The Hayloft. A 1950s Mystery

high enough above the floor to give me headroom. It was too tight to be comfortable, but I should be able to survive for a few minutes. Carefully, I lowered my whole body to the floor, so that I could reach the corner with my hand.
    “I can’t see you,” Sylvia called from above. “Where are you?” Her voice sounded muffled.
    “I’m on the floor in the corner.”
    “Are you all right? I can’t hear you very well.”
    “I’m fine. I’m going to look for the necklace.”
    If she’d just shut up, I could do my job. If I could breathe. The air smelled stale. Was there enough oxygen? I shone the flashlight into the corner where the floor and the two walls came together. Sure enough, there was a hole in the floor. My heartbeat accelerated even beyond what it was already because of my exertions.
    I carefully reached my hand into the hole. I felt the wisp of a spider web and hoped that a spider wasn’t the next thing I’d feel. A few inches below the hole, my hand touched wood. I moved it in each direction. More wood. The space was enclosed on the bottom and sides, as if it had been deliberately built as a hiding place. That may or may not be true, but one thing was definitely true. There was nothing in it except an old spider web.
    I felt around the space several more times to make sure. Then I pulled my hand out of the hole and shone the flashlight along the edges where the floor and walls met, to see if there were any more holes. There weren’t. No place to hide anything. If the necklace had ever been here, it was gone now.
    My knees hurt. My leg muscles were cramped from being bent like pretzels. It was time to go back up. As I raised my hand to locate the wooden beam, the flashlight hit the beam and went out. I shook it and cursed at it, but the darkness was absolute.
    “What’s going on?” the muffled voice of Sylvia called from above.
    “My flashlight went out.”
    “I’ve heard that song before. Are you coming up?”
    “Yes.”
    I was in the dark, in an enclosed space. My mobility was extremely limited. What if I became trapped? What if I couldn’t get out of here? I was too young to die. My heartbeat felt like a drum roll. I panicked and tried to stand. My head hit the beam. I fell back to the floor with a grunt, feeling the reverberation, and wondering whether I had been knocked out.
    I must have lain there for at least thirty seconds. All I saw was black. Was this what it felt like to be unconscious? Then I heard Sylvia call from above.
    “What are you doing? I can’t hear you or see you.”
    If I could hear her, I must be conscious. But I didn’t have the energy to answer her. I mentally shook myself. I could work my way out of this. I just had to move slowly and carefully. And Sylvia would go for help if I really got stuck.
    Sylvia. I couldn’t show her that I was panicked. I called out to her that I was coming up. I took several deep breaths. Could I crawl along the floor to where the bales ended and get out there? I had to crawl backward, because I didn’t have room to turn around. I managed to move a few inches, but the bales were too close to the wall and I could go no farther. I had to climb back to the top.
    I reached up and found the beam with my hand and carefully raised my body, edging my head past it. I worked my way up onto the beam by feel and great effort, as my heart pounded in my aching head. If this was what mountain climbing was like, it wasn’t for me. Actually, it might be more like cave exploring, because of the dark and close quarters.
    I slowly stood up on the beam, my legs shaky. Sylvia could see me now, and I could see her. If I hadn’t hit my head, I would have the strength to climb out from here. But right now it seemed like an impossible task. The rope was out of my reach. I asked her to hand it to me. I took hold of it and during an eternity worked my way up the remaining bales, with Sylvia giving me encouragement. She grabbed me and pulled. I finally rolled out onto the flat tops of the lowest bales beside the wall, dazed and panting.
    “Are you okay?” Sylvia asked, concern in her voice.
    “Yeah. But I hit my head on the beam. It hurts.” My heart was still racing.
    “Where?”
    I pointed to the back of my head, near my crown. She parted my hair and looked at it.
    “Gary, you’ve got a big bump on your head. No wonder it hurts.”
    I tried to make a joke. “Does that mean no necking?”
    “You better believe it means no necking. You’re in no