Hole In The Floor

By Deeksha Sindhu

Dark clouds were taking enormous and unidentified shapes in the dull grey sky. Thunder was booming and lightning would tear apart the sky every two minutes or so. If the sky god existed, he definitely wasn’t in a good mood. Neither was I.

I was being dragged to school at 4 in the evening by my best friend, when I was supposed to be completing my homework due tomorrow. But of course, my protests fell on deaf ears. Judging by the sky, it could start raining any moment and since I do not carry an umbrella or a raincoat, I would get wet and in trouble from my mother. But why would Thomas care, after all he had something so important to show me that it couldn’t wait till tomorrow.

My best friend Thomas Byrne is originally Irish, so he has a slight accent while speaking. He has a really pale complexion. The shade of his eyes is a strange cross between startling grey and ochre and his hair are coal black and permanently disheveled like he has just gotten up from bed. Despite his eccentric appearance and behavior, he has an interesting personality and a facetious sense of humor when you get to know him, but currently I am not in a mood to praise him.

We open the reception door, the security guard seems surprised to see us, but doesn’t say anything. The receptionist does not even register our presence as she is engrossed in some files which might be causing her a headache since she is constantly rubbing her forehead and muttering under her breath.

The sole of our shoes squawk against the marble floor. Thomas has taken the lead, and from what it looks like we are heading to the auditorium. I try to interrogate him, to make him tell me what the fuss is all about, as usual he just brushed off my questions by saying I will only understand when I see it.

I slowly open the polished wooden door feeling a sudden blast of cool air. We make our way to the backstage by climbing on the stage, when I start hearing splattering sounds. I glance at the arch shaped windows lining the walls of the auditorium. It has been raining furiously.

I continue to follow Thomas, this time curiosity taking better of me.

‘Today in the last period, while helping with the preparation of the play, I came across something too interesting to ignore.’ I merely nodded. I was saving my energy and breath to yell at him if this turns out to be a misunderstanding or a prank.

We are heading out for the furthermost part of the auditorium. It has a deserted look to it. Almost an eerie feeling ,sending a little chill up my spine.

Thomas pushes a lever jutting out of one of the walls.

An opening had appeared in the middle of the dark brown wooden floor. It looked exactly like the trapdoors on the stage to serve for special effects, like people appearing or disappearing suddenly.

‘This was something which couldn’t wait.’ I said ready to chew out Thomas. He nods nonchalantly, I sigh.

We enter the trapdoor. It was ridiculously small, no bigger than two bathroom stalls put together. I had to duck my head to avoid banging it in the ceiling. It was dimly lit by the light of the bulb on the stage. Dust caked the floor; our footprints showed that ours was the only recent activity. I scanned our surroundings carefully. The walls and floor were made of wooden panels arranged in a kind of pattern. Except for a few boxes crammed in a corner the room was completely bare.

‘Can we go back now?’ I asked. 'This must’ve been some kind of storage, it does not mean anything.’ I meant to address this to Thomas but it seemed I was talking to myself more. Partly because Thomas was fiddling with the boxes, removing their unidentifiable contents and completely ignoring me, and partly because something told me this room was definitely more than the storage. But that doesn’t mean I wanted to know what it was.

Thomas gave a sudden cry of joy, as he wiped off dust from the floor with his sleeve. I joined to see the special article that caused his excitement.

It was a stone lid earlier concealed by the boxes. It looked exactly like one of the sewers’ lids on the streets. Thomas lifts it and I find myself staring into pitch darkness. The only feature I could make out were a few steps of a rusty iron ladder.

I picked up a stray nut lying on the floor and threw it in the hole. A dull thud resounded a few seconds later. Well, at least now we knew it wasn’t bottomless. Somehow that didn’t reassure me.

Thomas begins to go down. I stare at him in surprise.

‘C’mon.’ he says smirking at my dubious expression. I frown, a battle between the pros and cons of going down in a random sewer in the middle of your school raging in my head. I decided to follow him. Not the smartest decision I have made.

