The Hayloft. A 1950s Mystery

open door. Several quick steps took him outside, and he pulled the door closed after him. The complete darkness of the shelter returned and with it my feeling of disorientation.
    I stumbled in the direction where the door had been a moment ago and found it with my hands. I felt for a doorknob. There was none.
    “Ed,” I called. “Open the damn door.”
    No answer. My frantic hand found the hasp that was used to lock the door from the inside. I pulled on it, but the door wouldn’t budge. Ed had locked it from the outside.
    This time I screamed. “This isn’t funny. Open the door.”
    “No, I guess it’s not funny to you,” Ed’s muffled voice shouted from the other side of the door. “But I’m having a jolly good laugh out of it.”
    “Okay, you’ve had your joke. Now open the damn door, so that we can get home in time for dinner.”
    “You haven’t figured it out yet, have you? You’re staying here.”
    He had completely lost his mind. “Look, if you open the door right now, I won’t say anything to anybody. We’ll treat it as a joke.”
    “It’s not a joke, Gary. Let me give you a synopsis of what’s going to happen. You’re staying here, and I’m going to drive your car home. You thoughtfully left your keys in the ignition. I’m going to call Cousin Dorothy and tell her you’re sleeping at my house tonight, so she won’t worry about you.”
    “Your parents will know I’m not there.”
    “I’m going to tell them you drove to the farm and then lent me your car. I’ll figure out a reason. Then in the morning, I’m going to drive your car to the farm.”
    “My family is coming to the farm for Sunday dinner.”
    “Precisely. I need them at the farm to execute my plan. And by the way, when I’m through with them, I’m coming back for you. With Ralph’s rifle. There’s an old dumpsite near our house. Your body will never be found.”
    “You won’t get away with this.”
    “Aw, I thought you were a writer. Can’t you come up with something better than that old cliché? Well, maybe I’ll write the story someday. You see, when I get my share of the royalties from the gas wells on the farm, I will be a man of leisure, and I’ll have time to write.”
    “I don’t know what your plan is, but it’s crazy. If you open the door now, I won’t talk about it.”
    “You’re too dangerous, Gary. I’ve got it all worked out. Enjoy your night in the bomb shelter. At least you’ll be safe from nuclear attack.”
    I heard muffled, manic laughter and then nothing. I shouted for Ed until I lost my voice and pounded on the door until my knuckles were raw, but I was answered by silence.

    CHAPTER 27
    I leaned my weight against the door, my arms stretched above my head, my cheek pressing the wood. I guess I hoped that I would osmose through it. The door was my contact with the world. My heart was beating so fast, I was sure I was going to have a heart attack. I didn’t move for a minute, hoping to slow it down.
    That didn’t dissipate my panic. This was like the hayloft, only a hundred times worse. My breath came in pants, and I felt lightheaded. I placed my hands together in front of my nose and consciously breathed more slowly. That helped a little. But I didn’t dare turn around, because of the monsters I was sure were behind me. Of course, I wouldn’t see them unless they had phosphorescent eyes. But I knew they were there.
    I finally calmed down enough to examine my alternatives. One was that I could spend the night here. Although I cringed at the idea, I knew that I wouldn’t die in one night. In fact, there was food and water available, and blankets to ward off the cold that I was beginning to feel. There must be a flashlight in here, although I wasn’t sure where it was. Certainly, there were plenty of batteries.
    Somebody would find me eventually. Veronica and her family would be back in about twenty-four hours. If I made enough noise, they would hear me, even this far from the house. But Ed said he was coming for me tomorrow—with a rifle.
    He had to open the door before he could shoot me. I could use the same strategy he had used—hiding behind the door. A .22 bullet wouldn’t penetrate the thick wood, and in order to get a clear shot at me, he would have to come inside where I would have a chance to tackle him before he could aim the rifle. It was a clumsy weapon to use in such close quarters. Or I could close the door and put us both in the dark where we would be