again turn to anxiety and fear, so he turned away and continued out of the hole.

  Andrew stood and brushed the dirt off his clothes, though they still remained filthy. The warmth of the sun felt like heaven to Andrew, he hadn’t realized how cold he had been in there. He thought about stopping home to change on his way back to the station when he suddenly felt a dull throbbing on his left. He raised it to his face and was shocked to find his ring finger and pinky covered in bloody dirt. The scratch he had gotten from the rock was actually a gash that ran along the entire length of his ring finger. The dirt had helped clot the bleeding, but it was beginning to sting. The detective figured there would be a first-aid kit he could use in the house somewhere. Going inside for a bandage would also give him an opportunity to thoroughly search it again. Who knew what new things he might find in there?