I go slowly finding each iron rung with my feet and making sure I have a firm grip on the sides of the ladder. After about two dozen or so steps I reach down to the floor of the hole. Thomas is standing next to the ladder grinning like a madman.

‘I knew you would rise to the challenge.’ He says. I roll my eyes.

‘I am just here to make sure you don’t do anything stupid, actually, I amend, stupider than going down a sewer opening in the middle of your school.’

‘How many times do you normally find something like this?’ he asks, eyebrows raised.

‘Almost never. This is why this is not normal.’ I counter.

He pretends not to hear me, and switches out a torch. I did not notice he had a torch before. Strange. Luminescent light illuminates the sewer. I see a tunnel stretching before me, its end nowhere to be seen. The place smells musty like there has been no fresh air here for centuries. Dust and dirt coat the floor. The place is wide at the spot where we are standing but after a few steps it starts narrowing.

Thomas as usual takes the lead flanked by me rather apprehensively. We take long strides to the front. I spare a glance at the walls. They, as far as I can make out from the amount of light available, are defiled with bits of bricks and plaster decorating the floor.

‘Enlighten me, why are we doing this again?’

‘Out of curiosity.’ He shrugs.

‘Curiosity is a dangerous sentiment.’ I mutter darkly.

We continued in silence. As I had thought the path was getting narrower as we proceeded. Soon it was difficult for two really thin and lanky people to walk side by side properly. The tunnel came to a rather arbitrary end about five minutes later. We found ourselves facing a wooden door with a heavy lock guarding it.

‘This is a dead end, we should go back.’ I try to coax him.

Surprise of surprises, he ignores me.

‘It is rotting. One hard push and it will go falling down. On my count.’ I realize he wants me to push the door. I hear him shouting three so I push. The door goes banging down with such a rattle it sounds as if the place is coming down. I wave my hand to make sure the sawdust is not anywhere near my face. Splinters cover the floor, but the real shock is what lies behind the door.

I am facing a large room filled with the queerest objects. I scrutinize my surroundings. A sink and stove were on a stone slab which was joined to the wall. The floor was littered with books, wrappers, bedsheets, tins and all sorts of junk. A couch and a divan were pushed against the wall spewed with blankets, comforters and pillows all of them frayed generally at the ends. A cupboard is attached to the farthest end of the wall. Several holes are carved on the skirting. Out of them creeped out rats and spiders. I take a step back when I see spiders; I have always had a strong aversion to them. It is clear the place has not been inhabited for decades.

I was pulled out of my reverie by Thomas.

‘This must have been a hiding place. I mean our school is from the world war days.’ My mind immediately goes on work producing a vivid image of people cooking on that stove, sleeping on the couch or reading a book while crouched on the floor. It was hard to imagine people living in this far from hygienic place, with no natural light or fresh air, for months, maybe even years.

But what startles me even more is Thomas’s expression. His eyes have a malignant glint in them and he has a triumphant smile as if he has found something he was searching for ages. I try to shrug it off but it gives me jitters.

He heads for the cupboard and I follow not wanting to be left alone in this weird place. He opens the cupboard and presses his ear to it like he is trying to listen to something. Then he withdraws his ear and knocks. A hollow sound echoes. It has a false back. He pushes the back and ducks in the opening. I jump too, and stifle back a gasp.

A room made entirely of mirrors greets me. The walls, the roof, even the floor is made of glass. Saying I am amazed is an understatement. But my amazement is short-lived as I discover something even more startling.

I slowly reach out my hand to squeeze Thomas’s shoulder. He does not notice me but he is most definitely there. Then I pinch my arm, no this not a dream. I see something I wish I hadn’t. It makes me wish I never came here. It almost makes me stop breathing. No matter what I wish this memory, this image will always be stuck in my brain. Two perfectly real, perfectly material people are standing in a room made entirely of mirrors yet; only one reflection can be seen in the mirrors. Thomas is nowhere to be seen in any of the mirrors.

By Deeksha Sindhu