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Brenda and I launched our search in the old woman's cluttered living room. Glenna Austin was still holding her silent, if lifeless sentinel, and B.C. thoughtfully draped a dusty old throw over the woman's rigid body. Not that it made all that much difference, but for some reason I was a little more comfortable poking through her belongings just knowing that those dull black eyes weren't fixed on my every move. |
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There were four rooms on the main floora sitting room, a kitchen, a bedroom, a pantrylike affair that was piled high with an assortment of rubble, debris and just plain dirt. Our hurried and clumsy approach to the search didn't even give the rats time to hide. Twice B.C. screamed when she uncovered nests of squealing, yellow-eyed creatures that chattered ominously when we invaded their shadowy domain. |
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The flooring under all of the rooms was badly warped and sounded hollow. There was the oppressive stench of mildew and decay in each of the rooms. At the far end of the kitchen, there was a narrow, coarse, boarded set of near vertical stairs that ascended into a loft whose access door had been nailed shut. |
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We spent a good 20 minutes tapping walls, moving rickety old pieces of furniture and found absolutely nothingat least nothing that resembled a trap door that would lead us down to the network of caves |
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